Chapter 1
‘Objection your honour’
‘Overuled. The accused ,can you please answer the question’.
“Alcohol is not my problem your honour. In fact I enjoy it’
Mr Petersen, the accused teen molester, a school cleaner and a talented organist at church. He could play organ his eyes closed and it sounded so faultless. He looked very thin and flimsy. Tall and dark skinned with very dark lips and fingers. His back was long and straight, and a long skinny neck hanging on his shoulders revealing a bundle of neurones and arteries. He was only thirty-eight years but looked as if he was born seven decades earlier. Emilia, the victim was just eighteen, a beautiful girl full of the joys of spring.
Mr Petersen was an alcoholic and a chain-smoker, an ex-combatant, born in exile and employed at Black Love High as a cleaner. As the oldest member at school and a freedom fighter, he never took orders from anyone, not even the headmaster, Mr Jacob Pigs.
Around the school premises was a big mango tree, a daily venue for his smoking break. The main staffroom, next to the door, was his chair. Next to his chair, on his right, was a small stool and that is where he could put his lunch box every morning. His daily routine was very predictable, smoke, eat, clean a little bit and dose-off. His food had a terrible smell, and it was usually a dozen of caterpillars with vegetables soup or fish with beans or two frogs with Mahangu porridge.
Due to his excessive intake of traditional beer known as tombo, his health suffered a great deal. He smoked cigarette as if his life depended on it. Doctors, in their effort to make him quit smoking failed, quitting was temporal. At school, he could go to the mango tree and smoke heavily, came back to the main office for his food. After his stomach is filled, he could tell stories. All he ever talked about was his days in combat and that he was a captain of the second battalion.
Many teachers had no more interest to listen to his story, only teacher Sacky. He could listen to Mr Petersen stories just to provoke his colleagues. The more irritated teachers became, the more questions teacher Sacky asked, and the more energized Mr Petersen became. The- duplicates could laugh uproariously.
Teacher Sacky had identical behavior as Mr Petersen, at the age of forty, Sacky still lives with his mother. He showed no sign of finding his own wife and accommodation. All he had was a wooden bed and a Panasonic monster stereo that become a nuisance to his neighbours. He was hopeless, a fool at forty is a fool forever.
Rumours has it, at university, he graduated top in his class, and every year he received awards as a best performing teacher. His principal loved him, for he believed a good mind possesses a kingdom.
His professional duties and his social life, surely it was cats and mouse. He finished his salary before he even got paid. His salary made his life very difficult for him. You know what they say, a fool and his money are soon parted. Last year he bought a car and it was a real lemon, it never completed its first trip from home and school.
Sacky was the war veteran’s partner in crime. Now you can imagine why he enjoyed Mr Petersen’s fake tale. He defended Mr Petersen as if he was his attorney.
“Just because he is paperweight and looks sick, who knows he might be telling the true. Remember a black plum is as sweet as a white” teacher Sacky smiled.
One day, he came to school with a picture, an ancient passport photo of a very handsome man, claiming to be himself. Teachers laughed their heads off, and he saw red. Renate, huge and short, nearly choked to death with laughter and this frustrated Mr. Petersen some more.
’No wonder you are fat, you are always stuffing your face”
“No wonder you are so thin, what is so bad that food has done to you?” Renate, cleaner by profession smiled as she swallowed an unreasonable piece of meat.
“Go to hell and tell the devil I am not coming”. Said Petersen out of anger.
“After you.” Renate whispered
That day, Mr. Petersen left work earlier. The next day, still very angry, came straight to the office, put his food on the stool and went to sit under his tree for a heavy smoke. After rolling and smoking two of his long cigarettes, he came back to the main office, took one caterpillar, briefly swallowed. He returned to his tree, smoked the third cigarette. That day he never talked to anyone, he moved from the tree for a smoke and office for his food.
Days passed, his health started provoking him, and he looked so fragile that it was obvious any minute, he could kick the bucket. Teachers did all humanly possible about his smoking habit, they all failed. He was so addicted that even though the cigarette made him so weak and sick, it was a little too late to step down from the throne of death. Slowly but surely, Mr Petersen was smoking his life off.
Wednesday afternoon, Mr Jacob found him smoking his cigarette with some tears.
’Why are you crying Mr Lubinda?”
