CAMP FORTY

CAMP FORTY

CAMP FORTY

My childhood friends were once inseparable. We not only grew up together but we were constantly engaged in each other’s in lives. As a result, we thought it swell to have a weekend slumber party, and catch up with one another last Christmas. Moreover, we figured that we should embark on a camping trip for once in our lives, yet not into the woods like real campers do, but house camping, that was close to our beds. Thus, Bena was one of my longtime childhood friends, suggested a pajama party in her ginormous garage for an entire weekend, and since we were three single ladies, we found the freedom to set up tent, and dubbed the experience as Camp Forty, based on the fact that we were all in our forties. As one would expect, all was going well at our friendship camp, where we bonded in our Camp Forty adventure, while we reminisced of the old simple days. Needless to say, the pitch camp escapade was going so well, up until we started getting into each other's personal business, as women tend to do.

Consequently, our conversations turned sour, so much so that after twenty hours into the seventy-two hours of camping, all our claws were out, and ready for a cat fight, making the campsite unfit for habitation. I already knew that our back and forth bickering would happen, right after Bena and Flo went back in time, to the graveyard, to exhume dusty skeletons of their ex-factors, each time the bitter subject of their entanglements with those bad boys. In addition, I dreaded waiting for the mention of the names of some two hoodlums, who Bena and Flo dated eons ago, before a blood bath would ensue. In all honestly, these two hoodlums have always been a subject of controversy since our childhood, and their topic has always been raw and painful to our mouths. In that moment of conflict, time seemed to have frozen, as Bena and Flo's mood became so ice cold toward each other, that I had to call a time out, but before I could put my opinion across to these two rivals, pounced on me with vicious attacks.

At first, I thought that Bena would tear me to pieces and feed me to the wolves, with sheer ferocity. On the contrary, it was Flo who actually turned against me, by spitting venomous words against me. Firstly; she attacked my hair, then my sobriety, next she went for my singletude, before she made a mockery of my new found purpose of being a teacher, by harshly stating that, "At least Bena and I have tasted love and marriage, unlike you Aunty Betty, who is always giving your unsolicited advice to unsuspecting souls." This vile Flo was determined to cut me deep but thank God for my natural shock absorbers, that were matured by years of traumatic life experiences, skilled clap backs, expert come backs, and hardcore stoicism, Lucky for me, I was able to beautifully retaliate and hit back at the crude remarks rendered to me by Flo. As you can you imagine, this dear friend of mine, actually neglected her lucrative career, in order follow some strange fellow, a bohemian kind of a man living in utopia, on some wild goose chase, in the middle of nowhere, with the vision of nurturing wild horses! Are there even wild horses in sub-Sahara Africa? Yet, if there are any horses, I would bet on my new found purpose, that Flo had never seen any type of horse breed with her naked eyes, let alone rode on one.

Well, at least Aunty Betty is a darn near counsellor or teacher for humans. Nevertheless, what does Flo know about horses, except for the ones she has watched on the national geographic channel? Yet, I am very much convinced that Flo’s hipster lover, had brainwashed her into believing that she was some sort of a mystic horse whisperer, called on by the universe to help the endangered species. Perhaps there was a glimpse of the truth to her magical powers. Nonetheless, why could she not also find it in her big heart, to initiate a just cause of helping all the maltreated donkeys parading down her hometown, pulling water carts all day long? At any rate, Camp Forty had melted, became fiery hot, and thus was intolerable for habitancy.

Meanwhile, at that volatile moment, Flo and I had morphed into grim and evil, parading our dirty linen in public, while Bena was screamed at the top of her lungs, in order to stop our verbal fight. No sooner had Bena let out a loud shriek, than we stopped squabbling, perplexed by her thunderous voice, which carried harsh words of rebuke, that unfolded in this manner, “Both of you are worse than children! You Flo, are a sucker for love, and you Betty, are a lonely coward!" To put it briefly, Bena’s critical words to Flo and I were raw, uncensored, and cut deep like a knife. Nonetheless, what did she mean when she said that I was a coward?

