THE HUNTING

THE HUNTING

THE HUNTING

It was the darkness in his stare, and the danger in his eyes, which made my heart skip a beat. Moreover, it was the slither in his walk, that made me cringe. As a matter of fact, it was his cold smile, that convinced me of the evil living in this decepticon, as if a serpentine entity had seeped through his body, and taken over his entire nature. But, why had I not noticed this phenomenon before? Perhaps his heedless charm had masked his psycho persona, or could it have been the imposter syndrome he had so cleverly cloaked? Indeed, this man was a class actor, always the victim, but never the villain. I am not so sure but something eerie about this fraud screamed danger inside my bones. In like manner, the dark cloud that hanged over his head, brought in the negative energy through him, that made him appear as if accursed. Yet, what mostly gave him away was how strangely silent he became, almost mute, never speaking, always mirroring, a manslayer, often bayed upon innocent souls, trying to snuff out their light, which irritated his demons.

Again, the devil was in the smallest of details of this fibster, an empty shell of a man, a brutish creep, hiding his true nature behind a myriad of masks, camouflaging his venomous nature inside a callous smile, an incessant charmer, disguising his covert affairs in plain view, a shape-shifter, a two-headed serpent, one way in the sun, and another under the moonlight. I tell you once more, that evil lurked in this villain, the kind of evil that could be only be unveiled through the vision of the third eye. A dangerous foe this phony was, like a snake hidden deep in the grass, he barely showed his dirty hand. Moreover, he seemed mentally distorted, continuously fighting the imaginary, and at times engaging with shadowy figures, as though he harbored malevolent entities, in the ways he worshipped danger and glorified death, in the times he smoked weed and popped pills, in the moments he was bent on hanging around the women of the night, and drunk himself to a stupor, as though he itched to soak in everything diabolic.

Yet, how did this cheat manage to have everybody fooled? Just like a smooth criminal, he knew how to cage one with his allure, chain another up with his lies and deceit, and play the other false with his devious games. Unfortunately for me, I was once a victim of this dark villain. Long before my fatal encounter with this rebel, I was a happy-go-lucky type of girl, with sunflowers and rainbows in my head, and daydreaming about a beautiful tomorrow. Little did I know that, I had both attracted this wretch into my sunny life. This foul barbarian unleashed the monster that was laying quietly inside of me, the moment he dug his killer fangs in me, as a result; took away my innocence, killed my virtue, and changed my persona, by conjuring up darkness that threatened to dim the light that was shining inside of me. All over sudden, the world did not seem so rosy anymore. Consequently, the pain and heartache made me slip into the realm of gloom, while the sorrow and shame dimmed the light in me, forcing me to sink further into obscurity, and deep into the edge of extinction.

As a consequence, I embarked on a witch hunt against this scammer, and in my quest for retribution, I switched into combat-mode, and morphed into a hellion. It was an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, or nothing at all. He did not see me coming at all, on account of I did not let him see the bitter storm that was churning inside of me. The truth is that I was terribly scorned, and nothing could silence the harmful thoughts that screamed inside my head. On the contrary, I was all up in arms, ready to teach this imp a lesson, and finally put him in his rightful place, below my feet. At first, I played it cool, like the naïve girl that I once was, watching this fiend with keen intent, while he gave himself away bit by bit. I became intentional with every step I took, and every move I made, with a mission to bring down this marauder once and for all. Furthermore, I spied, and stalked this predator every single day, plotting, and planning behind his back, hoping to hit him where it hurt the most. Unbeknownst to him, the hunter had become the hunted.

What’s more, I could not help forming in the mouth, every time I came into contact with him. My ultimate desire was to put this devil on a stranglehold. Subsequently, I went too far with my revenge plan, which took the wrong turn for the worst. In a moment, somewhere between plotting and planning for his demise, I slipped in to the sunken place, where my sanity left me, as if something took a hold of me, as if another being had taken over me, as if there was an intruder inside my head, over-shadowing my will power, and ultimately causing me to bend to his will. Needless to say, the spirit of revenge had consumed me to the point of destruction, and in my quest for avengement, I let the devil in, and he began wreaking havoc in my life. All I felt was deep hate for everyone and everything, and I was not able to mask it, no matter how hard I tried to. Consequently, my visage drastically changed, from a brown glow to a black crow.

