Memoirs of a Porcupine

how Papa Kibandi sold us his destiny

not a day of his life went by without my master thinking of the night his father sold on his destiny to us, visions of the initiation haunted him, he was back in Mossaka, aged ten, it was night, a night full of terrors, of flying bats, when Papa Kibandi woke him without a word to his mother, and dragged him off into the forest, and even before he left the house, little Kibandi witnessed something so incredible, he had to rub his eyes several times, to be sure it really was his father, one lying next to his mother and one standing beside him, so there were two identical Papa Kibandis in the house, one asleep in the bed, the other moving around, and in a sudden panic the child cried out, but his father, the one standing, put his hand over his mouth and said ‘you saw nothing, I am me, and the one lying next to your mother is also me, I can be myself and my other self, you’ll soon understand’, little Kibandi tried to escape, the standing-up father easily caught him, ‘I can run faster than you, and if you escape, I’ll send the other me after you’, little Kibandi looked again at the father standing up and the other one lying down, it felt like he was being kidnapped, perhaps he should wake up his father’s other self, and he’d come to the rescue, but then he wondered if the lying down one really was his parent, the standing up father let him check, then nodded, to say that he was the one the child had to talk to, he was his father, the real one, little Kibandi was speechless, the standing-up father nodded again, gave an enigmatic smile, my young master cast a last despairing glance at his parents’ bed, his mother now had her hand on the lying-down Papa Kibandi’s chest, ‘my other self won’t even wake up till everything’s over, in accordance with the ancestors’ wishes, and if he does wake up now, you’ll find yourself without a father, come on, we have a long walk ahead’, he grabbed the child with his right hand, almost roughly, the door was ajar, they vanished into the night, the father always with his hand on the child, as though afraid he might run off, they walked and they walked, the only sound was the cries of the night birds, and when at last they came to the heart of the bush, under the eye of the watchful moon, the father let go of my young master’s hand, he knew it was too late to run off now, he was too afraid of the dark, Papa Kibandi brushed aside a tangle of creeper, headed for a field of bamboo, picked up an old spade lying hidden under a pile of dead leaves, the child watched carefully, they turned back, went into a clearing, you could hear a river running somewhere down below, and Papa Kibandi began to sing in his gravelly voice, while digging the earth as skilfully as a grave digger, one of those shroud-stealers who, once they’ve committed their theft, and desecrated the sepulchre of the stiff within, immediately wash the burial cloths in the river, fold them up neatly, and set off to sell them at full price in any neighbouring village where there might be a funeral, Papa Kibandi went on digging, the sound of the spade hitting the earth pierced the silence of the bush, and after about twenty minutes, which was like an eternity for my young master, the father threw down the tool on the pile of earth, heaved a sigh of relief, ‘right, that’s perfect, we’re there now, soon you’ll be released’, and he lay down on his belly, plunged his hand down into the hole in the ground and drew out an object wrapped in a piece of filthy cloth, and inside the child found a gourd and an aluminium cup, Papa Kibandi shook the gourd several times then poured the mayamvumbi into the cup, took a gulp himself, clicked his tongue, then held the vessel out to his son, who shrank back, ‘hey it’s for your own good, come on, drink’, and he grabbed him with his right hand, ‘you’ve got to drink this potion, it’s to protect you, don’t be stupid’, and when little Kibandi began desperately to struggle, he pinned him to the ground, held his nose, forced him to drink the mayamvumbi, a few mouthfuls was enough, it worked straight away, little Kibandi at once began to feel dizzy, fell to the ground, got up, swayed, could hardly stand, his eyes were shut, the liquid tasted like palm wine, but also like swamp mud, the potion burned his throat, and when he opened his eyes, my young master saw a child who looked just like him, he just caught a glimpse of him, before he vanished between two bushes, ‘you saw him, your other self, didn’t you, you saw him’, said Papa Kibandi, ‘he was there in front of you, it’s no illusion, my boy, you’re a man now, I’m very happy, you’re going to follow the path I received from my father, which he got from his father before him’, little Kibandi was staring at the spot where the boy, his other self, had vanished, he could still hear dead leaves being trampled underfoot in his flight, an insane flight, as though someone was chasing after him, and there was silence, at last his father could breathe again, he had waited so long for this moment of liberation, when the duty of transmission would finally be fulfilled

