Ash Baby

And the Lord said unto Satan, Behold, all that he hath is in thine power; only upon himself put not forth thine hand…

Job 1: 12

The village of Kamadzi was the capital city’s underprivileged neighbour. One only had to drive a couple of miles outside Lilongwe before reaching the indistinct dirt road that branched off into what most mistook for a woodlot. Past the tall gmelina trees, then a few acacias. Upon reaching fresh bamboo shoots that lined a rivulet which never seemed to dry, one could see the village in the distance. Then, across the wooden bridge that had every day for the past fifteen years fooled people into thinking it would suddenly give way. Just as the dirt turned from its dull-grey loam to golden sand, you found the village’s first structure.

The two-ton drop-side truck, empty except for the driver, stopped outside the grass perimeter fence around Kamadzi village’s first point of welcome. The driver gently eased himself out of the white truck’s cab, his brown sandals caressing the sand beneath them. He was dressed in black linen pants and a blue dashiki. With a bald head that glistened in the sun, his round brown face radiated a mixture of melancholy and disgust as he stared at the tavern in front of him. He slowly walked past the corrugated iron-sheet gate, arms evenly at his sides, and into the cacophony of music and drunken conversation.

“Hey, welcome, chief,” a man sitting on a two-legged wooden bench propped against a small acacia tree called out. “Come and sit here. Get out of this afternoon heat.”

The driver ignored the other man, and he did the same with the big-bosomed woman who rolled her eyes at him while stirring a large drum of the opaque alcoholic brew that Kamadzi village was famous for.

“I am looking for Kanga Katunga.”

Conversations were forgotten, as was the incessant caterwauling blaring from the old speakers at each corner of the grass fence. All eyes turned to the driver.

“I said, I am looking for Kanga Katunga. Please let me know where I can find him.”

“You’re looking for Preacher? You have come to the wrong place, man,” the man who had offered the driver a seat replied. He staggered from the bench and walked towards the driver. “Go ask somewhere else.”

“Yes, tell him, Feremu,” another man spoke up. “If he wants a sermon, let him not bother us here.”

There were murmurs of approval among the dozen drinkers. The driver looked around. Two more drunks were now walking towards him.

“I do not wish to cause trouble,” the driver said. “Let me know where I can find Katunga, and I shall be on my way.”

It was the man called Feremu who punched him in the stomach. The driver grunted, but did not move. Then, the other two drunks slapped him simultaneously on each cheek. Blood dripped from the driver’s left nostril.

The driver wiped his nose with his left hand as he spoke, his voice rising with each syllable. “Even as I have seen, they that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same. By the blast of God they perish, and by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed.”

One of the two drunks who had joined Feremu began to speak, but his words were hammered back by a fist that seemed to stretch from the right sleeve of the driver’s dashiki. Almost immediately, the same fist slammed into the second drunk’s abdomen. The man doubled over, retched, and hurled opaque contents from his mouth and onto the man with the smashed mouth, himself already choking on blood and teeth.

Feremu, thus far not violated, stepped back. He looked at the other imbibers and saw that no assistance was forthcoming. They remained in their seats, some not even bothering to hide their fear and astonishment. The driver slowly stepped over the two men who were covered in blood, vomit and dirt.

“I’ll ask once more; where is he?”

“His house is in the middle of the village,” the woman with the ample bosom spoke up. She held the large cooking stick defensively, as if expecting to be beaten herself. “It is the blue house with green corrugated roofing.”

The driver muttered a thank you and walked to his truck without looking back. As he drove towards the village, he sighed and remarked to himself about how things had not changed since the last time he had walked the Earth.

***

Kanga Katunga was sitting outside his house when he noticed the approaching white truck. His immediate thought was that the chief was about to receive a guest. Then the little truck turned off the dirt road that ran through the village and headed towards his house.

“Mayi” he called out to his wife. “We have visitors.”

The car stopped right in front of him, and the driver was someone Katunga did not recognise. He stood up to greet the guest, but it seemed he was in a rush.

“Are you here with your wife, Kanga?”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

The driver was undeterred. “You have three children, yes? Where are your sons? Where is your daughter?”

Katunga was about to demand that the stranger leaves, but he noticed something in his tone. There was a sense of urgency in it; the man was worried.

“My sons are out tending the cattle and goats,” he replied. “What’s the matter? Who are you?”