However, before I got the chance to speak, Flo leaped on Bena like a savage, throwing shade and pouring all her tea on the ground, with such cruelty that I was taken aback by her mean streak, and derogatory words to poor Bena, which threatened to rip their friendship apart. "All you know to do Bena, is give birth to children, sit home, to watch Telemundo, and wait for your ex-husband to send your monthly support check. I mean, have you ever worked a day in your life?!" That statement directed to Bena by Flo, was a low blow that even Flo felt miserable, soon as the statement left her mouth. The truth was that with six children, Bena was forced by circumstances to become a stay home mother, while her former husband went to work. But soon enough, the very famous doctor fell in love with the house help, divorced Bena, and married the young uneducated lass, all to our shock. Since then, it had been over twelve years but still, who can ever easily forget being dumped by a rich man, for a village girl?

All in all, why is it that we females cannot behave like males do, forgetting about silly old grudges, and fist pumping to the new times? Instead, we women hold grudges for years, and always looking for any opportunity to bring them up every time our super egos are challenged. Dear God, sometimes I despise the company of women, for it draws me back to those high school days, whereby there has to be the leader of the pack, and everything else was a competition. Well, I guess after that wild exchange we had among us three, we were forced to decamp, went our separate ways, and slid back to our boring lives. So much for a lasting friendship. Perhaps the next time we do decide to talk to one another like human beings, it would be over drinks, when one of us loses their pride, and invites the rest of us for a healing soirée.

THE MURKY AFRICAN JOB MARKET

THE MURKY AFRICAN JOB MARKET

THE MURKY AFRICAN JOB MARKET

The employment market in Africa has always been a bleak sphere of stunted growth for any struggling African, and all because the entire African matrix system is severely skewed, and hence can never be a level playing field, especially so for the ordinary civilians. This fun fact I know, because I lived it, by spending all my child-bearing years, perpetually on a job hunt, pacing back and forth on route eleven, tarmacking really hard, in the hope of landing on any available position, and for what? At that rate, I felt I needed; an ancestor pass, ritual offerings, a warlock’s ring, anointing oil from a prophet’s wand, and ties to a mob, in order for me to magically qualify for anything jobwise. Nonetheless, before I could even get the mystical job connect, I had to first face a rigid panel of interviewers, who had the organization's authority to bombard me with cringe worthy questions, that make up for television entertainment.

A case in point is a job opportunity, which I applied for, once upon a wrinkle in time, within my locality. Sadly, for me, I had to face a body of queriers, the kind who make you wish you were born into royalty, so as not to face the kind of public scrutiny subjected to the have nots. The first question to the grave interview was, "What was the occupation of your great grand-mother, on your father's side?", some overzealous cuss in the team of quizmasters dared to ask me, as if he was planning on granting my late Nana the job instead of me. The truth is that I never my great grandmother, on account that she had already passed on, long before I even was born. Moreover, I had never really thought to inquire about her life. Consequently, did my lack of knowledge of the career of my ancestor, disqualify me from working in that particular local company? Actually, my late Nana and I are worlds apart, for we are of different generations. Therefore, what was the point of this question?

Another callous examinant in the board poked at my nearly perfect resumé and posed yet another irate question, leaving me feeling more vexed than I already was. “It says here in your CV that you only have five years’ experience, yet we are looking for one who has forty years of experience. So, how do you figure?" Perhaps I have exaggerated this second question, still it is not that far-fetched, particularly so when you have been a job seeker as long as I have been under the African sun, because this type of question is designed to knock one off the competition, for the job spot. Anyway, did you get to thoroughly read the question at hand? Can someone please call on all the available mathematicians, because the math is not mathing. As a result, I was so perplexed by this line of questioning, that I had to pose one for the inquisitors that went this way, “I am sorry sir, but did you mean forty years of age or forty years of work experience? Because clearly none of you who sit before me is a day over fifty years, thus how am I expected to have forty years of work experience, when I am only forty years old? Even your company has been in operation for a little over ten years, hence I do not understand this line of questioning you people have.” Ah! These African panelists darn near killed me with their dramatic questions.