little Kibandi didn’t have much to do with his other self, who spent most of his time trailing me, stopping me sleeping, I’d hear him walking on dead leaves, running till he was out of breath, or breathing quietly in the bushes, drinking water from a stream, and sometimes I’d find food supplies piled up near my hiding place, I knew little Kibandi’s other self had left them there, and it was at such moments, I guess, that I felt comforted, I was glad to be privileged, I put on weight, my quills grew stronger, I saw them gleaming when the sun was at its height, I grew used to the game of hide and seek with my young master’s other self, he became a go-between, and when I hadn’t seen or heard him for two or three weeks, I felt uneasy, I’d set out in haste for the village, reassured only when at last I saw little Kibandi playing in their yard, I’d return to my hiding place, reassured, and so the years went by, the other self and my young master fed me, I lacked for nothing, I had no care for tomorrow, I only had to stick my snout out of the entrance to my refuge, there were my supplies left waiting for me, and if any other animal dared come and help themselves, my young master’s other self threw stones to drive them away, for once I had to agree with what humans say, I had a pretty easy life things were fairly quiet during my master’s adolescent years, we learned to get along, to synchronise our thinking, to know one another, I’d send messages to little Kibandi via the other self, then one day I was hanging around in a backwater when I came across him sitting on a stone, he had his back to me, I stopped moving, made no noise, or he’d have run off again, he was watching the herons and the wild ducks, I suddenly felt such a wave of emotion I almost thought it must be the real little Kibandi sitting there with his back to me, I moved forward a few yards, he heard me, at once he turned, too late, I had seen his face, though he looked just like my master, the strangest thing was, Kibandi’s other self had no mouth, no nose either, just eyes, ears and a long chin, I stared in amazement and at once he was off into the bushes, leaping into the backwater, and the herons and the wild ducks took flight, hiding him in his confusion, then he was gone, leaving only ripples in the water, it was one of the very few glimpses I would ever get of my young master’s other self, the last time was when the creature without a mouth came to tell me that my master and his mother were about to leave for Séképembé, a few days before Papa Kibandi died

it was as though with age Papa Kibandi was returning to the animal state, he stopped trimming his nails, when he ate he did it just like a real rat, he scratched his body with his toes, and the people of Mossaka, who had always treated it as a rather sick joke, an old fool’s game, began to worry about it, the old man developed long sharp teeth, particularly at the front, tough grey hairs sprouted from his ears and straggled down to his jaw, and whenever Papa Kibandi disappeared around midnight, Mama Kibandi never even realised he’d gone, she just saw her husband’s other self lying in the bed by her side, my young master would suddenly find columns of rats marching up and down in the main room of his parents’ house, he knew the largest of these rodents, the rat with the big tail, flattened back ears, and hooked paws was his father’s double, he mustn’t whack him with a stick, though one day, for fun, he’d sprinkled rat poison on a piece of tuber and left it at the entrance to the hole where the rodents came out, a few hours later there were a dozen or so rats lying dead, while his parents slept my young master quickly gathered up the defunct rodents, wrapped them in banana leaves, and went and disposed of them round the back of the hut, but in the early dawn, to his great surprise, Papa Kibandi came and gave him a talking-to, saying ‘if you want to do away with me, get a knife and kill me in broad daylight, it’s thanks to me you are who you are today, ingratitude is an unforgivable sin, I hope I won’t have to speak to you about this again’, Mama Kibandi knew nothing more about it, father and son understood each other