The driver looked thoughtful for a fleeting second. “Call me Nangu. Right now, though, we need to think about your family. Let’s go and get your sons. Ask your wife and daughter to come with us.”

“Tadala is with her brothers, Mr. Nangu,” Katunga said. “They all do similar chores. I don’t discriminate.”

“Fine. We should go. And you’re going to need a weapon.”

***

The truck eased along the green, undulating plains at irregular speed, creating new paths and avoiding a few immature trees. Nangu took in all of this, saddened by the large bald patches where trees once stood. He saw the stumps, but did not speak of them.

The cattle and goats were enjoying a few bamboo cuttings, courtesy of their herders. The animals looked up as the white truck came towards them, as did the three siblings who were tending to them.

“Everything looks alright to me, Mr. Nangu,” Katunga remarked. “You had us worried over nothing.”

“Indeed,” Estere, Katunga’s wife chimed in. “You had me worried sick. I even had to take the pot of beans off the charcoal stove because you had me running over here, saying our kids are in danger. We ought to report you to the chief!”

Nangu ignored the two parents, got out of the truck and listened; surveyed. It was quiet, save for the light whisper of wind against blades of grass. The sky was turning blood-red, the sun kissing this particular part of the world goodnight.

The scene changed in an instant. Tranquillity was broken by loud cries of men charging towards the livestock, machetes in hand. Nangu was already reaching for his door. “Run!” he called out to the children, who did not need to be told twice.

The bandits had reached the animals, hacking every piece of flesh they came across. Their progress was disturbed by a loud thunderclap and one man fell, clutching his chest. Nangu went straight at them, happy that Katunga’s old hunting rifle had come in handy.

Almost half a mile away, on a high rise with scattered Mulanje cedars, a lone figure took in the entire scene. He watched as a man, the man for whom he had come, reloaded an old gun and took down the men who were destroying the large herd of livestock. Worse still, there was another man helping him, someone whose presence the lone figure had least expected.

The man’s face retained a false tranquillity, for within it, an unspeakable rage reigned. He spoke with an apparent lisp.

“This was not part of the plan.”

***

Nangu gently pulled out his machete from the chest of the last bandit. His sparkling brown eyes bore into lifeless ones. Slowly, Nangu knelt beside the body.

“Behold, God is mighty, and despiseth not any: he is mighty in strength and wisdom. He preserveth not the life of the wicked: but giveth right to the poor. He withdraweth not his eyes from the righteous: but with kings are they on the throne.”

He closed the bandit’s eyes and rose, but his chest now faced the barrel of an old gun.

“I know that scripture,” Katunga said, his grip on the rifle tightening. “But we can talk about that later. Right now, I need you to tell me exactly what is going on. How did you know that those thieves were coming after my animals?”

“It wasn’t just your animals they were after,” Nangu said. He wiped some blood off his cheek. “I will tell you more, but right now, the safest place for your family is back in the village. The sun has already set.”

Katunga looked at his family. His two boys, both in their late teens and home for the holidays, were in the back of the lorry, arms around their mother and little sister. He knew they were brave, but this had clearly shaken them.

“Alright,” he finally said. “As soon as we get home, you’re going to tell me everything.”

“I said you’ll be safer in the village, Katunga,” Nangu said. “However, I have a feeling you no longer have a home.”

Katunga’s eyes followed Nangu’s gaze and his heart nearly failed him at the sight of a red portrait against the dark sky.

The dying inferno and the large crowd greeted them as they reached what, only a few hours before, had been their home. Estere jumped out of the truck even before it had stopped, and fell to her knees. Her tears mixed with the ashes of their charred possessions.

“We feared the worst,” the chief said, rushing forward and clasping Katunga’s hands in his. “We tried our best to put it out, but it was too much. We thought you and your family had perished within.”

“We were lucky, mfumu,” Katunga replied. “We had gone to fetch the children with him.” He pointed at Nangu.

“It was that errand which saved us, but alas! We have lost everything. I wonder what sin we have committed to warrant such punishment.”

The chief laid a hand upon his subject’s shoulder. “You and your family, and your friend, shall stay at my compound for as long as you want. As for your sins, my dear Katunga, I cannot help you.”

Nangu, sparing a moment to greet the chief, turned back to the smouldering ashes that were part of Katunga’s life. He then muttered under his breath.

“A dreadful sound is in his ears; in prosperity the destroyer shall come upon him. He believeth not that he shall return out of the darkness, and he is waited for of the sword.”

