THE JUJU CHRONICLES (PART I OF III) Prologue: This is a story of a British doctor and his quest to find any, but any, scientific basis for the African phenomenon known as juju. It tells a story that weaves generations from the past with those unborn. I would not have believed it myself had I not been present as all the events occured. I was one of the original five, the five doctors to have been invited by the secret service of the Nigerian government. It is not humorous, and certainly not meant to be so. I chronicle these events to the best of my ability, as I remember them now. PART I: You Can Hide But You Cant Run: It goes by many names: Remote control, African technology, Jazz, juju, voudan, and even one-touch. All in all, we are talking here about what several like to call black-magic. There have been several explanations given for circumstances whereby this manner of magic was alledged the culprit; in the final analysis, must of us intellectuals like to believe that misinformation and uneducation have contributed in no small way to the propagation of the myth of black-magic, which, in my opinion, has been used as a tool of fear. Yes, I say this not just because I have two bachelor degrees and a masters in Philosophy and Anthropology. I say this because I have taken it upon myself to do extensive research to study this phenomenon, challenge the would-be forces, and document any actions or inactions occurring therewithin. The five other people looked on in utter and complete disbelief. They could not believe what they were seeing. There they were, all from the topmost agencies in the world, dealing with all aspects of science including metaphysics and supernatural phenomena, and then all of them were invited to listen to this speech given, in a Nigerian prison, by a specialist (as they were told) on black-magic. There was the Doctor from the U.S, the one from the United Kingdom, the one from Russia, the one from Germany, and the West Indian doctor. All had their mouths agape. How could they believe, that in their wildest dreams, they would sit and listen to such an eloquent speech--GIVEN BY A MONKEY!!! The monkey continued: I first started studying this phenomenon when I was told of a Nigerian lady who was supposedly afflicted by juju. This was a few years after I had started my psychiatry practice in England. As a matter of fact, I can remember it just like it was yesterday... ________________________________________________________________________ KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Why couldnt the person ring the bell? The young psychiatrist opened the door to reveal an unkempt lady in African attire. She looked tired and worn out, and was breathing heavily. Doctor, I dont know who else to turn to. I live across the street and you are the only doctor around here... Hold it, hold it, hold it miss. First of all Im not a medical doctor so if youre coming here because... Look sir, I dont have much time. You must help me. Please come with me. Ill tell you about it as we go... There was something curious, something intruiging about this whole scenario. Ok, one second. He put a few books back in his cupboard as he prepared to depart. What did you say your name was again? Bushirat. Bushirat Chukwudozie. Bush rat chew-dozen... where are you from? Nigeria. He picked up his brief case. Shall we? They shall. As they walked out of the building the woman spoke: My sister is under a curse. When she was in Nigeria they tried to kill her.. Who tried to kill her? They! The people who have been after my family for years! First they sent witches to press her at night and then... To press her? Im sorry but I cant make out a thing of what youre telling me. The psychiatrist was begining to get warning signals. This was not his calling. Sir, just listen to me. If you dont help her now using your British psychiatry, then she will die. The lady was serious. She meant what she said. What do you want me to do. I want you to hypnotize her sir. Find out who is doing this and how to stop them. She knows! They entered the building across the street and headed for the elevators. It was one of those old elevators that had a gate. The Dr. hated those. They boarded the elevator and it cranked its way up to the fifth floor. The lady indicated to the psychiatrist that he should walk behind as she made several animated gestures in the air, uttering incantations as they proceeded. When they got to the door of the apartment, the lady produced a small bottle and annointed the floor. The psychiatrist was, at best, amused. He stepped past the woman, brushing her aside, and opened the door. She ran in after him. Where is your sister? Shes in the room sir. Shes on the bed. I cant enter with you. God forbid she said, snapping her fingers and making a motion round her head. She was a strange one, the psychiatrist concluded. Ok, tell me everything. The lady exhaled and began to tell a tale of witchraft, betrayal, evil, and harm. She told of how in Nigeria her family was targetted for destruction by another for sins commited by her ancestors. She told about how she and her sisters were the only ones who had survived and had managed to flee the curse by crossing the Atlantic ocean. She claimed that finally the juju had crossed the ocean and had afflicted her sister, leaving only one sane person in the family. She mentioned that her sister had a spiritual fight with the propagators and knew how to demolish their hold, but could not do so because she was in a mental trance. She wanted the doctor to hypnotize her, break her away from the trance, and reveal the exact perpetrators and how to deal with them. The psychiatrist couldnt understand how the hell he got into this. Black magic? A curse? Hypnosis? But it was too tempting. Five minutes later: Kubi, I want you to listen to my voice and relax. I want you to imagine you are by the beach with the water flowing around your feet. It is relaxing... relaxing... relaxing... you feel like going into a deep deep deep sleep. Deeper...deeper..deeper... when I clap my hands you will go into the deepest sleep youve ever been, and you will answer my questions to the best of your ability. Now sleep... deeper.. deeper... deeper... Kubi, can you hear me? Uh-huh Kubi, I want you to go back in your mind... go back to the first time you fought the spirits... Relax... you are looking at it from an outsiders point of view. Tell me what is happening Kubi! Tell me what you see Kubi! Kubi talk me! No! No! Theyre trying to kill me mama! Mama! Who is trying to kill you...? Kubi? Who is trying to kill you? But they cannot win! I am the child of Ajala! I am the daughter of the sea! A deep laughter emmanated from Kubi which made the