and there were so many deaths in Mossaka, one hard upon the other, nose to tail burials, you’d no sooner finished lamenting one dear departed, and there was another one lined up, Papa Kibandi didn’t go to the funerals, which got people asking questions in the village, where everyone knew everyone, he saw people looking at him, crossing the street to avoid him, with his rat-like air, and then there were the women who gossiped about him at the river bank, his name came up at every meeting in the palaver hut, children wept and clung to their mothers’ skirts as soon as the old man appeared, and even the Batéké dogs barked from a distance, or from their masters’ doorways, the whole of Mossaka now had it that there was something about Papa Kibandi, every detail of his life was scrutinised, examined with a fine toothed comb, it was strange, they said, how he hadn’t had many children, just the one, when his hair had already turned grey, he was prime suspect for any one of these deaths, take his own brother, Marapari, for example, who died sawing down a tree in the bush, when he was the best woodchopper in Mossaka, eh, it’s true that the brother had changed his working method, had got himself an electric saw, something you needed to learn to use, in this part of the world where everyone still used axes, perhaps Papa Kibandi was jealous of this piece of equipment, then, envious of his brother’s savings, which came from the profits from its use, from hiring it out, and what about the death of his younger sister, Maniongui, who was found limp, lifeless, with wide staring eyes, the day before her wedding, eh, everyone knew Papa Kibandi was opposed to the union for some reason to do with regions, ‘no marriage between a northerner and a southerner, and that’s that’, he’d say, and what about Matoumona, the woman Papa Kibandi wanted to take as his second wife, a woman of half his age, eh, did she not die when her corn soup went down the wrong way, and Mabiala the postman, who seemed to be interested in Mama Kibandi, and Loubanda the tam-tam maker, who was just too successful with women, and Senga the brick maker who wouldn’t come and work for him, and Dikamona, who sang at vigils for the dead, who snubbed him, and had publicly called him an old sorcerer, and Loupiala, the first qualified nurse Mossaka produced, a young woman who, according to Papa Kibandi, talked a lot but said nothing, and was always showing off her diploma, hm, and Nkélé, the biggest farmer in the region, a selfish man who’d refused him a plot of land by the river, eh, what had happened to all these people not related to him, who popped off one after the other, ah, my dear Baobab, these disappearances were all blamed on Papa Kibandi, while he gazed serenely into the middle distance, as though there was nothing he could do about any of it, as though he were above what he himself called ‘petty disputes of lizards’, and since no one would speak to him, he gathered his hurt pride about him and told his son and wife not to speak to the rest of the village, not to say hello, and whenever he passed another villager he spat on the ground, he called the village chief all sorts of names, called him wretched and corrupt, said he only sold land to his own family, and then there was the fateful business of the family conflict which the people of the north were never to forget, the falling out with his sister, the youngest in the family, and she should have known better, because here again, Papa Kibandi would shuffle the cards with his own hand, sow doubt in the minds of the villagers, postpone what should have been the end of his earthly existence, only Papa Kibandi could pull that off, believe me, dear Baobab, and to this day I still can’t believe he took them all for such a ride

it was during the dry season in Mossaka, when the waters of the Niari river scarcely covered the bather’s ankles, that the terrible event occurred, one day at sunset they found the lifeless body of Niangui-Boussina on the far bank of the river, across the water from the village, her belly swollen, her neck puffed up as though she’d been strangled by a criminal with giant hands, she was none other than the niece of Papa Kibandi, the daughter of his younger sister, Etaleli, whom I will call Aunt Etaleli, as my master did, Ninagui-Boussina was a teenager who had come to spend her holidays in Mossaka with her mother, their village was a few kilometres away, Aunt Etaleli insisted her daughter could not have died from drowning, not that, no way, she was born on the banks of the most dangerous river in the country, the Louloula, she’d spent her childhood in the water, it was an odd business, Papa Kibandi’s name obviously came up, Aunt Etaleli said she wasn’t leaving Mossaka until some light had been shed on the drowning of her daughter and as tensions began to rise, she left her brother’s house and went to stay with a friend, and did not leave her house until the day the body of the young girl was to be brought back to Kiaki, the village where Aunt Etaleli lived with her husband, and this time Papa Kibandi heard the word ‘sorcerer’ the minute he set foot outside his house, they called him ‘plague rat’, wouldn’t let him put his case, he would have liked to discuss it with his sister, point out that they could accuse him of many things, but not of eating his niece, and when I say eating, my dear Baobab, you must understand that I am talking about terminating someone’s life by means which are imperceptible to those who deny the existence of a parallel world, in particular incredulous humans, well then, for porcupine’s sake, on the day of Niangui-Boussina’s burial in Siaki, they waited for Papa Kibandi with poisoned spears, they planned to skewer him in public, in the very village where he was preparing to come to pay his respects to the memory of his niece, at the last moment he changed his mind, the old rat he’d sent ahead to sniff things out caught wind of what was afoot, how Aunt Etaleli, along with some of the other inhabitants of Siaki, had set a trap for him, but anyway, a week after the funeral Aunt Etaleli showed up in Mossaka again early one morning, with a delegation of four men, she shouted at Papa Kibandi, saying openly, ‘it was you that ate Niangui-Boussina, you ate her, everyone knows, everyone says so, now look me in the eye and admit it’, Papa Kibandi denied the accusation, ‘I didn’t eat her, how could I eat my own niece, hm, I don’t even know how you eat someone, the girl died of drowning, that’s all there is to it’, and his sister got to the point and said, ‘if you’ve got any balls come with us to Lekana, the witch doctor Tembé-Essouka will pick you out in front of these four witnesses, one of them is from Mossaka anyway’, and to everyone’s surprise, perhaps also because there was such a crowd pressing in around them, Papa Kibandi offered no resistance, just put on his rubber shoes, pulled on a long boubou, and said defiantly, ‘I’m all yours, let’s go, you’re wasting your time, sister’, and Aunt Etaleli replied ‘don’t call me sister, I’m no sister to an eater’