All in all, I continued to viciously stalk this selfish goon all over town, inadvertently mutated into his image, and by mirroring his motives, I had become him. Necessarily, I closed my eyes tight shut, to block the ugly realization from roaming in my head. Why would God not understand my intentions? All I wanted was to expose this man for all the terrible crimes he was guilty of. The more I obsessed about this rogue, the more I got traumatized by night terrors, even in broad daylight. A day in the wake of my miserable existence, I must have fallen into deep sleep, when the sight of an angel overpowered me. He was on flight, carrying my numb body away from the shadows, and towards the sun. I was confused, with many questions in my head, but before I could get to question him about anything, the rays of the sun soaked me to my core, cut the energetic chords, which tied me to this wretch, and for once in many months, I felt like myself again.

When I awoke from deep slumber, the throbbing pain in my head was gone, and so was my insatiable need to self-destruct. My mind became so clear, that I stifled the urge to burst into a song. In a word, the nightmare was over. All I needed was another peaceful night sleep. As for the grifter, I never saw him again. There was a wild rumor, that he had mysteriously vanished overnight. Nonetheless, I am fully convinced that karma took him far down the realm of justice.

 

TAMA ISLAND

 TAMA ISLAND

TAMA ISLAND

I have many vivid memories about the late Mama Joe, which are mostly preserved inside the faded pictures, taken by her on Tama Island, more than three decades ago. What I remember most about her, is that she was a skeptic to the core, doubting every news worthy information that emanated from her retro sixties antique ham radio. Forget the colourful rainbows that lit up the sky of Tama Island, all Mama Joe ever witnessed were grey skies, which spelled gloom and doom. As cynical as she was, you would have had to convince the aged crone that water is life, for she would not have believed it, not until she consulted her tarot cards or her effigy dolls, over the same. Consequently, it was inevitable that only her four worn-out raggedy dolls would dictate her every waking move. What’s more, Mama Joe had a murky shrine, dedicated to her four staffed juju dolls, for whom she conferred to about everything in the world.

As a fifteen-year-old, it was my very first moment in the twilight zone, the very day I stepped into Mama Joe's compound on Tama Island, where abnormal things happened so very often. At first, I thought that Mama Joe was somewhat strange, with her gothic demenour, and her love for all things spooky. Nonetheless, the known medium was at the time, a sexagenarian, who was not an ordinary person. As a matter of fact, being normal was not how I would describe Mama Joe's odd personality. Even her dress code gave out witchy vibes, like some sort of a shamanic priestess, one who resembles a witcheress, with an insatiable thirst for the underworld. Contrary to popular belief, Mama Joe was not a blood relative of mine. In truth, she was my uncle Fred’s next door neighbour, a forlorn widow, and an ever-grieving mother, who lost both her husband and her only son to a tragic boating accident, on the hermitic island. Perhaps that was the reason why the dowager was pessimistic about life.

Regrettably, Mama Joe was shunned by almost everyone on Tama Island, due to the fear of her rumoured cold sorcery. However, my uncle Fred did not buy into any gossip tales peddled on by the natives of the remote island. Instead, he dismissed the idle talk at the grapevine about the matriarch, as nothing but an old wives’ tales. Needless to say, I also ignored the rumour mills, on account of my innocence, and made an odd friendship with the famed widow, for the sole reason that I did not have any friend close to my age, to communicate with at the time. Moreover, Mama Joe was also a gifted seamstress, and a skillful weaver, who was known for crafting the most beautiful handbags to come from the tiny island. As a matter of fact, I credit her for teaching me the art of weaving rugs, delicately binding various threads with masterly precision, an artistry I could not master, no matter how hard I tried. Nonetheless, it was Mama Joe’s folk stories about ancient cultures, as well as the legends of old, are what I lived for most. Remarkably, Mama Joe could spin a tale, better than yarn, such that you would think that she existed during those dark ages. “How do you know of these primal cultures?", I asked Mama Joe, bewildered at her accuracy on the facts and figures of the ancient world, of which she brushed off my blatant skepticism, with a loud shrug. "Pfft! My visions and dreams of the ancient world, are as real, as you and I are alive, my dear", she offered proudly, leaving me more confused than ever before.

