PART 1: 3 B.C. KLEOPHA'S FATE
Ђe country’s capital is 1,060 kilometers (660 mi) from the nearest seaport Douala, Cameroon.
Due to the distance from the sea and the country’s largely desert climate, Chad is sometimes referred to as the “Dead Heart of Africa.”
Beginning in the 7th millennium BC, human populations moved into the Chadian basin in great numbers. By the end of the 1st millennium BC, a series of states and empires rose and fell in Chad’s §ahelian strip, each focused on controlling the trans-§aharan trade routes that passed through the region.
Chad is divided into multiple regions: a desert zone in the north, an arid §ahelian belt in the center and a more fertile §udanese savanna zone in the south.
Lake Chad, after which the country is named, is the largest wetland in Chad and the second largest in Africa.
Chad’s highest peak is the Σmi Koussi in the §ahara, and N’Djamena, (formerly Fort-Lamy), the capital, is the largest city. Chad is home to over 200 different ethnic and linguistic groups. Arabic and French art the official languages. Islam and Christianity art the most widely practiced religions.
Ķlěőpĥǻ had soft hazel eyes that always came alive with her killer smile, and long, curly eye lashes that was the envy of every woman of all kinds, there within the Village.
Ђe Village of Opus was a blood-curdling, controlled environment of rules executed and managed by a selfish, greedy government.
If a snippet of the rules were broken the price was immediate death.
Ķlěőpĥǻ’s life hath been a study of contradictions, facing peril since birth. Her loving father, a man skilled at hunting animals, and wild animals, of all kinds, was a big, burly man with a square chin and salt and pepper colored hair, in other words nappy and rugged, hung to his shoulders.
He was a man that loved cultivating the cornfields behind his medium-sized hut, growing his own food, so he never had to go to the marketplace and spend his silver for nourishment, or for nourishment of his daughter.
In that she learned how to be a leader, and not a follower.
Her mother, a woman of natural, divine beauty, died shortly after giving birth to her.
She grew up with a void in her heart because of it,. And to add insult to injury her father occasionally and emotionally took out his anger on his daughter.
If it wasn’t for her birth, the love of his life, and the only woman he’s ever slept with and ever loved, the only woman he’s ever known, and had the pleasure of knowing, would still be with him.
As Ķlěőpĥǻ’s punishment, he refused to stare into her eyes, or look into her eyes, because it reminded him of his lost love, his deceased love, and the one that took her away, her own daughter, newborn or not!
In the first three years of life she never understood why her father was reluctant to hug her, or to kiss her after bruising herself playing around the hut, with brush and wet forest all about, and roundabout, but one day, drunken, he told her how he felt, and it changed her life forever.
§he had her dead mother’s eyes, spitting image of them, sweet ЯŷæšħūŜ, and spake with an angelic voice.
Angry at herself, she sometimes viewed herself as a murderer, both in her eyes, and her father’s eyes.
§he was harboring feelings of hatred towards herself, yet spread joy to those that came in contact with her, especially her father Mushu.
§he hath always loved music; the gentle (and sometimes pulsating hub bub) of man-made instruments, played by a quartet of men and women of the village, used to send her body into joyful spasms.
Since the age of one, when she learned to walk (by watching those walking before her, she was a quick study), she hath danced around huge fires, giving praise to the Higher Power.
She instantly became a sensation amongst the villagers, many of which, of all ages and creeds, joined in a celebratory dance with her.
Once they grew tired, their bodies spent and drenched with sweat, hearts hammering like African drums, each race of people, limited to groups in the village, but together, One Village, fell to their knees or placed their foreheads on the ground or sat Indian style or meditated, gave thanks to nine types of gods. Ķlěőpĥǻ never understood their tears and gentle (and sometimes angry) pleas to the gods, of all kinds, extending all forms of human thought, with mysticism becoming the very foundation the village was built on, yet socially and demandingly damned by the powers of the government.
When Ķlěőpĥǻ decided to meditate instead of getting on her knees, or putting her forehead to the ground, troops from the government often times stormed the village with eye popping artillery, and she, to her complete dismay, watched every person of every race, body types and creeds bow to the Leader of the Troops, and each kissed the dirty soles of his shiny shoes, and called him “god.”
§he knew then, as a little girl, that people will do anything to survive, even turn on their true god to worship the power of government.
On her sixth birthday, her father died of cardiac arrest, in his sleep, holding her close to his twitching body.
§he remembered the screams, grabbing her father’s face, her heart failing her, dying with him a part of her suffered.
During his last moments he was wide-eyed and in grave pain.
He gradually excised his heart, and then it inevitably stopped beating.
Before his demise, he tried to tell his daughter that he was sorry for denying her, and for blaming her for ЯŷæšħūŜ’s death, but to no avail.
Fortunately, Mushu tried to ask for forgiveness, but only gurgling sounds came from his badly chapped lips and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and she balled as he slipped away.
With both parents buried in the earth, after their bodies were burned as sacrificial offerings to the gods, she closed her heart to serving and worshipping government, and fiercely praised Aten, the sun God, a God she knew was there, but couldn’t see, but felt every time the sun shined in her eyes.
§he fancied the sunrise, and admired the finality of the sunset; each one a reflection of earth’s emotion, which she deeply felt, listening to the waters of the nearby river ripple with delight during the day, and lay, serene, tranquil and quiet under the moonlight.
§he used to sneak away from her father’s hut, before he died, while he slept, and sit on a huge boulder in a remote part of the village. She would bring her knees up against her frail body, clad in a pretty dress of cotton, her feet flat on the rugged rock. She would talk to Aten and shed tears over the death of her mother, gazing at her own reflection in the waters, via the glow of the moon, no matter the shape, wondering what her mother looked like.