***

An unusual quietness engulfed the village that night. The moon hadn’t come out, but the stars did their best to be a shining replacement. Outside a small blood-red brick house, next to a little white truck, two men sat on small wooden stools, talking. One of them, seemingly older, had an effusion of anger and fear in his voice.

“Listen here,” Katunga was saying. “I have lost all of my worldly possessions today. My livestock, my house, and I almost lost my children. You know something about it, and haven’t even tried to deny it. What’s happening to me?”

The little wooden stool creaked as Nangu’s weight shifted. “I’m not going to give you a lecture on the battle between good and evil, Katunga, because I know you are already aware of it. I daresay they do not call you preacher for nothing. However, sometimes that battle gets a little too personal.”

Katunga said nothing, eyes and ears fixed on the other man as he continued to speak.

“You know of a man named Job, how he lost everything because the powers of good and evil wanted to see if he would cease to worship God? Well, preacher, today is your turn.”

“Wait a minute,” Katunga blurted out. “Do you really expect me to believe that this is a test? That it is Diabolus himself who is doing this?”

“Believe it, preacher,” Nangu replied. “Those bandits weren’t just after your cattle and goats. If you and I hadn’t intervened, you would currently be mourning the deaths of your children. I also do not need to tell you what would have happened had Estere stayed at home.”

This time, it was Katunga’s seat which protested as the man shook and buried his face in his hands. Nangu did not move to break the awkwardness, but waited for the other man to contain himself once more.

“I have been a servant of the lord for almost my entire adult life,” Katunga finally spoke. “I have dedicated my entire being to fulfilling his word, and introducing him to others. I have survived many tribulations, but this is hard to accept. However, I know what you say is true. What I do not understand is how you know all this. In fact, what I should ask is, why are you helping me?”

“The reason for that is simple. I was once like you, Katunga. This game of theirs has been going on for millennia. At some point, I got caught in the middle of it. I had to make sacrifices too.”

Nangu stared at the starlit sky for a moment before continuing. “I know exactly what this war has done to a few good men. I am not about to let another one lose a family or suffer any other great loss because of it. My powers may be weakened, for I am here without permission, but I pray that they will be enough.”

“Powers? What are you talking about?” Katunga, who had felt a sliver of gratitude towards Nangu for saving his family, now replaced it with suspicion and caution. “Just who exactly are you, and how do you know all this? Dear god, you’re not Job, are you?”

The intermittent hiss that came from Nangu nearly startled Katunga into falling off his chair. It took a few seconds for the latter to realise that his guest was laughing.

“I can assure you, Katunga the preacher, that I am not Job. I did not suffer an immense loss as his, although some may say that my fate was worse.”

Katunga moved to speak, but stopped when he saw Nangu’s raised hand. “No more talking, preacher. They are almost here.”

***

“Give me your gun and your right hand,” Nangu ordered. Katunga complied, albeit reluctantly. Nangu held the gun in his left hand, and Katunga felt nothing as his right hand was held in a tight grip. Nangu, however, seemed satisfied. They only had a few moments to pray.

Of the astounding events that occurred that night, Katunga would distinctly remember and retell two. The first thing happened as soon as the creatures appeared from nowhere and stationed themselves in front of the little house. At once, Katunga’s vision transformed, for the skies were now blue and as clear as day. The stars, however, were still present. The second thing, much to his horror, were the creatures themselves.

He had expected bandits similar to those that had attacked them in the grazing fields, but the strange creatures that now stood before Katunga and his ally seemed more vicious. Towering over six feet, their muscular, half-naked bodies were dripping in fresh blood that clearly wasn’t their own. Perched at the summit of each of these magnificent frames were heads of different beasts. Katunga could clearly make out the leopard which stood directly in front of him, beside the truck. In their hands were the largest swords, axes and scythes Katunga had ever seen.

Behind these beasts, the man who had stood on the hill earlier now spoke directly to Nangu, his lisp more pronounced.

“This matter does not concern you, Great Impostor. Leave now, or suffer the same fate as this man’s family.”

In Nangu’s voice dripped false serenity and playfulness. “Be gone, Disgraced One. We both know this is a battle you can’t win. You and Father have played this little game long enough. No more.”

Katunga was startled by the word ‘father’ but did nothing except utter a surprised cry, for the man with the lisp suddenly flung his arm forward. Nangu staggered backwards and fell to one knee.