I was tolerant of Mama Joe's narratives, because they were to me a form of entertainment, in a remote-set island, where everything about the odd woman was more interesting, than the island itself. However, her constant communication with her four doe-eyed bantu dolls, was a cause for concern for me. It was as if the dolls were all in our conversations, where Mama Joe had a built miniature shrine for them in every room, inside her makuti house. “Do you not approve of these coloured sisal skirts I made for you my sisters?", she questioned the lulu dolls in my hearing, one of those awkward moments, while we were bonding over another folklore session. Suddenly, the hairs on my neck stood up, soon as I saw, at the corner of my eye, the khaki-made dolls seemed to have slightly moved. I could not say with certainty that I saw what I saw, but the flight reaction I experienced in that passing moment, was proof of what I thought I saw. "Mama Joe, your sisters moved!", I swiftly spoke, pointing to the stuffed dolls set on a shrine in front of me. At first, Mama Joe did not believe me, until she saw the paralyzed look at my face, and decided to quickly change the subject, in order to deflect from the topic at hand. "It is impossible for dolls to move my dear. Besides, you are tired, and it is getting late. Therefore, you should head home, before your uncle comes looking for you", she dismissed me with such finality, that I began to second-guess myself, and if what I had witnessed was just a figment of my own imagination.

Later that night, I could not help but wonder about Mama Joe and her four mystery dolls. Afterall, I was just an impressionable fifteen-year-old, with a curious mind, and a raw intuition. Moreover, I did not want the tattlers to get wind of Mama Joe’s poppet dolls, and hence find reason to attack her life all the more. Therefore, I kept Mama Joe’s secret to myself, with the hope that her dilly dolls were nothing more than just vintage dolls. The very next day, I was reluctant to visit Mama Joe, for fear of her bizarre dolls, yet I did not want to miss out on her wild goose-chase stories, because what other form of entertainment was there, besides her goofy adventures? As I arrived at her compound, she motioned me to follow her to her farm, which I did. "You are late today, Betty. A big girl like you, should not be given to much sleep, for it is not proper", she scoffed at me, while she hurriedly walked in front of me, while I ran, in order to catch up to her fast pace. “I am sorry Mama Joe, good morning, and I will not be late again", I replied, while out of breath, and ashamed of my lateness. We never spoke again, until we reached the farm. While walking behind her, I keenly watched, as she trotted ahead of me, and it became apparent that her attitude towards me had slightly changed, because of the yester incident with her four creepy dolls.

Nonetheless, I was determined not to let that chilling episode deter me from our budding relationship.  After hours of harvesting plantains from her farmland, we slowly headed back to her house, for another educational session. As usual, I learnt many things in the journey to antiquity, only this time, I was so tired from the day’s work, that I must have dozed off for a moment, only to wake up to a moonlit sky, and Mama Joe's house was as silent as a grave. I woke up with a start, from a short nap, as I struggled to stand up, in order to find Mama Joe, and perhaps apologize for sleeping on the job. As I staggered drowsily from room to room, while trying to find her, I heard voices chatting from a room, at the corner of her makuti house. At first, I did not think much of it, but when I peered into the room, I saw four figures, of four females, sat at the table beside a shrine, next to Mama Joe, speaking in hush tones, so as not to be heard. I saw in the full light of the moon, four silhouettes of feminine figures, alien in nature, like the four esoteric mystics, breaking bread with Mama Joe, while speaking in unison, as if they shared a voice, with four distinct tone variations.

As I approached the door the room, they all turned to look at me, all vivid, as if they were real life Martians. "Come my child, do not be afraid of my sisters", said Mama Joe calmly to me, with a plastered smile on her face, while the female version of the four eerie doll-like extraterrestrial beings stood up in unison, as if to welcome me, with big black oval eyes staring back at me. As you have guessed it, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, back to my uncle’s house, screaming my lungs off, and scurried under my safari bed. That night, I left Tama Island, never to be seen again. As for Mama Joe, I recently heard that she had joined her ancestors, some years back, and that everything she owned, was buried under her makuti house, including her bantu dolls.

GET RICH OR DIE TRYING, AFRICAN STYLE!

 GET RICH OR DIE TRYING, AFRICAN STYLE!

GET RICH OR DIE TRYING, AFRICAN STYLE!

There are many ways to getting riches, and Africans have been scheming their way to wealth, since before the invention of the infamous get rich or die trying slogan. In order to get in, where you fit in, there are some crucial rules to follow. But before you make it to opulence, you have to know that being your authentic self is a dream killer, and anybody preaching to you of the same, either has not made it in life, or has given up on life. Anyway, you have to be both book smart and street smart, in order to attract the kind of wealth you desire. Similarly, it is not easy to cheat your way into riches, as there are many rivers to cross, to get to Richland. Nonetheless, if you are a brave heart, then there is nothing impossible for you to achieve in your lifetime. All you have to do is, follow the golden rabbit, into its rich nesting burrow. 