“Please help me, I really need to stop this thing but I can’t, please help” He coughed some pieces of meat, which might have been a piece from his alveoli. Out of pain and irritation, he crushed his own rolled cigarette with his thumb.
“You see Mr Lubinda, those are your lungs, you serious need to stop smoking else that thing will kill you, and beside your court cases is due in few days’ time, you need to stay health and focused. Tobacco is not a vegetable, it kills.”
Rumour has it, the night before, he fainted at his place, and this was due to a lack of oxygen and awful weakness. His home and school, was just meters away, but walking to and from school was so difficult. He could walk for few minutes, he sits, especially after work, when it was very hot. One day at church as he was playing the opening hymn he coughed and that made a reflex dizziness. He coughed again, and again, and again. The cough was so deep and heavy, that the church went dead silent. Pieces of meat started coming with every cough, those pieces could have been any organ of his respiratory system that had lost the battle from tar. He was taken to the hospital, and his case was postponed.
In the village, Mr Lubinda, Mr Petersen’s older brother could not come to visit his sick brother in hospital. He was waiting for his son, Johannes returning from South Africa. Johannes returned from South Africa, he disappeared thirteen years ago. That day, Mr Lubinda instructed his wife to kill Steve, the cock. As quickly and as loud as her voice could reach, Mrs Lubinda called, “Marley, Marley, you! Bob Marley”
“Yes ma’am, I am coming ma’am” she replied. “I am not Bob Marley’” She whispered out of great annoyance as she hated it when people add 'Bob' to her name. I am Marley Godspeed, not Bob Marley.”
As fast as her two legs could compete, Marley the servant bowed down before her master.
“Do I really have to call you three times? What is it with you and your ears?” Mrs Lubinda washing her three-legged monster pot.”
“Sorry ma’am, I was still feeding the chickens.”
“It’s ok. Just pay attention next time. kill a chicken for my son.”
“What about your husband madam, he doesn't like his chickens been slaughtered?”
“Do as I say.”
Marley was left with no choice but to follow the master’s order. The scene seeing his chicken been slaughtered was so emotional for Mr Lubinda seated meters away having his traditional beer. He shed a few tears, he could not stand the sight of his chicken been slaughtered. He picked his Machete, and whistled to alert his dog named Hitler for a walk into the nearby woods.
After everything was cooked, respectable villagers gathered at the Lubinda’s, have to welcome Johannes, and to eat and drink. Mr Jonas gave a speech.
“Neighbours, friends and family, welcome, welcome and welcome. May this be home far away from home; let us celebrate ourselves in honour of our dear son. This is my brother, my father and his father shared one great grandfather. The boy who is celebrated as a man today is my nephew; he just arrived from South Africa today. I am sure everyone knows that South Africa is a beautiful country, though they colonised us, they are still our neighbour. It is this same South Africa that made my boy, Johannes a man, a respected son of this community. He is the first to own a bicycle in this neighbourhood.” At that time, villagers were whispering to each other.
“A bicycle, what is that supposes to mean?”
“Yes, yes beloved, a bicycle. When I was told my brother’s son came with a bicycle, I had no idea what that was. I wanted to see with my own naked eyes. Johannes, my son, can you please bring your bicycle.”
Poo, poo, poo. Pooooooooo. Johannes, pressing the two round things in front of his falcon challenger.
“The great son of the soil” Said Mr Jonas.
Everyone started applauding in excitement. Little did Johannes know that everything about him and his bicycle was not welcome.
Three days after the mini celebration, Johannes travelled to the city to buy some groceries. On his bicycle, he cycled with passion and vigour. With a message from his father, he made a turn at the hospital to visit his uncle, Mr Petersen. His condition was not improving at all.
After a short visit at the hospital, Johannes, with goods on his bicycle hurried home. It was a struggle carrying all those items on his ride.
Few meters to his parents’ house, passed-by a Well, were villagers’ fetched water. At the Well, he asked for some water. The Well was nicely plastered, made of bricks, almost a meter high. Tired as he was, he sat at the edge of the Well. As he rested, to gain his momentum, he was bitten by a black scorpion. Out of pain, he jumped and boom, water down the well splashing, Johannes landed breathless.
People started screaming, running and shouting. “Johannes, the South African is gone.”