the four witnesses who’d come with Aunt Etaleli had been chosen from four different villages, as tradition required, to ensure that that whatever these people reported back to their different localities would be neutral and faithful to the truth, the little group walked for half a day till they got to Lekana, home of the famous witch doctor Tembé-Essouka, an old man, born blind, with spindly little legs, and a beard which grazed the ground as he moved his head, it seems the local leaders revere his knowledge of the dark arts and go to him for advice, he never washes, for fear of washing away his powers, he wears a tattered old red garment, does his business by the side of his bamboo bed, can control the rain, the wind, the sun, requires payment only on results, and even then you pay in cowrie shells, the currency which was used at the time when this country was still a kingdom, he doesn’t trust the national currency, he thinks times haven’t changed, the official currency’s a delusion, that the world is made of kingdoms, each with its own sorcerer, and that he is the greatest sorcerer of all, and as soon as they reach his house on the hill he gives a great snort of derision, which always terrifies visitors, then he’ll start telling you in detail about your past, the exact details of your date and place of birth, the names of your father and mother, tells you why you’ve come, shakes the terrifying masks hung up above his head, communicating with them, this was the man who would decide between Kibandi’s father and his aunt, the four witnesses had tried everything they could to reconcile brother and sister, who had not spoken a single word to each other while they were walking through the bush, the group arrived at the gates of Lekana around midday

dear Baobab, the people of Lekana were used to a flow of people coming to consult Tembé-Essouka, who, on hearing visitors’ footsteps, shouted from his tumbledown house, ‘hey, you there, what do you think you’re doing here, Tembé-Essouka isn’t here to sort out trivial matters you could easily settle among yourselves, don’t come bothering me for nothing, I don’t need your cowries, the guilty man hasn’t come with you, I see water, yes, I see water, I see a young girl drowning, she’s the niece of an old man being accused by a lady, if you insist, if you don’t believe me, enter at your peril,’ and since Aunt Etaleli was more determined than ever, the group entered his hut, and it was not so much the putrid smell that repelled them, all six, but the masks, who seemed angered by the strangers’ stubbornness, their temerity, Tembé-Essouka had a damp, exhausted look about him, he was sitting on a leopard skin, fiddling with a rosary made from the bones of a boa, whose head was nailed above the entrance to the hut, the visitors sat down on the floor, and the fetichist set to thinking, murmuring, ‘disbelievers, I told you the culprit wasn’t with you, why have you entered my hut then, do you doubt the word of Tembé-Essouka, or what’, Aunt Etaleli got onto her knees, began sobbing at the sorcerer’s feet, she wiped her tears on the edge of the pagne knotted about her waist, the sorcerer pushed her away, ‘let’s be clear about this, this house is not a place for tears, there is a cemetery a bit further down, you’ll find any number of carcasses there who’ll be happy to receive your tears’, but still Aunt Etaleli stammered ‘Tembé-Essouka, my daughter’s death is not a normal death, people shouldn’t die like that, I beg you, look carefully, I’m sure you’ll help me, the whole country is in awe of your great knowledge’, she began sobbing again, despite the sorcerer’s annoyance, ‘hell’s teeth, silence, I said, do you want me to kick you out of here, d’you want me to send an army of bees to buzz you, eh, what is this business, then, who d’you think I am, do you still not understand, that the old man here, the one you’re accusing of this misdeed is not the one who ate your daughter, how many times do I have to tell you, dammit, and now if you insist on knowing the truth, I will reveal it to you, because I see everything, I know everything, and to convince you of the innocence of this man you’ve brought here, you must all undergo the trial of the silver bracelet, too bad, don’t say you weren’t warned, I’ll give you ten seconds to decide whether I begin the trial, yes or no’