The man Nangu called the Disgraced One moved no further but let out a low chuckle. “I know you are weak, Impostor. How your so-called father would marvel at the sight of you bending your knee before me right now.”

The sound of a rifle pierced the air, and half the leopard-beast’s head was torn from its body, black goo spattering the side of the lorry. The rest of it stood still, what was left of its carnivorous mouth stuck in a sinister grin, then it disappeared.

Nangu was back on his feet as Katunga let off another shot. His machete sang in the wind as he cut through the beasts before him. They moved with the same speed as he did, falling short only in skill. One by one, by bullet or blade, they all fell until only the Disgraced One remained. Nangu rushed him, but was sent flying into the passenger door of the white truck. Crimson rivulets flowed from his nose, mouth and ears, as Nangu lay against the car door, alive but broken.

“I know I can’t kill you, Impostor, but I do enjoy inflicting such pain upon you,” the Disgraced One said, moving towards Nangu. “It is almost as much fun as last time. You see, protecting the people inside that house is draining you. It…”

The rifle bullet caught the Disgraced One on the left temple, but did not penetrate. Katunga did not feel his feet being lifted off the ground, but the iron grip around his neck was painfully real enough.

“I can’t kill him because of what he is,” the Disgraced One said, cocking his head towards Nangu. “With you, earthly subject, I have no such compunction.”

Katunga felt the dizzying effect of diminished oxygen as his throat was slowly squeezed. The rifle fell to the ground rather silently. He closed his eyes, waiting for the invisible force that had him to finish the job. It turned out to be an unnecessary endeavour, for the grip abruptly relaxed and his frame was dumped on the ground unceremoniously.

It took four reflexive blinks before Katunga’s vision was restored, and the sky had recovered its darkness. Nangu was still propped against the truck, with the Disgraced One standing over him. Both men seemed frozen, and it took a minute for Katunga to realise why.

Even in the dark, the man standing at the rear of the truck was resplendent. His skin glowed even under the cream-coloured shirt and linen pants he was wearing. He was taller than Nangu, but not the beasts Katunga had seen, lean but strong-looking. Katunga only had a few seconds to look at the man’s face before a furious light blinded him. The image was to stay in his mind for only those few seconds; no matter how hard he tried later, it still evaded him. The face kept changing. Katunga had a chance to see it transform from red, to brown, and to salmon pink.

The Disgraced One had not moved. His face appeared strained as he spoke.

“This is unacceptable. You are not supposed to interfere.”

The Changeling’s stentorian voice boomed in the night, reminding Katunga of the old records his father used to play.

“You broke the rules.”

The Disgraced One looked at Nangu. “You came because of him? He’s not supposed to be here in the first place. He got involved when he had no right to. Blame him.”

“I wasn’t talking about him. You tried to kill my servant. You’re supposed to touch anything and anyone he has, except himself. The game is over. Go back from whence you came.”

The Disgraced One seemed to protest, but he unexpectedly disappeared, a trailing wisp of black smoke the only lingering proof of his presence.

The Changeling turned to Nangu, who was slowly getting up. “I’ll deal with you later.”

“Father,” Nangu began, but the light grew brighter and the changeling was gone.

Katunga walked slowly towards Nangu, before falling to his knees in front of his guest.

“Forgive me. I did not know who you were.”

“Enough of that,” Nangu replied. “The deception was mine. I didn’t want you to know who I was, otherwise I would have told you.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“Well, now I have to go back and face my father. As you heard, he is certainly not pleased by my interference in this affair. I came here without his permission. As for you,” Nangu paused, nodding towards the house, “you get to keep your family and move on. Don’t worry. They didn’t hear anything that happened out here, and neither did the rest of the village. I made sure of it.”

Katunga leaned against his rifle. “Move on to what? I am really grateful to you for saving my family, but look at me. I lost my house and all my worldly possessions. I have nothing left.”

Nangu let out his hiss again. “Have you forgotten what happens in the last chapter of Job, preacher? You’ll be alright. Besides,” he pointed at the truck, “you already have somewhere to start.”

Katunga stared at the car. “You’re giving this to me?”

There was no response, for, just like his father, Nangu had left.

Katunga’s gaze lingered on the exact place that Nangu had been, then he slowly climbed into the back of the truck. Stretching his legs out and placing the old rifle in his lap, he closed his eyes. In the distance, the rays of the rising sun greeted his part of the world once more, playfully jabbing at Katunga’s sleeping face.