Last you heard from me I was on a mission. I was going to prove that bloggers are writers, perhaps even journalists, by getting involved in witchcraft (that sounded saner in in my head).
Here’s how that went.
To start with I needed to consider two things. What I was going to ask the witchdoctor for, it had to be testable and cheap (because there’s a fine line between a fun experiment and getting ripped off) and who was going to be the victim.
The “what” turned out to be easy. There’s one thing every single witchdoctor in the country claims they can do which by definition means it’ll have to be cheap. Love potions. The problem with that choice is that the “who am I going to use it on” part becomes tricky. If it actually works then things can get ridiculously problematic. And besides, how do you even test it? The reason I assume the cons think it’s a good bet is because it’s so hard to know. If you see no effect they can simply say the person is faking, people do that. And if you think the person is under a spell it probably gives you more confidence and you do all the work yourself and tada! Love potions work.
So if this was going to work the “who” could only be one person, me. That would make the whole thing easily testable. I know who I do and don’t like and I’m quite sure I’d notice if that suddenly changed after the potion. As for being problematic, well…I could take steps to minimize that beforehand.
Here’s the gist of the story I came up with: My uncle is a rich man and he’s picked a wife for me as a favour for one of his cronies. If I do it, then I’m guaranteed a good share of his inheritance but on the flip side I feel nothing for this woman. If I have to spend the rest of my life with her and not get caught cheating, which would void the part where I get rich, then I need some help. Now do your magic. Good plan, covers everything that needs to be covered (and in hindsight is needlessly complicated. I could have just said I’m marrying rich woman, much more plausible. Oops.)
As for who I was supposed to be falling in love with I considered someone I despise just for maximum effect but that’s a terrible idea. If it worked I’d be stuck with feelings for someone I hate. Not that I thought it’d work but hey, no need for needless risks right – besides potentially putting myself at the mercy of dark magic that is.
This part of the story will get a little vague. I’m skimping on details because I realize (with the way things unfolded) just how easy I would be to find if they read this post and for reasons I’ll make clear later I don’t want to be the guy who gave up the name and location of this particular witchdoctor. I’ll say this. I drove to prestige plaza and took something of a long walk to get to the meeting spot, which was an apartment complex. If you can work that out good on you Sherlock Holmes.
The witchdoctor’s lair was not really what I expected. It was a nice apartment. No skulls. No animal hides. No rows of potions. Nothing witchy. There was even a laptop somewhere. The witchdoctor was disappointing too. No skinny old crone. She was maybe 50 and approaching obesity and looked a lot more like a kind school teacher than a witch. But she did have that “Mombasa Swahili” thing going so that was something.
Her son was waiting in the next room. This is significant because he looks like he was put together using parts from rugby players and MMA fighters who were killed in their prime. He is a monster. Which is why I started off by saying a good friend of mine recommended her and escorted me to the gate. Best if she thought people knew where I was and who she was. Wouldn’t want Frankenstein of the gym in the other room to snap my neck or leave with a vial of poison. Yes, I do occasionally consider the potential consequences of my foolishness.
Cutting to the chase, I told her my story, she gave me my instructions and…I did it. On the fateful day I, against every sense in my body, woke up at 3 AM. I spun an egg in a bowl for 3 minutes without breaking it, all the while picturing the girl, and then chucked it over the fence (If you’ve ever found a random broken egg where you live then your neighbour is probably practicing witchcraft). Later on, about an hour before meeting her I took the potion which, disappointingly, was actually a bitter powder. Then I set off to meet her without spending more than 5 minutes in the presence of any other woman.
Digression here, if you’re wondering how I chose the girl it wasn’t easy. After hours of trying to figure the perfect combination I gave up and decided to go simple. I settled on only one trait. For obvious reasons, she must not under any circumstances be a reader or even a potential reader of this blog. It wasn’t that hard finding someone who’s sworn off this blog for life (thanks Aggrey).
