A Seven Day Brew

1

I am running. Fear chokes me and my dry throat makes it even harder to breathe. Something unseen, yet dark and sinister pursues me ruthlessly. Suddenly, I am trapped. Gnashing teeth are tearing into my flesh. I stare up towards the sky and my eyes begin to roll back.
From a distance, I can hear my bones crunch. The tormented wailing of a baby haunts me mercilessly. I can smell death all around me and a misplaced distinct smell of sweet vanilla. I hold onto that sweet smell as I feel my thick crimson blood gush out from my body and spill into the soil. ‘Mercy-’ I plead weakly. My eyes open wide as several sets of jaws attached to muscular midnight bodies wrench me from all sides and I feel my spirit drifting away… an angry red, a deafening black and a blinding white are all I see.

2

I wake up in my bedroom with a suffocating gasp, grateful to see the light of day. As I sit up, I notice that I am in a pool of sweat and urine. Luckily Chilu, my beautiful wife is not here to witness this. I hear her voice singing sweetly as she prances around cleaning our home. I quickly scrub myself in the shower and do our laundry, all in an effort to hide my secret. This is the seventh in a series of bad dreams. In fact, ‘bad dreams’ is an understatement. A more accurate description is night terrors and, I refuse to have any more restless nights.

3

‘I saw it in the spirit,’ he says; as he exhales a large puff of smoke into the cramped hut we sit in. He pauses slightly before continuing; ‘Believe me when I say it’ll come to pass. I have a gift… and my spirit never lies.’ I sit cross legged and quietly on the mpasa, beside myself with nerves and curiosity and my fingers quiver slightly. He is seated on a wooden stool on top of the reed mat I sit on and has some height on me. A circle of bones, feathers, shells and what appear to be fragments of a human skull litter the space between us.
The hut is dark, except for the small crack in the mud wall where light manages to seep through. The heated glow of the mbaula also gives the room an eerie radiance. Brewing on the mbaula is a small clay pot with a strange, foul-smelling substance. The room is musky with the pungent smell of dung and dagga. The sangoma seated before me exhales once again, and I wheeze as the cloud of smoke wraps itself around my head and body before disappearing.

This sangoma has long grey-black matted hair that looks like neglected dreadlocks. His body is covered in white lines and he wears a worn-out, soiled loin cloth around his waist. On his neck is a beaded red string with shells that could only have been found close to the sea. Or at least I don’t think one can find such shells in this part of Zambia. Rumour has it that sangomas, get their powers from the salt water. He stands abruptly and shakes his head to and fro sniffing frantically as if possessed. He reaches for the clay pot on the brazier and takes a sip of the hot liquid before spraying it out of his mouth so that it splatters all over the room -and my body. I am too afraid to be disgusted. He leans over me, pushing the pot towards my mouth and says ‘swallow’. I do as I am told and the bitter taste of the thick liquid makes me gag. Compared to the taste, the smell is nothing. I look up at the sangoma as soon as I am done shuddering, he smiles a grotesque smile of rotting brown, black and missing teeth. He walks in a circle around me seven times, chanting in a language I do not fully understand. He stops beside me and I am still, my hands stop fidgeting as he reaches over my shoulder, his front to my back, and hands me seven small roots and a powdered substance I cannot quite identify. He speaks low and slow, ‘Apply this powder on your body every night for seven days. You must wait thirty minutes every time until it absorbs into your body. Make a brew of these roots I give you. You will know who to serve the roots to my dear’. I take the muti from his hands and quickly put it in my bag. I leave swiftly, embarrassed and afraid that someone will catch me accepting medicine from a witch doctor.

4

Something chases me and I am deadly afraid. Miraculously, I manage to find a shabby hut that I run into and hide myself in. Out of nowhere, a large vicious black dog is upon me and I am fighting it off. Death surrounds this animal and I must not let it overpower me. I begin to shake uncontrollably, and I feel myself being hauled away. Desperately, I cling on to anything I can wrap my hands around; but my efforts are futile.

I awake in a cold sweat. My wife Chilu is gentling shaking me, looking over me with a worried expression on her face. ‘Mabvuto,’ she says, ‘relax, you were only having a bad dream.’ I look at her as I come back to my senses and I brush a hand over my tired face sighing heavily. As soon as she leaves the bedroom to prepare our breakfast, I look under the mattress to where I’ve hidden the roots and powder. He said I would know whom to give the roots to, but I still have no clue.
I make the bed and tidy our room before proceeding to the bathroom for a shower. Whilst in there, I hear Chilu come in, ‘Honey, your suit is ironed and on the bed,’ she says. There’s a slight pause
as she opens the bathroom door, her head peaking in, and continues; ‘breakfast is also ready, and hurry up, or else we will be late for church’.