you won’t believe me, dear Baobab, Papa Kibandi at once accepted to undergo the trial of the silver bracelet, while even those who reckoned they had nothing to worry about were thinking twice about it, firstly because Tembé-Essouka was as blind as a bat, secondly because the outcome of the trial could be affected by panic, Papa Kibandi was not going to back off, Aunt Etaleli had suddenly dried her tears, she seemed to delight in advance in the idea of seeing her brother exposed before four witnesses, the fire lit up the hut, crackling like the fires which tear through the bush in the dry season, the masks seemed to move their thick lips, whispering occult phrases to the sorcerer, to which he responded with sudden shakes of the head, smoke swirled round the visitors’ faces, each coughing and spluttering louder than the next, a smell of something rotten, then of charred rubber caught in their throats, and when the smoke finally cleared Tembé-Essouka placed a pot filled with palm oil on the fire, threw in a silver bracelet, let the oil boil for some time before plunging his hand straight in, the boiling oil came up to his elbow, he recovered the bracelet without burning himself, showed it to the astonished group, put it back in the pot, ‘now it’s your turn, madame, you do the same’, after a second’s hesitation, Aunt Etaleli plunged her hand into the pot, seized the bracelets, almost cried victory, and the witnesses, reassured, all did the same, again with success, and the sorcerer turned next to Papa Kibandi, ‘it’s your turn, I’ve made you go last, because you are the supposed eater’, Papa Kibandi immediately obliged, and triumphed, under the watchful eye of Aunt Etaleli, while the other witnesses turned to stare at the accuser in amazement, the sorcerer said, ‘the four witnesses and the man unjustly accused will now leave this hut and wait outside, and I will reveal to you, madame, who it was that ate your daughter’, Aunt Etaleli stood alone facing the masks, who by now looked disgusted, and the sorcerer was deep in thought, eyes closed, and when he opened them Aunt Etaleli had the feeling he wasn’t actually blind at all, he looked her straight in the eye, gave a bark like a Batéké dog, the fire suddenly died, he began counting his beads again, chanting something Aunt Etaleli didn’t understand, his eyes rolling, this time lifelessly, his thumb and index finger seized one of the biggest beads, he stroked it nervously, stopped his chanting, took the aunt’s right hand, asked her ‘now who’s this guy they call Nkouyou Matété I see in my thoughts, eh’, Aunt Etaleli stared, then gathered her wits to say, ‘Nkouyou Matété, you did say Nkouyou Matété’, she asked, ‘you heard me, who is he then, he’s very strong, he’s hiding his face, but I can still make out his name, he’s surrounded by other men, they seem to be arguing, issuing death threats’, and Aunt Etaleli muttered sceptically, ‘it can’t possibly be him, he’s my husband after all, he’s the father of my late daughter, you mean to say it’s him, well, I mean, it’s not possible, he wouldn’t eat his own daughter, I tell you, surely’, ‘it was he who ate the girl, he’s in a club that meets in the village of Siaki by night, and every year one of their members sacrifices to the other initiates someone dear to them, this season it was your husband’s turn, and since his harmful double is a crocodile, your daughter met her death by water, drawn into the current by her father’s animal, now the last word is yours, either I call in the four witnesses and your brother, whom you accuse, or you choose silence and keep what I’ve told you to yourself’, without a moment’s hesitation, Aunt Etaleli said ‘I want you to do something to my husband, I want you to put a spell on him, I want him to die before I get back to Siaki, he’s a bastard, a scoundrel, a sorcerer’, Tembé-Essouka almost recovered his sight he was so angry, who do you take me for, eh, I have never put an evil spell on anyone, I simply observe, help those in difficulty, and for anything else, go and talk to the rogues and charlatans in your own village, I am not one of them, who do you take me for, eh’, ‘please, Tembé-Essouka, at least say nothing to the men waiting outside, I particularly don’t want my brother to find out, I accused him wrongly because of the people of Mossaka, they say he has a harmful double who’s a rat, so you can see why, surely, put yourself in my position,’ the sorcerer stood up, as far as he was concerned the meeting was over, and before showing Aunt Etaleli the door he said, ‘that’s your problem, I will say nothing to anyone, Tembé-Essouka has done his job, don’t forget to shut the door behind you and to leave some cowries for the ancestors in the basket at the entrance’

the group left Lekana, the four witnesses all bombarding Aunt Etaleli with questions, she stayed silent as a clam, and since she still seemed angry with Papa Kibandi, who had a big smile of satisfaction on his face, he went off in the opposite direction, he walked for two hours and never once turned back, it was only much later that he expressed his joy, began singing songs, like a madman, what a comeback, and since his thoughts naturally strayed to the scene of the silver bracelet which had just proved his innocence, he burst out laughing, murmured something a little as though he were thanking someone, headed into the forest, looked about him, there was no one, not even a bird, and then he lifted up his long boubou around his waist, squatted down as if he was about to do his business, breathed out sharply, held his breath, pushed, pushed, pushed again, farted gently, a palm nut shot out of his anus, he grabbed it, inspected it, brought it to his nose, smiled and said ‘my dear Tembé-Essouka, you really are blind’, Papa Kibandi had good reason to laugh at the famous sorcerer, he had just become the first man ever to have caught out a sorcerer of Tembé-Essouka’s stature, but it was a mistake to cry victory too soon