How did it go? It didn’t work. Now that’s not to say it didn’t do anything…it just didn’t do what it was supposed to. What it did was make me spend about three hours with the most thought numbing erection of all time. You know how they say men think with their dicks. It isn’t true. Trust me, you’ll know when it becomes true. I have said some stupid things in my life but that day holds a personal record. Probably the entire top 10 really. And she was around the whole time because i lacked the wits to gracefully excuse myself. No, I’m not going to tell you anything i said it was mortifying enough with an audience of one. With all that said, I’m not in love with her(unless you define that as a short burst of barely contained lust) so…thumbs down for witchcraft.
I’m probably supposed to have some deep insight after this. Some kind of lesson or something. All i’ve got is…If you must go to a witchdoctor for heaven’s sake don’t bewitch yourself. I get the feeling that you already knew that though. Also, definitely try this at home (I figure if you’re willing to take advice from me theres no use telling you not to. I’d be wasting potential for a good story for everyone you know).
Happy new year readers. The madness has just begun.
“I’m a writer.”
“No…you’re a blogger.”
“No no no. Those two are worlds apart. You know the way at the circus they have like a seal playing bagpipes or something like that? You’ll watch it, you’ll be amused, you’ll even clap. But you won’t call that seal a musician. It’s still just a seal playing the bagpipes.”
“In case you didn’t get it bloggers are the…”
“I got it!”
“Seal. You’re the seal.”
I did two things in response to this conversation. First, I resisted the ridiculously strong urge to rename this blog to “Seals playing bagpipes.” Second I decided to reclaim the dignity of bloggers everywhere (you’re welcome). How was I going to do this? Simple. Good, old fashioned investigative journalism.
To show this naysayer, I had to delve into this country’s dark side and emerge victorious with some kind of exclusive story. But what story? Corruption? No, nothing would be surprising there, besides, I don’t need (any more) political enemies. Crime? Screw that, I don’t want to get shot. Perversion? Nah, too easy, Aggrey can write about himself.
I needed something darker, more dangerous (in theory) and interesting. And what’s darker, more dangerous and more interesting than corruption crime and perversion? If you said Witchcraft, 10 points.
For our international readers, it may help to know that in Kenya witchdoctors actually have advertisements. Wooden signs nailed to trees and posts that clearly read “mganga” (Swahili for witch doctor) and have a phone number and a list of services. In richer neighbourhoods they say “astrologer” but it’s not fooling anyone when the list includes “expelling demons.” I’ve never heard anyone actually talk about it but odds are they’re doing good business. The signs are on pretty much any street you walk on.
So, now committed to my gonzo journalist quest I called one of these supposed witchdoctors. Actually, I called several but most wouldn’t talk to me while I was on private number. Only one didn’t seem to mind my secrecy. It’s actually shocking to me that people give their numbers to these people so much that they expect it and get irritated when you don’t. Seriously? If you don’t buy their story, you gave your number to a conman. If you do then you willingly handed your contact and possibly your details to someone you believe can perform magic. There is no winning in that scenario!
Anyway, here’s the line I was selling. I’m a husband at the end of his wit because of his wife’s infidelity. I need her to stop. What can you do for me?
I don’t know what I was expecting. A con definitely but nothing like what i got. This guy says with all the confidence in the world (translating what he said).
“I can make her vagina seal shut!”
What!? Now hold on a second here. If that’s a bluff it’s the hell of a bluff isn’t it? If my story was true and I actually was in that situation I’d damn well notice if he actually delivered. If it’s a con it’s not an efficient one. You’ll get caught and you won’t get repeat customers and if there’s such a thing as a reputation in the witchdoctor market you won’t have a good one. It makes no sense unless…he actually could do it. I’m a natural skeptic but i’ll admit, his sureness unsettled me a bit.
“How much?” I asked.
That’s it? If I have a grudge on a girl all I need is what, 125 dollars and presto “vag away”, just like that?
“Ok…” I pressed on, “but I don’t want her completely unable to have any sex. I’m still her husband, I just want her to stop having it with other people.”
“Love potion then?”
“Hmmm – I can make any man she tries to sleep with have difficuluty ‘standing’.”
“Wait, are you saying you can make any of her potential lovers impotent?”