5

‘I receive papa! I receive!’ these are the words the Assembly of God church chants as we lift our hands up and receive the blessings of the pastor who prophesies in-front of us. He is amped up and the words he speaks flow right through me. ‘You will not be broke again!’ he shouts, and the people of God cheer. ‘I repeat!’ he screams. ‘Your poverty will be no more, you are blessed! You are anointed! You will be free!’ the congregation cheers louder. He continues, ‘I have a Godly spirit! Receive your miracle today! My spirit does not lie; my spirit is true and holy! Receive your miracle! Reach out to the heavens everyone, hands in the air! Hands in the air! Amen!’ People are speaking in tongues all around me, some are shouting ‘Yes papa, we receive papa,’ with their hands raised and their heads lifted up. The choir and the band are singing hymns of praise and worship passionately, and I look at my lovely wife Chilu. Her eyes are closed and she is still reaching out her hands to the heavens, receiving her blessings as the service ends.

We are greeted by the church elders as we exit the building. Warm hugs and tea or coffee with biscuits are served as an after church tea-time snack, we indulge. My head and heart are light and I feel refreshed. Chilu clings to my arm and as I smile down at her, she opens her mouth to speak. ‘Mabvuto-’ she says, ‘I know you’ve been having problems sleeping because of our financial situation, so I really think we should ask papa to pray for us.’ As she says this, Papa approaches us. He wears a shiny bespoke suit with well-polished shoes of fine Italian leather. A red handkerchief sits in his breast pocket and his shiny white teeth are almost blinding as he leans in to give both of us a hug. Although papa is only a few years older than me, he is unmarried. It is also plain to see that he is quite handsome. In fact, I’ve heard my wife and her friends swoon over him a few times too many. He should be in his mid to late thirties, but his spiritual gift means that he is treated with the upmost respect even by our elders. ‘I hope you enjoyed service today,’ he says as his eyes linger over Chilu’s beautiful face, before reaching mine. ‘Oh yes, we did Papa.’ Chilu responds eagerly, smiling boldly. ‘I’m glad to hear it’, he responds, and continues; ‘Are you leaving early? I would like both of you to stay as I have urgent matters to speak with you about. However, I must greet the other congregants first.’ He holds my shoulder and looks earnestly into my eyes and I find myself responding in agreement to the question he did not verbally ask. He smiles genuinely and lets out a relieved laugh, ‘ah good, good! Meet me in my office at 12 noon. Sharp, sharp eh?’ he does not wait for me to answer before he swaggers off to speak to more church-goers. I stare after him dismissed, yet I can’t help but admire his ego.

Papa’s office is all bright colours and academics. Book shelves line two sides of a four-walled room and large windows occupy the other walls. His desk is made of shiny mahogany and there’s a plasma screen TV tuned in to a Christian channel. He is seated on top of his desk, his toned thighs flexing underneath his suit as he looks at my wife and I. He begins to speak. ‘I have been praying over your financial issues my children, and the spirit has spoken to me. When I tell you this, you must speak to no one but the Spirit you hear?’ ‘Yes, Papa’ we respond, sitting on the edge of our seats. ‘Good.’ He continues, ‘The spirit has told me you must demand and declare for your blessings and money. Have faith that does not falter. You must declare and demand this seven times, but you must do so only in seven days and at midnight.’ Chilu sits up at attention, and my ears prickle, startled; ‘At midnight Papa?’ I ask, he nods. ‘Seven times papa?’ he nods again. My whole body prickles and shakes as we leave his office.

6

Only ten more minutes until it absorbs into my body. Ten minutes and what I have done will not be so visible. I am staring at myself in the mirror. Brown powder covers my body and my nerves of earlier still have not left my body. It’s been six days since Sunday and I still do not know who to give the brew to. Chilu and I have been waking at midnight to do as Papa said, but I still feel restless. Chilu is currently in the study reading the scriptures. Time passes by slowly as I pace around the bathroom pretending to be busy. It’s easier to do this in the bathroom where she won’t find me. I don’t want to disappoint her.

‘Mabvuto, Mabvuto, I really need to speak to you my love.’ Chilu’s voice calls for me from beyond the door. By now, my skin is back to normal, so I unlock the door and allow my wife to enter. ‘What’s the matter Chilu?’ I ask, worry in my voice as I sit on the edge of the bathtub. She sits beside me with troubled eyes and speaks. ‘I read the scriptures and I’ve prayed Mabvuto. I’m not comfortable with what Papa told us. Truth is, my skin has been crawling with unease, and I cannot do as he said any longer.’ A surge of anger courses through my blood and I aggressively respond; ‘Why? You know all the things papa says come to pass, why won’t you pray with me as he asked?’ she looks down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she responds; ‘I feel unsettled.’ She continues, ‘Something doesn’t feel right to me’. She looks up at me with her stunning brown eyes, tears threatening to spill out of their expansive depths and my heart softens towards her, my irritation gradually wearing off. I sigh heavily, ‘I understand’.

