The Angels Of Morobi

The still night air was punctured by the singing and dancing the villagers were engaged in around a fire that almost reached the high heavens. Children scampered around, seizing the opportunity to play outside while their parents were making merry. Meanwhile, he sat quietly in his chambers, licking his fingers to savour the last of the hearty meal his family made for him, then chugging the mursik to wash it down one last time. He saw his family dancing with the others in celebration; the harvest season had finally come, and their father was now ready to participate in the long-awaited ceremony.

“Thank you, father, for all you’ve done for us,” the children’s words rang in his mind. One after the other expressed their gratitude, smiling so broadly that it hadn’t hit him yet. Now that he was in his own company, it lingered. Minute after minute, the reality was slowly creeping in.

“Mzee Kiprotich?” his friend, Sotik, greeted as he joined him in his solitude.

“Good evening,” he replied, his head buried in his hands. Sotik knew that look all too well, so he sat by his friend's side and encouraged him the best way he could.

“This is a good thing, remember?”

“Yes, I – I’m familiar with the custom,” Mzee answered in a muffled voice, head still down. Sotik could see him shudder a bit, slowly rocking back and forth while tapping his leg on the ground.

“I remember seeing my father on that night. He ate quietly, didn’t say much even when we thanked him for his life, and when it was time, he ran,” he told the elder.

“Did he?” Mzee asked.

“Yes. We ran after, but the young men caught up to him, gagged him, and carried him to Sheu. He was the only one who went unwillingly.”

Kiprotich looked up at his friend, tears in his eyes flowing to his trembling hands.

“Who – who came up with this tradition, Sotik?” he stuttered, Sotik placing his hand on the elder’s shoulder.

“It is the way…”

“Does it have to be? I mean…”

“It’s fine to feel this way.”

“I don’t understand! I’ll never curse my children, I’ll be grateful if they took care of me,” the old man spoke.

“You can say it, Mzee,” Sotik encouraged.

“I don’t know what to – I mean…” he started, while Sotik placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.

“It is okay, Mzee. No one else is here, you can say it.” Mzee Kiprotich inhaled deeply and whispered:

“I don’t want to die.”

Sotik nodded and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. A prime candidate for my help, he thought.

“I don’t want to die, Sotik,” Mzee said again, trembling as he did, shaking his head vigorously.

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” he blurted out as Sotik covered his mouth.

“Hush, Mzee! Haven’t you heard the story I told you? If you don’t go, they’ll come for you!” he warned his friend as he slowly took his hand off Mzee’s mouth. The elder raised his hand in surrender, nodding in agreement.

“I know, I know. I fully understand that this is the only way.”

“Good, never forget that,” Sotik said, staring at him. Mzee paced back and forth, hands on his head before he stopped and stared back at his friend.

“I’m sorry, did you say that your father was thrown down?”

“Yes, he was,” Sotik said, smiling.

“But all who have gone to Morobi have gone on their own, many even happy to do so. My grandfather sang all the way. We were told of that story before…”

“Yes, go on,” Sotik said, his smile broadening to show his pearly white teeth.

“But – but that happened over four hundred years ago. That was where this all began…” Mzee said, his voice trailing off.

“Yes, it was, Mzee.”

He moved away from his dear friend, examining him from top to bottom.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes.”

“That can’t be – that isn’t possible.”

“It is.”

“How – after all these years, how are you alive?” he asked him in a hushed voice as Sotik laughed, clapping.

“Good, my friend. You’ve caught on well. I was worried that you hadn’t.”

“Is it sorcery?” Mzee asked again, eyes bulging out at the apparent immortal that sat before him.

“I had heard of this ceremony that our neighbours started ages ago, even before my time. They would keep the most important people amongst them alive from one generation to the next; this way, the culture is secure and still relevant.”

“How do they do that?” Mzee asked. Sotik slowly took off his clothes to reveal his bare chest, where a large scar ran from his collarbone to his left ribs.

“I don’t understand, Sotik.”

“The heart of the tribe is the soul of its people, they would say. The older generation lives through the heart. It is only so that it be passed down,” he said as he dressed. Mzee could feel the mursik work its way up to his throat.

“Oh my God…” Mzee said, backing away from his friend. Sotik raised his hands, trying to explain himself.

“It was the only way, Mzee. I saw how my father suffered. I saw how he went down there. I can’t – couldn’t imagine what went through his mind on the way there. A shame to the people. So, I found a way, and if you’re willing, I can show you as well.”

Mzee shook his head while mumbling.

“That’s dark magic – that is unholy, wicked, and unnatural…”

“But it works, doesn’t it? I’m still here, and if you agree to this, you’ll be too.”

“How did you – I mean, how does it work?”

“Well, you survive through your bloodline, Mzee. Anyone will do,” Sotik said. The look of horror on Mzee’s face was concerning to Sotik, so he decided to ask him anyway:

“How much do you love your life, Mzee?”

“I can’t…”

“It isn’t a pleasant journey down. I can assure you of that.”

“You sacrificed your son? Your son, Sotik…”

“Hundreds of years, thousands of descendants on the earth. What is one?” Sotik asked him, holding him by the shoulders.

“Do you want to die?” he asked the elder.

“I don’t, but not…”

“Do you want to die?”

“Not like this. Not like this, Sotik.”

“Do you want to die, Kiprotich? Because in under an hour, you will.”

“I don’t – I don’t know - I…” the elder stammered, Sotik’s grip getting tighter.

“I saw how my father went. I hid nearby, where I saw all of them go. He screamed the whole way, cried like a child in pain until he didn’t anymore. The hyenas got to him...I couldn't imagine it. It is the worst thing you will ever experience, Kiprotich. The worst. Do you want to go through that?”

The morality of Sotik’s actions, or lack thereof, was no longer considered at that moment. Mzee couldn’t imagine the last moments of his life like that. After all, he did for the family, all he had sacrificed, he chose to choose himself.

“How will it be done?”

“There are some men of the cloth here. We can do it here without anyone knowing it. Are you ready for this?”

As a tear streamed down his cheek at what he was about to do, a smile on his face at the renewed hope he faced, he whispered:

“Call Ng’etich here.”

Kevin Khanda Ameyo

Kenyan

I often visit mythical lands, make merry with fictional people and come back to Earth to write their fantastical tales on my blog; THE WORDS OF A DYING FLAME.