By now, you all should be aware that all the above questions were set to debar one, so that the hiring company can fulfil their quota, while they help find their relatives find lucrative job positions. But before I could take a breather, this council of interrogators pelted me with another archaic question, which read like this, “Who was the first local Chief of this Ward?" Again, what is with all these ancestral questions? Honestly, I did not understand why these interviewers loved to go back in time, instead of forging ahead to embrace the future. Although, if I did not have the answer to this next question, then it meant that my chances of securing that job opportunity at hand, were close to none. Having said that, unless I had documented information about the local Chief in question, then there is no way I would have known who he was, if he ever existed. Regardless, where would I find information about the local Chief from, aside from a series of dilapidated photographs stemming from the colonial days? Perhaps the Chief in question is related to the owners of the company, hence the interviewers' prior knowledge of who the Chief was. Hence, why ask such an irrelevant question to a millennial? 

The next obvious question thrown at me was, “You’ve listed para-gliding, kayaking, and bungee-jumping, as your hobbies. Can you explain what these activities are in general?", glared the curious panelist in askance, at my resumé. Even I was not ready for the set question, since it was not my intention to provide them with my internationally-crafted resumé, as opposed to my locally-configured resumé, that suited the current job position. Anyway, the short answer was that these white-painted hobbies were sort of in my bucket list of futuristic plans. Thus, what I meant to list as my hobbies were the usual; reading books, writing journals, and watching informative documentaries. Needless to say, I was put on task, to explain my mystic hobbies, and as soon I did, the whole panel looked at me with contempt, like Joseph the dreamer, who told his brothers of his big dreams, and they all mocked him in ignorance. Anyhow, I was not offended at all by their silent judgements of my white hobbies, even though I was perturbed by their clueless demeanours.

Needless to say, there were so many malformed questions thrown at me but the wildest one, by the last panelist was, "Why are you not married at your age?" I guess this question was the very one that broke the camel's back, and thereby destroyed my chances at securing the coveted job position. In a word, my diplomatic response to their invasive marital question was, “I am not married, because I am waiting on God’s divine timing.” I would have stood up to leave at that juncture, yet good manners, coupled with a few ethical values did not allow my pride to get the best of me. I know that you too reading this could be offended on my behalf, but in Africa, this is the norm, and the unwritten rule to which your level of growth and maturity is measured by your marital status. I guess these rejective panelists would have gladly overlooked the many faults which they considered me to have including, the strange hobbies I listed on my resumé for their perusal, as well as my blasé attitude, with regards to my ancestry but for some harsh reasons, they would not wish to overlook my singletude.

Perhaps, these team of panelists mistook me for a free-spirited hippie, or a recluse battling an existential crisis, yet I believe that too much education, exposure, and a thirst for more knowledge, was what set me on the journey of self-discovery. Nevertheless, I did not blame these set of Africans for their skewed depiction of me, because in their world, I was a conundrum but, in my world, I was just Ms. Betty Baijun. All in all, if you are wondering, I did not get the job. Apparently, I was overqualified for it, and therefore, they thought it wise to award the next best person, and most probably one who did not threaten their worldly position. Oh, well, I went back to tarmacking, and yes, I had better luck in the next job hunt.

THE GODS ARE ANGRY

THE GODS ARE ANGRY

THE GODS ARE ANGRY

I am at loss as to why the gods have for ages been deemed to be an angry lot. Long time ago, possibly before Christ, our ancestors believed that nothing seemed to please the gods, not the numerous sacrifices that were rendered to them, nor the constant praises given to them by men. But why were these medieval gods always invariably angry? Long before the days of antiquity, the possibility of gratifying these ancient gods was close to none, yet these ancient gods were supposed to be a source of great help and protection. Is it not ironic that these deities were supposed to be divine, yet anger was their best-known emotion? Moreover, if the gods are known to be eternally angry, then what are we mortals supposed to do about it? Ever since I was a child, learning about my spiritual heritage, all I ever heard about these immortals, was their constant need to be appeased.

