Mission of Honor

Chapter Forty-Six

Dhamballa shut the door of his hut. He was surprised to notice that his forearms were weak, his fingers shaking, as he turned on the lantern. He felt disoriented and alone.

The Vodun leader did not want to believe what the soldier had told him-that Leon Seronga had ordered the killing of the priest. The man Dhamballa knew would not give such a command. Not only was it bloodthirsty, it was against everything the peaceful revolution they had worked to achieve stood for.

Yet, do you really know Seronga? Dhamballa thought ruefully. He is an officer, and officers yearn for promotions, for power.

But Dhamballa must not think about that now. It was time to put the material world aside and let the gods speak.

Dhamballa removed a tiny chest from inside his desk. He set it down on the mat, knelt beside it, and raised the lid. Carefully, he removed a white cloth. He set it on the mat and unwrapped it. There were five chicken bones inside the cloth. A source of sustenance and fertility, the chicken was sacred to Vodunists. These were bones that Dhamballa had dried himself when he began studying the art of the houngan. He had baked them in the sun and in heated sand, drawing out all the moisture and making them hard, like ivory.

He reached into the chest and removed a pouch. He undid the drawstring and took out a pinch of cornmeal. This powder, known as ma-veve, represented a direct connection with the healthy and fertile earth. He spread the powder over the cloth, then steepled three of the bones on top of it. Only the largest of the bones was marked. It bore notches in the surface from top to bottom. Then he palmed two others and gently rolled them between his palms. He closed his eyes. The noise of the breaking camp seemed distant. The rolling of the bones often put the Vodunist in a trancelike state. Dhamballa's own houngan mentor had once told him that the man was the real medium. The bones were simply a totem to focus and guide the spirit of the houngan. During this brief journey, they did not provide detailed information about the future. Rather, they read currents in the river of human endeavor. They foretold where the currents would lead. The details were for a houngan to discover through deed and meditation.

Dhamballa released the bones. While they were still airborne, the gods breathed upon them. The Vodun leader could feel the breath as it rushed past him. The two tossed bones struck the other three.

Dhamballa opened his eyes. He studied the pattern in which the bones fell. They confirmed his fears.

Until tonight, the bones had landed in patterns that suggested peaceful trials for himself and his adversaries. Trials of religious resolve, of philosophy, of endurance. They pointed to the moon or sun to tell whether the ordeals would come during the night or day. They pointed east, west, north, or south to tell him from which direction the challenges were coming.

But something had changed.

The house of bones had fallen with all of the pieces crossing one another. That meant chaos was in the offing for the Vodun leader.

There were two more throws to make. The first toss told him how the future would be if the currents went unchanged. The second toss was a look at whether the events might be changed. If the bones landed exactly as before, then the future was fixed. First, there was something he must do.

Dhamballa picked up the largest of the bones. This was the bone with the hash marks cut in its surface. He tugged a hair from his head and carefully worked the strand through a small slit in the base of the bone. Then he wound the rest of the hair r through the other notches cut in the bone. There were slashes representing the eyes, the heart, the stomach, and the loins. Dhamballa fit the free end in a slit on the top of the bone. When the Vodun leader was done, he picked up the rest of the bones and tossed them all again.

The other four bones landed on top of the bone with his hair.

The gods were telling Dhamballa that there was only one way to prevent the chaos. He must take the entire burden upon himself. He must deal with the issues and come up with the solutions.

The Vodun leader scooped the bones into his hand. He gave them a final throw. This last toss would tell Dhamballa whether it was possible to find a solution to the chaos. It would also suggest whether that solution could be peaceful or whether violence was inevitable. He did not bother praying. The gods were there to advise, not listen.

He leaned forward as the bones came to a stop. If none of the bones had touched, then peace was possible. That was not the case. Two of the bones lay by themselves. That meant some participants did not want to confront Dhamballa or each other. Two other bones lay crossed atop the element representing Dhamballa. The gods were telling him that while a peaceful solution was possible, those participants would be against it.

He bent and looked more closely at the cloth. The smallest bone was lying directly across the heart of the Dhamballa bone. That told him something significant.

His gravest enemy was also the unlikeliest one. Until now, he would have thought that was Leon Seronga. But if the prince had not betrayed him, it had to be someone else. Genet was gone and would not be present at the mine. Yet he and his partners stood to lose a great deal if Dhamballa failed. They were going to become Botswana's exclusive diamond merchants on the international market. They would have half of the 500 million dollars the diamonds would generate.

Dhamballa picked up the bone with his hair. He carefully removed the strand and tossed it aside. In its present form, it was an effigy, a crude doll that could impact his own life. If he broke the bone or shut it in darkness, those afflictions would be visited upon him. After shaking the cornmeal from the cloth, Dhamballa rewrapped the bones and placed them back in the chest. In a moment, he would leave the hut to join his soldiers. First, he knelt on the mat and sought to find his center. He could not allow anger or fear to unbalance him.

Dhamballa had not expected events to unfold as they had. But one of the fundamental teachings of Vodunism is that nothing is guaranteed. Even prophecy and magic can fail if the practitioner is careless or distracted.

This is the situation that exists, he thought.

He would not have the time to build a larger following. To get enough attention so that the media would be watching. To present a strong, unified force to the government. To demand that the people of Botswana not be led to the worship of new gods. To insist on the control of industry by Botswanans, not foreigners. He did not even know if the leader of his soldiers had betrayed him.

Nothing is guaranteed, but one thing is certain, Dhamballa told himself. He had to go to the mine. He had to preach as he had planned. There was still a chance that he could rally the loyal. Perhaps he could start a fire that would bring others to their side. With luck, they could draw sufficient numbers to hold off the military in a peaceful way. If they failed, Dhamballa would be assassinated. Even if he were not shot, it was Thomas Burton who would be arrested and tried. His words would be stifled by the leaders, his cause twisted by government attorneys. It would be years before the Vodun movement would have another chance to present its case to the people.

And for Dhamballa, there would be no other chance at all.