First and foremost, you need a good education, to match your new found title, as well as your killer moniker, should you wish to make it to Richville. Who in Africa, pray tell, does not respect a learned fellow, by the name of Barrister Koffi Mensa or Doctor Nina Okello? All you have to do is let all the clergy of your parent church, in on your budding achievements, while rubbing their influential hands with some gold butter, and watch how they break forth and sing your praises to their congregation, and the entire community. What’s more, if you need to go to the top right quick, then the Church is the place to go, for there is nothing more beneficial like free publicity, and we all could use the available connections out there. Secondly, you have to know how to blend in with all your connections. Here, charm and charisma are the tools of trade you put to use, in order to solidify your networks. Society says that flattery will get you anywhere, so therefore, flattery is the skill you must use to get into the hearts of your major networks. While flattery is one of the keys, which opens the door to wealthy places, on the other hand, charm and charisma are other keys that help you stay in those rich spaces.

Do you still want to get rich, or die trying? Well, the skills mentioned above, are the tricks of the trade you will need to master, in order get to the very core of that wealthy mine. Once you have access to some solid connections, the third most crucial thing to do is, to learn how to season your speeches. In other words, learn how to conversate like an aristocrat, and while you are at it, bourgie your way to Suburbia. What this means is that fake an accent, any accent, as long as it is foreign, preferably American, which is common, widespread, and much easier on the African tongue. However, do not go into far deep with it, as you may break into barriers, you cannot lift yourself from. You may not believe this, but here in Africa, people who have a western education, are perceived to be smart, well-cultured, and polished intellectuals. Therefore, in your quest to get rich or die trying, there is need to embellish all your credentials, in order to suit your new acquired accent.

Needless to say, do not attempt to adapt a British accent, as it is quite a challenge for Africans to master it correctly. That is the reason why the American accent is the go-to accent for any African who wants to fake it, to make it. Consequently, when your new found accent correlates with your credentials, then step three comes to play, where you chase for that gold mine job of your dreams. At this point, your connections come in handy, however do not pursue a top-level job position without the proper networks on the ground. In a word, you have to be strategic in how you manoeuvre your way to the top, and sheer luck does not get you where you need to go half of the time. In short, you need a straight connect, someone who will get you to the door, and into your dream destination. However, this is not an easy task to achieve, as you have to be street savvy, in order to get the breakthrough, you desire. But once your tricks and treats get you through the door, then you will have struck a gold mine, that will grant you access to a life full of endless possibilities.

Meanwhile, this is a word of caution for all you that are haggling for wealth and power, is that it is not easy to stay on top, once you get there. Hence, your benevolence will play a part in you staying at the top, and by benevolence, I do mean playing the charity card. To put it plainly, you have to give, in order to receive. This clearly means that you must publicize your good deeds, and particularly so on social media, in order to survive, as part of your get rich, or die trying quick scheme. Again, it is not easy to stay on top of your game by sheer luck. Consequently, you must use what you have, to get what you want, and stay where you are.

However, if all else fails, then the quickest way to the top is either marrying into wealth, or selling your soul for material wishes. Keep in mind that the devil does not care about your education, credentials, beauty, or fake accent. On the contrary, he wants your most precious possession, in order to grant you all your wishes, and make your dreams come true. Again, how badly do you want to get rich? Just know that through this devilish path, it will cost you everything, including your very life, just to make it to the top. Thus, remember that there is nothing for nothing, in the devil's lair, as you must pay heavily, in order to eat out of his pot.

Finally, there may be a better way to getting rich, without killing yourself in the process. However, this path does not include all the above shenanigans, for it is a long and winding process to get to the proverbial Canaan. Similarly, this path is narrow, and with deep lessons to learn from. Also, this path requires a close walk with God, one that is built on faith, patience, and a healthy prayer life. Needless to say, there are no short cuts, or cutting corners, when building lasting wealth. This is the reason why many people do not like this narrow path, for it is boring, tedious, and mostly time consuming. Nonetheless, this narrow path is one that ultimately leads one to great and lasting wealth.

