THEATRE OF THE ABSURD

Saturday November 22, 2013

It’s all about theatre. Today’s visit to the juju doctor seems a smoke and mirrors scam. Ok, well maybe not smoke and mirrors. The setting is magnificent. We sit under a thatched roof outdoor space. Strips of cloth, bird nests and unfamiliar what’s its hang from the rafters. Each of these  fetishes I’m told, “have their own secret, their own work, their own spirit. They all have purpose.”

Red powder (paint?) lies in strips before the bench where we sit. To the left in front of us is a mermaid carving draped with native beads, splattered with red and grey powder. A small African figure flanked by two small totem-pole-like carvings and wax candle remnants rests at the base of this strange goddess.  Beyond this shrine is a small enclosed room full of unusual things. While Ivor prattles on about nothing special the doctor busies himself with a thick mixture resembling mud. He works it with his hands, adding secret this and thats, forming small balls in a manner that illicits memories of my Italian grandmother making meatballs. “Cleansing soap,” he explains, pointing to a printed poster extolling the magical properties of Hindu’s Good Luck Soap. Hindu is his working nickname, a handle used by all juju practicioners. One of his virgin daughters prepares the mucky muck, he adds in the magical mystical properties.

Eventually he asks what I seek.

“To know where life will take me next.”

“Ah” he nods knowingly.

But my star energy is not clear enough for him to answer. I must bathe to cleanse and brighten my star light.

“At 6:00am you must bathe and pray for good luck. At 12 noon you must bathe to wash away evil.  At 3:00pm you must bathe again and pray for love and romance.  Then, you come back to me.”

He will go to market to purchase the ingredients for this ritual but needs N20,000.

“I cannot pay that. I am just a volunteer. I do not have such money.”

“Okay, then N10,000”

(SorryO. Ain’t gonna happen).

I ask if he can speak to those who have passed on.

“Oh yes. Dead speak. Yes.”

I must make another appointment for that.

The keeper of secrets then goes to the back enclosure and returns with a large gourd flask and a small plastic bottle filled with clear liquid. He uncorks the flask, sprinkles black sooty something into his palm and then into a glass, adds the liquid, takes a sip to prove it’s okay and passes it to us.  This concoction is supposed to energize but quickly subdues. The taste is that of kai-kai and charcoal.  As we react to the burning sensation moving down our gullets to our guts the doctor licks his hands clean of the black soot.

“I have a difficult question for you,” I begin.  “Back in my home country, back in the west, many people suffer from deep sadness (depression). Can you tell me about this?”

“That is a difficult matter. Witches are everywhere. Every country has it. In any family where they have a witch, the family is not safe.”

Translation from Ivor: anti-social behaviour is a sign of witchery, a bad heart.

But what to do about it? The good doctor never says.  I suppose that will require another appointment too.

Some 45 minutes of absurd exchange and N2,000 later I thank him for sharing his time and invite him and his wife to come visiting. “I will cook flavours you have never before tasted.”  This pleases him.

We leave not any the wiser. Ivor shares that he tried the ritual bathing.

“And?”

“I’ve millions in the bank and more beautiful women than I can manage.”

Not

…although there may be something to be said about millions of Naira in the bank (1M naira =$6666 USD) and an inexhaustible supply of Nigerian women seeking the status and company of this oyibo man.