Short Story
Machete for the Grand Elder
By Lawrence Kadzitche
For administrative purposes, Malawi is divided into three regions-North, South and Center. Strange as it may sound, witches also use these regions for their own administration. The head of each region is known as the Regional Elder.
The Regional Elder for the South has his headquarters in a dark hole on Mulanje Mountain where if one is unlucky to stray very close, gets sucked into the hole and lost forever in the evil below. The Central Region Chief operates from a place in Lilongwe near where they buried the first Kalonga. Their equal in the north, rules from under the Nkhambukenkhu River in Nkhatabay at a place where it is always dark both during the day and night.
These regional chiefs report to the Grand Elder, who is the head of all witches in the country. The headquarters of the Grand Elder are located in a closed massive graveyard in Ntchisi at the foot of Mphondo Hill. In this graveyard, witchcraft is practiced even during the day. People give this graveyard a wide berth. But if one were to pass near the graveyard and live to tell the experience-something impossible- he would tell of witches with long canine teeth eating dead bodies by the gravesides.
It is in this big graveyard that the ceremony to consecrate the new Grand Elder was to take place. The gathering attracted all the three Regional Elders and senior witches or their representatives from all over the country.
Sitting on a tombstone of an evil witchdoctor, Chikumba Chafisi surveyed the gathering with satisfaction. This was a great day in his life. Through years of manipulation, deceit, double-dealing, treachery and betrayal he had managed to rise up through the ranks of the witches in the country. On this night and this great auspicious occasion he was going to be consecrated Grand Elder of all the witches in Malawi.
With this position, he would control all the witches within his domain, dine with witches from all over Africa and of course even consult the evil spirits as well. His heart was beating fast with excitement. He now stood on the gates of untold power. Power to do with evil as he saw fit. All that remained was the consecration ceremony.
Witches were still arriving at the ceremony. Some, alone in small planes made of groundnut pods. Others in groups in chartered planes made of magic gourds. All to witness his elevation to the highest position in witchcraft.
He again surveyed the gathering and smiled to himself. It was clear all the witches present had taken great care to outdo each other in appearances. It was normal for witches to take grotesque shapes but the shapes that were present even awed him. It was a pity the Elder of Elders, the chief evil spirit, would not be able to personally preside over the ceremony and was only sending a representative. He would obviously have been impressed.
He himself hadn’t assumed any grotesque countenance. He wanted the witches to get a good look at his huge frame and watermelon like face so that they should respect him even during the day.
Chikumba nodded his head with satisfaction. It was his first time to visit the infamous graveyard as not long ago he had just been a junior witch who could not be granted an audience even with a mere District Elder. But he had risen so fast since the last Grand Elder’s death and had managed to dispatch to the grave all aspirants to the throne until all were afraid to contest.
As he waited, he allowed himself the pleasure of revisiting how he had achieved all this. It had not been simple in a profession where betrayal is the order of the day. Each step up the ladder had required a human sacrifice. Human blood and body parts were required to make the needed magic charms. All his seven children had perished into magic charms.
Of course there had been difficulties. Although his wife was also a witch she objected to the idea killing of their children in order to procure more powerful magic charms.
“You already have some of the most powerful charms in the country, why should you go on killing our children?” she protested when he had suggested they kill another child to buy a magic charm in Zambia.
“I’ve some but I want all. And the day I do so, I shall become Grand Elder,” he paused and glared murderously at her. “Now let me have that child, Nagama!”
Nagama cringed away from her husband. Chikumba’s unfettered ambition frightened her. As usual, she gave in.
The one he killed was their last child. Broken and devastated, Nagama refused to bear any more children. But Chikumba continued his quest. He discovered that a certain witchdoctor in Mulanje had the charm one required to become Grand Elder. But the payment needed was a human being who would serve as an acolyte to the witchdoctor. Without hesitation Chikumba offered his wife.
To the world she died of a headache, but she was not really dead. What people thought was her body was a banana trunk. The real Nagama was squatting in a corner, her tongue, tied – a zombie.
“Baba, why have you done this to me?” she asked when he was taking her to the witchdoctor in the dead of the night.
He laughed harshly. “I’d even have sacrificed my mother to get the magic charm.”
“Is it so important?”
He laughed again. “Yes, it’s so important and that’s why I’m sacrificing you.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s now approaching midnight,” the voice of the Master of Ceremonies jerked him out of his reverie. “Behold the representative of the Elder of Elders!”
There was lightening and a deafening clap of thunder. A shadow appeared and quickly solidified into a figure veiled in black from head to toe. Chikumba was surprised to see that it was a woman. He hadn’t expected a woman.
A chilling hush descended on the gathering as the representative made her way towards Chikumba. In her hands, a razor sharp machete glittered weirdly in the pitch-black moonless night. She stopped in front of Chikumba and took away her veil.
The huge melon like face of Chikumba assumed the look of untold surprise. His eyes bulged; his mouth dropping open. It couldn’t be possible!
The representative was none other than Nagama, his late wife!
“The witchdoctor trained us in the most advanced witchcraft methods so that we could efficiently carry out his work. He taught us to be completely merciless, hate everything including ourselves,” she said in a voice only audible to Chikumba. “We killed him and freed ourselves and continued our witchcraft work.”
Chikumba gulped.
“I rose up the ladders so that I’m now the Elder of Elder’s representative.”
Chikumba looked like a condemned man facing the firing squad. Nagama turned to the gathering.
“You came here to witness an installation. That has already been done. I’m now your Grand Elder.”
The assembled witches cheered wildly.
“This man,” she said touching Chikumba’s head with the tip of the machete, “has broken the rules of witchcraft. As witches, we’re supposed to do wickedness for the sake of doing wickedness, do evil for the pleasure of doing evil.”
Chikumba swallowed, sweat beads moistening his forehead.
“But this witch,” she went on, “did evil in order to gain something. Doing evil for any gain is not acceptable in witchcraft. If we do so, how will we be different from people who also do evil but for a purpose?”
The witches clapped and cheered hysterically.
“Now a lesson has to be taught. The Elder of Elders has decreed that he be executed by beheading. We will feed on his carcass tonight.”
The gathering broke into a frenzied uproar. Chikumba began to cry but was immediately stopped.
“Witches are not permitted to cry; it’s against the rules,” came her harsh reprimand.
Scaly hands grabbed Chikumba and pinned him spread-eagled on the concrete tomb slab. Smiling hideously, Nagama raised the diabolically shining machete. Chikumba’s scream was cut off by a chop of the machete, which completely severed his head. The witches descended on his body, tearing at it with their sharp teeth.
As was the custom, the new Grand Elder was offered the heart while it was still throbbing.
End