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BREAK-UPS DECODED

 

BREAK-UPS DECODED

BREAK-UPS DECODED

There are so many reasons as to why ex-partners break up and part ways with their past significant others. Well, I have managed to decode a few of those logical thoughts, from a female perspective, and translate them into human form, for basic understanding, especially for the sake of the male folk. However, this does not mean that much of the rationale put forth in this creative piece, is the gospel truth. On the contrary, the ground reasons for break-ups shared on this write-up, are majorly based on practical experience of yours truly, on account of having been on the dating scene longer than most, and also being a social observer of the behavioral patterns of mankind. Needless to say, this is a Betty Baijun's still in the wood-works, exclusive female communicative translation manual. Therefore, do not knock it, until you try it.

To all you gentlemen of dating age, when a female tells you that the she decided to part ways amicably with her ex-partner, what she means is that she had long friend-zoned her ex-lover into the ‘let us just be friends with benefits’ box, long before he developed the guts to ask her out, and that the only reason why she complied with his romantic gesture, was simply for a temporary love tangle, which means that he was a safe bet for a rebound connection. That is why, there was no bad blood, or love lost in their short term situationship. As for her lover, well, the opportunity to date her was too good to pass, albeit short lived, yet it was worth his while. Similarly, another possibility for their break up would have been that both parties parted ways, particularly so when they got bored with one another, but were too diplomatic to use the term boring, as a description of their short-lived rendezvous.

Moreover, when you overhear a woman say of her ex-lover that, "He was not my type", what she means is that she dumped him, for the sole reason that her usual type is that tall, dark, and handsome money type, one who is filthy rich, and the kind who can afford her excesses, without a flinch, or batting an eyelid. Hence, her leaving him may have also been strategic, because she might have already bagged a wealthy guy, in the process of dating an average one, and hence was forced to jump ship mid-way, in order to secure the big fish. Another possibility of their break up, would have been that her ex did not do her bidding, and as long as she was not able to wrap that kind of man around her little finger, in a way to control him, then he was automatically disqualified from being her type.

Likewise, gentlemen, when a lady friend says to you concerning her previous partner that, “We did not click", what she means is that, he did not tickle her fancy at all, for the reason that he was as boring, as watching paint dry on a wall. Nonetheless, she did not want to break his heart by stating the obvious. Thus, she gave him a flimsy excuse as to why she was bailing out on him, by gradually bread-crumbing him, until he got the message loud and clear, and proceeded to the nearest exit. Another plausible reason for their break up was that, she did not click with her ex-lover, because she did not appreciate his dry sense of humour, or his constant need to talk in excruciating details, about his career as an Actuary. On the contrary, she would have clicked with someone else more interesting, hence the sudden disinterest in her former partner.

In like manner, when a woman says of her old flame that, "We did not agree on anything", what she means is that her ambitions must have driven her ex-lover up the wall, such that he felt emasculated, got extremely insecure, caved in and called the relationship quits. Indeed, this is a classic case of a hyper independent woman dating an insecure male, who constantly spied on her every move, and when he could not cope with her free spirit vibes, he was forced to dip out of the relationship pre-maturely, instead of sticking to his guns, in order to make their relationship work.  In the same way, when a woman says of her ex-partner that, "We did not see eye to eye", what she means is that their clash of egos was too volatile to be ignored, and since none of them was willing to back down for the other, the relationship died a natural death. This is a common phenomenon, of two alphas, who are batting heads, where dominance is their reward. However, when both mates refuse to compromise, then hell breaks loose, where both parties are forced to part ways, with no room for redemption.

Comparably, when a woman says of her former flame that, "We needed a break", she means she was suffocating inside the toxic relationship, because she could not catch a break to save her life, while she was busy slaving for his love and affection, and since he did not value her enough, to honour her with a ring, if not his love, she was forced to take a step back, allow him to miss her enough for him to come back to his senses, and wife her up immediately. Equivalently, when a woman says of her ex-partner that, "We parted ways, citing irreconcilable differences", what she means is that, if that man dared to come five inches of her face, she would blast him to smithereens. This phrase, irreconcilable differences, basically means, "Stay away from me, if you know what is good for you!" It is anger, mixed with rage, plus temporary insanity, which makes for a lethal weapon. Even legalists will quickly tell you that, that phrase is also for their own protection, just in case things, meaning court proceedings, go south, because of heated arguments and fights between former lovers, turned haters.

Lastly, I would like to reiterate that whatever information that I have shared with you, should not be considered as the gospel truth. As a matter of fact, I am just sharing my own sentiments, with regards to relationships. In other words, this is my own perspective, added to my own personal experience, to make a juicy mix of this subjective creative piece of writing. Therefore, read this article for entertainment purposes only.