What’s more, these primeval gods often spoke through their oracles, who were also the high priests, commanding my ancestors to make major sacrifices, each and every single waking moment, to which I would have strongly objected to, had I been in existence at the time, to witness their tyrannical demands. Anyway, the gods would send a forlorn diviner, out the blue sky, and into the village square, with a sombre look, and a disturbing message at hand, which read something like this, "Our land has not received rain for close to a year, because the gods are angry at us. So therefore, let us quench their wrath, by giving them our newborns." My people, please forgive me for being too forward, but I do not understand what the correlation is, between ritual sacrifice and gratification of these pantheon of gods. I mean, must mortals forever lose their souls, in order for these amoral gods to be content?

You see, this is why I am also angry at these perennial spirits too, for their burdening requests for appeasement are outrageous. It could be true that the cultural gods helped us to overcome the desert sand storm, which devastated our harvest two hundred years ago. Therefore, must we always self-sacrifice, because the gods performed a righteous cause on our behalf? Moreover, are we obligated to pay through our noses, in order for the gods to help prosper our lives? At this rate, we humans might as well leave it to fate, to guide us wherever the wind blows, or is fate another one of these incautious gods? As a result, I made a point of consulting our resident oracle, one who is the mouthpiece for the gods, as to the reason why these deities were ever angry, because all I ever witnessed the stoic seer declare, were the laws of the gods, by which our tribal community was founded. Nonetheless, and by far, it is the inhumane taboos which annoyed me the most, but I digress.

In any case, this is the reason why the oracle does not like my rebellious nature, of questioning the status quo, with regards to the ways of the gods. This mystic seer once rebuked me for being overly inquisitive, and warned me that, “You do not know the forces you are messing with, by trying to defy the dictates of the gods. If you keep going against the set rules, the gods will unleash their wrath upon you.”, hissed the irate seer, to yours truly. Just like the oracle, the gods too were angry with me, for questioning their wisdom, but what is new? Whether I speak my mind or not, will their anger ever subside? According to the seer, I was authorized to offer a white hen, as a cleansing sacrifice, before I could purify myself down by the village pool, with special soap, in order that the indignation of the gods against me would diminish. Look my people, I did not mean to be rude to the seer, yet I felt the need to tell him off politely, because what he was suggesting for me to do, smelled like extortion.

Nevertheless, what do the gods need a white hen for anyway? Do they know just how much a hen costs, in these dire economic times? On the contrary, had they asked me to apologize for being oddly inquisitive, I would have gladly complied. However, for them to demand for an offering, because of my blatant curiosity, is a tad bit covetous. What’s more, do not also forget the unique soap for my supposed cleansing ritual costs money, and therefore, I would rather buy the hen to consume it, and the soap to wash my body with, rather than waste these precious items on some spiritual quest for an energy cleanse. Needless to say, I took chances with my new age opinions, stood my Christian ground, and let the moral chips fall where they did. Sometimes, I do envy the white man, particularly the one who considers himself an atheist, because unlike me, he does not care much for tradition or spirituality.

Further, the reason as to why I reference a white man, is because it is on a very rare occasion that you will ever encounter an African who publicly proclaimed themselves to be an atheist. Nevertheless, if you have met an atheist African, then best believe that he is an Alien breed. Anyhow, as a matter of fact, the white atheist does not believe in the traditional gods of this world, hence he does not care for any religious philosophies, which he deems them to be outdated, and therefore inconsequential to his budding life. In actuality, he is free to be who he wants to be, and choose to live as per his will. To most of us who have lived all our lives inside a religious bubble, know just how hard it is to spread our wings, and fly outside of the religious mindset we are bound to. Even if one should be so benevolent, as to emancipate us from this religious mental slavery, and then what? Are we then supposed to pray to ourselves? Should we then consider ourselves as gods? If so, then that would be outright a terrible abomination or sacrilege, at most. Even the thought of it, is somewhat unnerving. 

Either way, what we mortals need are devoted gods who will show a little compassion to the human race, for we already live in a cruel world, full of pain and sorrow. Thus, what good will it do to us, to have unsympathetic gods who are quick to punish us for every little thing? Needless to say, we humans are not perfect, and as a result, are prone to making mistakes. Hence, we need affectionate gods who will step in to help us, and not castigate us every chance they get. Ultimately, we do not need gods who are indifferent to the human race, but we need gods who are benevolent.