7

I am in a conference room naked. The room is divided into half. One side is dark and the other is light. Something that feels like scales blurs my vision, but I can tell that in front of me, three men sit. They go back and forth in animated chatter ‘Oh look, he is here,’ says one to the other. ‘Ah yes, our meeting can begin,’ replies the other. I cannot see their faces but there is a strange camaraderrie and recognition I sense from them. I am both unsettled and yet calm. ‘Do you know who to give the brew to?’ one of them asks. ‘No I do not,’ I respond. A wailing sound consumes the room and I cover my ears. It is the sound of grief and pain. It is the sound of those mourning their loved ones, the sound of torture and helpless cries. It is the sound of death. I sink to the floor unable to handle the grief and I rock back and forth in a foetal position. One of the men speaks and asks yet again, ‘Do you know who to give the brew to he asks?’ ‘No,’ I reply once again. Two of the men laugh cynically, the other remains silent; and I feel as though the air is being sucked out of the room. Suffocating, I begin to gasp for air, one hand clasping at my throat and the other hand clawing at nothing.

8

I awaken gasping and clawing violently. Sunlight streams into my bedroom and the sheets around me are drenched in my sweat. At least there’s no urine this time. As I sit up in bed and look around the room helplessly, the questions they asked echo in my head- ‘Who must I give it to?’ I lay down again and turn on to my side staring at my loving wife Chilu who is still fast asleep. The light from a parting in our curtains highlights the contours of her face and I brush my hands against her cheeks. She stirs and I hold my breath.

Gently and quietly, I retrieve the roots from under the bed and head into the kitchen. I put the roots in boiling water and stir diligently. The water begins to turn black, like tea, the scent sweet and familiar. When I am done, I put the liquid in a mug and head to the bedroom to serve my wife who is only now just waking up. Chilu takes my offering with a loving smile and large gulp, she sighs heavily as if in bliss, before taking another smaller sip. She opens her mouth as if to say thank you, but no words come out. Suddenly, Chilu is on the bed convulsing and foam bubbles out of her mouth as her eyes roll back into her head. I can feel her drifting away as I frantically attempt to bring her back to me.

9

It’s been forty-eight hours and seven minutes. My mind is a whirling turmoil of emotions. The doctors say there was nothing I could have done. Chilu had a sudden and premature death, these things happen. I grieve for Chilu and I mourn the child we did not know she was carrying. Shame and guilt are my companions now and I long to be with my Chilu and child. I received a letter from work this morning informing me of my promotion. Nothing is worth it without them here with me.

10

I find myself in the dark room once again. The scales on my eyes fall off and I can see clearly now. In front of me sits Sangoma on the left, his feather and shell necklace dancing around his neck. Papa sits on the right. I can clearly see his shiny shoes from under the table and his signature handkerchief in his breast pocket. In-between the two sits not a man, but a woman, wearing a white dress. She is constricted by large rusty metal chains. Chilu. My heart swells and calls out to her but she does not respond. I try again, and I feel my throat choke up the more I try. She is not as she once was.
The two men laugh cynically as they watch me crawl on the floor begging for my Chilu. Papa places a hand on her knee possessively. Chilu remains silent and still. Sangoma gets up and paints white lines similar to his, on Chilu’s shoulders- claiming her completely. When he is done, he loosens her chains and I see her walking towards me. This Chilu is different, darker & vengeful.

I find myself running. I am running for my life. The line between reality and dream warps. Everything swings before my eyes in an unsettling blur of unease. Big black dogs fall upon me and begin tearing at me from all angles. One settles for my midsection, the other my chest, and one on my thigh. I can hear the agonising screams of my unborn child and Chilu’s pain over my betrayal. Their cries taunt and haunt me and I grieve as unfiltered pain floods me.

One of the dogs pulls itself away from my rib cage and puts its face in front of mine. Her yellow eyes are unnerving. Not completely animalistic, but more human and rooted in unadulterated hatred. She licks my blood off her snout before revealing large canines in an aggressive foul-smelling growl of sulphur, iron and a nauseating sweet vanilla. A familiar scent. The last thing I see is the hollow of her red throat, before she rips my eyes from their sockets and I am left in complete darkness. I cannot move, breathe, hear or speak.

END.