Mrs Lubinda could not believe her eyes, “They have succeeded. They have killed my only son.”
Mrs Lubinda had a crying signature, she could roll around the ground, kicking her legs and talking, and many felt provoked by her crying style. As soon as she started crying, many left. As for Mr Lubinda, he stood rooted to the well, in the view of his son carpeting the water. In his hand was his walking stick. Mrs Lubinda, made so many attempts to throw herself into the well, but young men couldn’t allow her to fulfil her fleeting madness. Few minutes later, Mr Jonas arrived. Mr Lubinda, seeing Mr Jonas, threw his walking stick, removed his vest and shoes in an attempt to jump into the well. He knew well, Mr Jonas will not allow him to fulfil his acts. “Do that and no one will stop you.” Said Mr Jonas
It was chaos in the village, police came for their investigation, and the corpse was taken to the mortuary. That same day, Mr Lubinda received the news that his brother in hospital, Mr Petersen just died. The old man was confused beyond belief, as for his wife, she mourned as if it was the end of the world.
A day after the unfortunate death of Johannes and the expected death of Mr Petersen, the Rector of Ikumwe congregation, Mr Alex died. He was burnt to death by lightening in his house. The assistance Rector, Priest Duncan conducted the funeral service. Johannes, Mr Petersen and Priest Alex were laid to rest the same day.
“Death means the ending of this life, it is the result of sin” said Priest Duncan.
Death itself is feared by many, but if you believe in God, death is relatively calm and peaceful. As God’s own faithful children, we should remain on alert at all time. Even though I walk through the valley of Death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff, they comfort Me. (Psalm 23:4). Death leadeth to everlasting life.
As we gather mourning the death of our beloved Priest, our beloved organist, and our dear brother, we should remain grateful to God, always thank the lord, for he knows what is best for us all. We should indeed celebrate their lives. They lived with us and we bear witness to their acts upon the face of this earth. Yes, indeed, they will never walk the face of this earth, but one day in God own fashion, we shall talk and laugh again.
They paved the way that leadeth to their own salvation, and that should give us comfort. Hardship and pain are their past, but us dear brethren, we should watch and pray for when death approached our door step findeth us ready. Living in this world is our journey not our destiny, we are visitors and one day we shall return home. Their journey is to paradise not hell. Let us walk in faith and we shall find favour with God. May their gentle soul rest in peace’ Amen”
After the death of the Rector of Ikumwe congregation, the congregation remained without a Rector. Knowing that the Lord is rich in houses and land, the congregation remained steadfast under the leadership of Priest Duncan in his acting capacity. “God’s time is the best, they believed.”
Two days after the burial, Mr Jonas came asking for Johannes’s bicycle. Even though, Mr Lubinda was somehow reluctant, Mr Jonas was very persuasive, he was given the bicycle. On his way home from the farm, pushing the bicycle as he never knew how to cycle, carrying five big watermelons.
“Old man, who gave you permission to push my bicycle around?” He could hear the voice, but could not figure out which direction. This continued for some minutes, and then two men appeared from nowhere, it was Johannes and Priest Alex.
Regardless of how old he was, he tracked as fast as he could, leaving the bicycle. At home no one believed him.
“Just bring back my son’s bicycle.” Lament Mrs Lubinda
“What type of nonsense is that? You claim to have seen my son and the Priest, what about my brother Petersen? I don’t want any problem with you, just go back there, to whom ever you sold my son’s bicycle and buy it back.”
The bicycle was gone, Villagers looked almost everywhere, but no luck.
A year later, as children were walking their way to school, they saw Johannes on his bicycle, riding at an incredible speed. The boys, Matt, Henry and Raphael couldn’t believe their own eyes. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Who could have believed Matt, Henry and Raphael? The trio happened to be very dull and dumb learners at school, dull and stupid. All they did well is shooting birds and beating others. Matt was the biggest, and the dumbest of the trio, he was the boss.
“We saw Johannes on that thing, fast and furious.” Explains Matt
“Yes, Mrs Lubinda, the bicycle was making, Poo, pooo, pooo’ pooooooo.” Raphael imitating the sound of what he heard.
“I said it, I said it.” Said Mr Jonas
“Mr Jonas, don’t tell me you believe these good for nothing boys.” Mr Lubinda lifting high his walking stick in an attempt to startle the trio.