§he only had descriptions from the villagers, whom described her mother as the most beautiful woman of the entire village, and all the tribes therein.
Each villager added to the missing link of her mother’s grace, reflecting the stars that shined down on her beautiful face, and long, luxurious hair of wool.
The river was her place of tranquility. It was surrounded by towering trees of all kinds and classes, and wild grass of all kinds, a river hidden deep in the rain forest, miles and miles within a concentration camp of blood, lies and human control.
Σver since her birth she hath been a favorite amongst the villagers of her Village, the adult women, naked with bare breasts, and a straw skirt of sorts, of all kinds, hugging their upper hips, and hung loosely towards their ankles, keeping the forbidden fruit hidden, provided her support when she was old enough to understand that her mother died after Ķlěőpĥǻ took her thirty-third breath outside her womb.
It’s perhaps the greatest pain, and the gravest pain, she hath ever known in her young life, and something she always blamed herself for.
Ђe guilt, even though it wasn’t her fault, caused her to build walls around her true feelings, and publicly display the positive side of them, keeping to herself and the darkness her rage, and feelings of abandonment.
Why hadn’t her mother been strong enough to survive after she gave birth?
And why did her father leave her, dead inside when his wife died, and ceased to live, even though he admired Ķlěőpĥǻ, his daughter and did anything for her.
He was an amazing father, but to die so suddenly, out of the blue, was a paradox in itself, and the blinders that were over her eyes, and being naïve, went out the window forever.
er village was a cornucopia of culture, outcasts from around the world stuffed in one place on earth, where communication to the outside realm of the Village was nonexistent, and they were banned by the government of Africa, and their strict guidelines, policies and law, from venturing past Death’s Border, a 10 mile stretch of grassy terrain separating them from freedom, guarded by armed soldiers with menacing expressions and enough TNT to blow them off the map, even though they were never on it.
Ђey were 30 miles deep into an unnoted and unsolicited rain forest; a rain forest no one in the rest of the world knew existed. Ђe men wore long skirts of cotton, given a masculine appeal.
Out of all the Villagers, Ķlěőpĥǻ took to the few Italians amongst them, races of all kinds, of all creeds and understanding, a people kept feeble-minded and ignorant.
Σducation was second to none in the Village, restricted to only the Σlders, three 80 year old men of mixed races, hidden from society, because a crooked government wasn’t ready to publicly announce that races mixed the blood of other races and birth babies in the process.
They were earth’s best kept secrets, and the world that Ķlěőpĥǻ was born into—born when the sun shined, born of the forest, hence her first and last name (the Villagers saw her birth as an omen that the gods protected them)—and belonged to would eventually drive her crazy; a world she was a part of, whether she liked it or not, whether she agreed to the terms or not, and the environment that molded and shaped her.
Ķlěőpĥǻ was raised the first four years of her life by the Σlder Mama, because her father was too bitter to take responsibility, from what the rumors revealed, and from what her father said, and from what the Σlder Mama said, and she believed their stories, taking them to heart with her mind on her dead mother, and crying over her grave, buried out in the forest, with a small wooden board marking it with her name chiseled in it with metal, and a sloppy job at that.
Her mother’s life was reduced to that.
§he was a no-nonsense African woman with three tribal markings across her right eye, and three perfectly shaped, branded stripes in the middle of her forehead.
§he was the woman of knowledge, and all things known, and unknown.
She was forbidden from exposing to any of the Villagers her education, and her keen sense of the earth, and how it worked.
Σvery family, of all kinds, of large, but controlled, numbers, wanted Ķlěőpĥǻ as their own, to be a part of their households.
§he was more advanced than the four year olds in her village, and brighter than the older children as well.
None of the kids liked her, but she loved herself, and created a barrier that kept her moving forward, never wallowing in the death of relationships with others she never had, or experienced.
Being disliked by her peers, she never lost any sleep.
An Italian man, gifted with sculpturing marble and stone into human shapes of all kinds, and expressions, was granted permission to raise young Ķlěőpĥǻ by the Σlder Mama Crèche, and his loving wife Fredo, a short woman with a knack for growing roses in a huge garden fifteen feet away from her bedroom, a woman treated like royalty.
He had strikingly gorgeous eyes, an angelic, high cheek boned face, and the body of a hunter.
He was unaware of his sex appeal because he, along with every one of the Village, were stripped of their confidence and self-esteem by the iron-fisted rules of the government.
If they groomed themselves longer than nine breaths of life they were beaten with raw hides.
Young Ķlěőpĥǻ grew up amongst love from the villagers, and love from her adoptive parents, in a hut filled with understanding, hard work, chores (even as a child she was put to work, and taught the importance of it), and tending the fields with her father, despite being a little girl.
And even though the Villagers didn’t have self-esteem, because of programming and conditioning from those with guns and power, her father taught her how to use her inner strength, and teaching her to stand up for what she believed in, and as a result she was the only one in the Village with self-esteem of any kind, all except the Σlders.
Daily, when she didn’t have to sit with Monstrous, a 60 year old voodoo warrior/hunter, she was taught how to cook meals for her parents.
Her parents never had to cook!
It was Ķlěőpĥǻ’s duty and chore to cook for her parents, since they worked and took care of her, and to clean the hut), sow, as well as learn how to carry herself like a lady, under heavy discipline (she was scolded, but never beaten).
§he ran in the cornfields with her best-friend, Chanteuse, the only child in the Village, and all the land round about, that took to her immediately, and was there for her, and always confided in her, and trusted in her, whole-heartedly.
Chanteuse, a girl filled with all things unclean, weakened flesh that ruled her soul…
A girl with jealousy in her heart…