Tembé-Essouka didn’t make mistakes, though, dear Baobab, we should have known that, and two months later, he turned up at Mossaka, and the people were sore amazed, fear crept into their shacks, their animals took cover, the sorcerer had news for us, what could it be, and in any case, he was blind, how had he found his way through the bush, then they said perhaps he was faking blindness, he could see everything, the village headman gave him a distinguished welcome, he admitted that for the first time his knowledge of the dark arts had failed him, he proved that Papa Kibandi was a threat to the entire village, he revealed the old man’s tricks, said most of the deaths in Mossaka were his doing, announced that to date Papa Kibandi had eaten more than ninety-nine people, ‘I have come here for you, I am here to deliver you from this evil, for this man is the most dangerous man in all this region, let him not eat his hundredth victim’, he said, and to back up his claim, he quoted, from memory, in alphabetical order, the names of his ninety-nine victims, only one of them lived outside of Mossaka, young Niangui-Boussina, Tembé-Essouka explained her death, a swap between Papa Kibandi and an initiate in the village of Siaki, none other than the Aunt Etalie’s husband, Papa Kibandi had set it all up, he had eaten his own niece, ‘I am here today to deliver you from this devil, Papa Kibandi, this is the first time I have left my own shack, and my masks, of course it’s not for me to put an end to him, Tembé-Essouka never kills, he liberates, you must decide, you just need to catch his harmful double who is hiding out in the forest now, he knows his time is almost up, I have used my special powers to immobilise him, if you lay hands on this animal you’ll be able to do what you want with his master, his death won’t be on your conscience, because you’ll only have attacked an animal, he told us exactly where the old rat was hiding, they thanked him, gave him a white mule, a red cockerel and a sack of cowries, the sorcerer refused to spend the night in the village, he would return to Lekana by night, the village headman tried to persuade him, ‘sleep here tonight, Venerable Tembé-Essouka, it’s dark now, we value your great wisdom’, the sorcerer answered, ‘Honourable Leader, your words warm my heart, but the blind man has no need of the light of day, I must now return to my hut, my masks await me, don’t worry about me, thank you for these gifts’, he grabbed the red cockerel by its feet, tied his sack of cowries to the mule’s back, and set off home

the next day, the chief citizen of Mossaka called an extraordinary meeting of the elders, an urgent decision was taken, to catch Papa Kibandi unawares, so twelve strong men were appointed to go out into the forest and track down the rat, the twelve strong men armed themselves with 12-bore rifles, poisoned arrows, they circled the part of the bush where Tembé-Essouka had said the rat was, wiped out all the rats they could find, at the foot of a paradise flower they discovered a rat hole, covered over with dead leaves, they dug and they dug for a full half hour till they’d cornered the old beast, who could scarcely move, perhaps he knew his time was up, he couldn’t escape this time, he bared his teeth, flashed his incisors threateningly, for once it didn’t work, he inspired pity now, not fear, an amber coloured liquid dribbled from his mouth, at this one of the twelve strong men aimed his arrow, let it fly at the beast, he squealed as a liquid as white as palm wine spurted from him, a second arrow shot his brains to pieces, then they took up their rifles, these twelve strong men, and peppered the creature with bullets, just to make sure on returning to the village, the twelve strong men heard, to their surprise, of the death of Papa Kibandi, no one went to the dead man’s house, the old man’s corpse was laid out in the living room, its staring eyes flipped back in its head, the tongue, a dark indigo blue, lolling towards the right ear, the corpse already rotting, a pestilential smell filled the air, and towards the end of the day as darkness began to fall, Mama Kibandi and my young master rolled the corpse in palm leaves and carried it deep into the forest, buried it in a field of banana trees, crept back into the village, packed a few things, and stole away at break of day, without a trace, following the line of the horizon till they arrived here in Séképembé, I was already here, I had gone on ahead, as soon as I’d seen my young master’s double come to tell me they were leaving the village in the north, I knew I must make my way south, to a village named Séképembé, so that is how, through no choice of our own, we came to live in this village, a foster village where we ought even so to have been able to lead a normal life