psychiatrist almost wet his pants. She continued. Several ages ago, my people were starving... Kubi went on to tell stories from ages past. Of a people in a far away place; a land called Ipe-Otumodu in the heart of Ife. She spoke of the war and how the Oniranun family broke away and were killed by the goddess and her family. The only surviving member of the family placed a curse on on the Ajala family, stating that when their line became polluted, destruction would reign. This, ofcourse, happened when Bushirat, Kubis elder sister, married and Igbo man, Eccliasticus Chukwudozie. No sooner did the union occur when Chief Ajala died of a heart-attack. Mrs. Ajala, shortly after, went crazy and would be easily spotted conversing with flies at the family home just outside Ife. The only male in the family, Akinsola, was put in prison for drug smuggling. The two sisters, sensing that they were in jeopardy, left Nigeria with the money Chief Ajala had appropriated while in public office. All the while under hypnosis, Kubi spoke animatedly about her homeland. In the end, she indicated that to break the curse, they would have to kill a certain babalawo living at the junction where life meets death in Ife. He was currently responsible for keeping the curse alive. He was the only surviving ancestor of the Oniranun family. His name is... There was a deafening crash as Kubi jumped at the psychiatrist and slammed him against the door. She stared at him as he lay huddled in the corner. She spoke in almost a whisper. You can never find me. You can never find me. Who...who are you? Kubi turned to fact the window. Kubi ran towards the windows. Kubi jumped through the window. Kubi died of breath seizure before she hit the ground. _______________________________________________________________________ ...and so after that incident I was determined to get to the bottom of things. Was there some evidence to be found supporting the claim that there was anything supernatural about Kubirats testimony under hypnosis? Or was she just crazy? We know for a fact, do we not I inquire, that insanity can run in families? I certainly could not vouch for Bushirats sanity at the time, and seeing that their mother was insane as well... Anyhow, so I decided that I was too involved to stop. Yes they say we Britishers are skeptic. But who would not be? Well I decided, against Bushirats strong admonitions, to go to Nigeria, using my finding as a scientific basis for the understanding of this phenomenon they called juju. Bushirat was convinced that some harm would come to me. We had become quite attached over the weeks. She is a good woman, Bushirat. A bit lacking in decision-making at times, but a good woman nonetheless. She agreed to at least escort me to Heathrow airport the night of my departure. It was a strange feeling... ________________________________________________________________________ The psychiatrist looked at Bushirat and she returned his stare. He felt some emotion stir within him. Over the past few week, as he documented her story as background for his investigations, hed gotten to really like her. He took care of her, much like a parent over a child, notwithstanding that she was older than him by a year. Ever since her husband died, a year after their marriage, she had not been involved with anyone and made it a point to remind him often. He waved at her one final time and was about to turn around when she took a quick step forward and kissed him lightly under the cheek. She smiled. He smiled. Then he was gone. The plane ride was bumpy. There was a lot of turbulence. Was this an indication, a premonition of things to come in Nigeria? He thought not. There was no sense in premonitions. He was there to document any evidence to show the existence of juju as a valid phenomenon. Bushirat had almost begged him to tears, urging him not to go, but it was something he had to do. The Kubi incident would not rest in his mind until he got to the bottom of it. Sometimes he had nightmares about it. He would see Kubi in his dreams, telling him You will never find me! You will never find me! Those dreams were disturbing. Disembarking the plane, he walked out of the tunnel and to the customs desk. Anything to declare? No. The customs officer looked at his passport. British? Obviously. Yes. What are your intentions in Nigeria? I beg your pardon? Why are you here? Er... tourism? Ok the officer closed the passport. Everything seems in order. You just have to pay passport tax. The psychiatrist didnt argue, but presented a few dollar bills to the officer as Bushirat had told him to. Before he finally reached baggage claims, the psychiatrist had payed everything from airport tax, to tourist tax, to security tax, and, finally, had to do christmas for someone, July though it may be. He carried his bag and proceeded towards the doors. The heat was amazing. How did they survive in this heat and mugginess? Oga do you need a taxi? No thank you. Chief make I carry your bag for you? No thank you. The psychiatrist made his way to the front doors. There were men in flowing gowns openly selling dollars. The automatic doors opened, and if he thought the heat was amazing when he got out of the tunnel, he was in for a surprise. The blast of heat that greeted his face almost made him turn round and head back to England. He grimaced his way around until Dotun called his name. Dr. Fischer?! Dr. Fischer?! He turned around and saw the friend Bushirat spoke about walking towards him. He was lean, lanky, tall, and had a bushy beard. How are you? Im Dotun, Bushirats friend he said, shaking hands firmly with the psychiatrist. Im sorry Im late. My car has broken down so well have to charter a taxi. His english was surprisingly clear and almost had a British-styled accent. He looked to be in his late thirties, like Bushirat, educated abroad, and a heavy smoker. His lean figure and crooked fingers gave him away. The psychiatrist surpressed a smile at the thought. Dotun went to a cab driver. We want to Charter this cab to Unilag. Two thousand naira. Two thousand naira?!! Unilag ni ben yen! Which kine yeye be dat! Oga I no sabi say you be naija. I tink say na oyibo you dey from come. Ok, enta. Na two hundred. Dotun grinned and loaded the Psychiatrists bag in the trunk of the car. ________________________________________________________________________ ...And there I was finally in Nigeria. The monkey paused and took a gulp of water, adjusting its glasses as it did so. ================================================================ To Be Continued. Look out for Juju Chronicles Part II
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 22:40:50 +0000
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