Who could have believed those boys, everyone in the village thought they knew nothing, even their parents.
A week later, the boys Matt, Henry and Raphael, walking their way home after school. Raphael stopped, touching Matt on his shoulder and whispered, 'Shiii, quite'
“What?” Henry asked
“I think I hear something very fast coming; it sounds like those big bird flying around. Can you hear that?” Matt, whispered again
“No, we can’t hear anything.” Raphael whispered back
Just as the boys were talking, the bicycle passed; on it was Johannes and Priest Alex, poo, poo, poo, pooooooo, vuuuuuuuu… it varnished into thin air.
The boys ran home, but who could have believed the likes of Matt, Henry and Raphael. As usual no one believed them, and this continued.
One Sunday morning as Mary and Catalaya were coming from church, they too saw Johannes on his bicycle. Both girls dropped school in grade seven, now sixteen years, with a family to look after. Mary had two children, Catalaya had three, two boys and a girl. One could say they were triplet, but each lived nine month in the womb alone.
“We saw Johannes today on his bicycle.” Catalaya explained, but she was ignored.
Thursday afternoon, villagers gathered at school, receiving relief food from the government, witnessed Johannes’s and his bicycle, some distance away under a Mango tree. At that time Johannes‘s parents were away to their farm.
“It is Johannes and Priest Alex.” Mr Jonas titled his head to the sound
“Yes it is Johannes and priest Alex.” That was all that could be heard from everyone’s lips.
Later during the day, villagers informed Mr and Mrs Lubinda what they had witnessed but couldn’t believe them and informed anyone to let their son to rest in peace.
That time, Mrs Lubinda moved from the traditional mat, started rolling on the ground, kicking and shouting.
“I really hate the way this woman cries” Said Veronica; her greatest enemy in the village. The two were greatest of friends, attended school together until grade two where they both dropped. Rumour had it that Mrs Lubinda took away Mr Lubinda from Veronica.
Johannes then alone on the bicycle, started revealing himself more often but never revelled to his parents. A traditional doctor was consulted, and all he said was, Johannes was killed for his bicycle. As for priest Alex, he was never seen again in the village.
Priest Alex died a horrible death. Sunday after church, he went to town with his wife. The sky was blue and clear, only the brightness of the sun. When he returned, he sat under the Marula tree with his wife and two of his neighbour, eating maize, telling stories and singing some church songs. At around four-thirty, a small cloud appeared in the sky, it started raining. Priest Alex never took it seriously; they were no signs of serious rain. His wife, Hendrina, escorted Mrs James. The Priest rushed to his house as the rain started making some scary sound.
Thirty minutes later, the Priest’s wife returning from her friend’s house, saw her house burnt down to ashes. Inside was the Priest, burnt beyond recognition.
“Priest Alex and Johannes died a mysterious death, their spirits will never rest, and they seek for vengeance” Said the traditional doctor
“What about my brother Petersen who killed him?”
“Rather ask, what killed him. Do you mean to tell me you don’t know what happened to Petersen?” Mrs Lubinda walked away. To her, her husband asked a silly question. 'Petersen smoked his life' She said a distance away, imitating how he used to hold his cigarettes.
One day, Priest Duncan, a Zambian by nationality was shopping with his wife, Elizabeth. A spirit was passing, it was Johannes. Quickly Priest Duncan pushed him behind the shelves.
“What are you looking for here young man, go and rest” Said Priest Duncan.
“Can you see me sir?” Johannes asked
“Yes young man I can see you.”
“Are you also...”
“Dead. I died ten years ago in Zambia” Priest Duncan putting his bible on the shelve.
Just as Johannes and the Priest were talking, Priest Alex arrived.
“You!’ exclaim Priest Duncan
“What have I done to you?” asked priest Alex
“You were standing in my way for promotion at church, I had to eliminate you.”
“Could you have found a quicker and less painful way to do that? Do you have any idea how it felt that day?”
“But it is over now. Go and rest”
“You are right, I have to go and rest. The Good Lord will deal with you. Johannes let us go; God will deal with your Uncle. Come brother paradise awaits us.”
“What about my bicycle?” Johannes asked
'You don’t need that take it back to your Uncle'