Whoa! Ok, as a con, this one makes sense. How would I ever know if it worked? But really, think about it. Imagine if this is true. Ladies, imagine if your ex can make you a ray gun of impotence. Spread, aim, fire…Man down! Man down!
All for 14,000 shillings. That’s all. Sure, it ain’t chump change but I know loads of people who’d consider it worth the price. as far as services of any kind go, i don’t know anything else that interesting within that price range. Now the only questions is…is it real? Do these people actually have powers?
I don’t know…yet. Generally, im the least superstitious person you’ll meet so I think it’s a con. But that man’s confidence has made me curious enough to give it a fighting chance. So…
I’m making a test. Next week I’ll meet one of these witch doctors. I’ll acquire some fairly cheap service they offer (much as I’m curious I’m not paying either of those prices without a guarantee or the witching equivalent of a warranty or whatever). Still trying to figure out what I’ll ask for but you’ll know by next week. Just to keep things interesting and confirmable, the victim will be one of my fellow bloggers here. Teren teren. They’re willing in a, I haven’t asked them kind of way. But this is for our pride, necessary sacrifice and all. Also, for science.
See you next week…Maybe
The other day, I was with the girlfriend at KFC for the second time in two weeks (because nothing says romance like “if you’re going to get fat off all this fast food then so am I!”) and something out of the ordinary happened. It was…you know what, I’ll just show you…
Do you see it? In case you don’t.
That’s right. She whips out two yarns of string and some knitting needles and proceeds to start knitting. There’s a list of things I compiled a long time ago that you should go through when something this bizarre happens.
Question 1: Think if you’ve taken any drugs.
Answer: No, I’m clean
Question 2: Have you lost your mind
Answer: No, other people are staring at the “knitting girl” and some kids raised past the age of homescience think they are witnessing witchcraft. That granny who just passed by just gave a nod of approval.
Question 3: Have you somehow been shifted into a different reality.
As if this isn’t “twilight zone” enough, she looks over her scarf-in-the-making, the needles still rapidly clicking together and calmly asks
“So when are you taking me to the shooting range?”
Me: The shooting range?
Her: Yeah…the SHOOOTING RANGE! The place with the guns where you shoot at things, don’t be slow.
Me: Real guns?
Her: *look of indignation* Of course with real guns. What else would I be talking about?
Why am I telling you this? Three reasons.
- She was knitting at KFC! (You can take the last two words out and still maintain shock value)
- When my life is turned into a sitcom, I want evidence that it really is about me so I can claim the rights to it and get paid.
- If I happen to die and the news report says “he died from multiple bullet wounds and what would appear to be injuries caused by knitting needles.” Then you’ll know who did it.
I have many times been called a pessimist, a title I deny vehemently. Here’s why.
A pessimist is someone who waits for negative things to happen
An optimist is someone looks forward to positive things happening.
I on the other hand LOOK FORWARD to negative things happening.
While I do specialize in the negative like a pessimist, I await them with the glad expectant pose of an optimist. An Optipest if you will. One who not only expects the negative, but cant wait for it to happen. In fact I have a list of the most intriguing of these awkward, unconstructive events that’s fast on its way to becoming a book. I’ll share some of it with you.
1. The glorious day when Facebook’s system screws up everybody’s birthday and everyone comes to the oh so startling truth that, no one actually knows when their birthday is.
2. Jesus second coming; when he meets the 1 billion + members of the Roman catholic church. See…I figure the last thing Jesus would want to see is a cross. I mean, he was nailed to the damn thing till he died. It’s like JFK coming back and the crowds gather with little sniper rifles bracelets. The question that should be on the mind of every Optipest is…whats gonna happen? What Will Jesus Do? WWJD?
3. That shocking moment after you finish reading this and i inform you that skittles have carminic acid in them. Not shocked yet…let me break down carminc acid into layman terms. Carminic acid = crushed carcasses of dead boiled beetles used to color your candy. Bon appetit
This are just a few of the glorious moments in the life of an Optipest. Join the movement,l wait for the “Optipest bible” titled “The Cup is half full…of poison”