Marina
Gavin Mndawe
�
Copyright 2019 by Gavin Mndawe
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There
is a kingdom unbeknown to many. You could swear the buildings and
streets are golden, the way they sparkle and dazzle. Rumour has it
money is minted and printed down there. Many have mistaken this place
for heaven.
Most
of you have been to this kingdom and don�t even know it. Others
�clock in� everyday and are not aware, this is no shock
considering how quick it is to adapt down there.
Marina
was lucky enough to learn of this kingdom, but not before it learnt
of her. You see, Marina was dedicated at birth. Placed inside a
disembowelled goat and trained in divination and potion production,
she was to be a mighty subject in the kingdom.
She
learnt a lot as an initiate under her mother; whose idea it was to
have her dedicated. She was taught of the various spirits; the
menacing monkey that hides your identity when you do wrong, the
sensual snake that strikes down every counterpart in its path, the
promiscuous dog that renders eye contact deadly. These were
technologies Marina was to familiarise herself with. She learnt to
identify them, to deal with them and to invite them. The monkey
spirit for instance is inserted through incisions made by burnt
monkey eyebrows.
Not
only was she taught of spirits, she was educated in identifying the
physical markers of a marine agent. Religiosity, skimpy clothing,
�profane� music, lack of manners, aggression etc. are all
indications of allegiance to the sea. If they love attention, they
belong to the sea. If they �zone out� often, they belong
to the sea. If they fail to look an anointed one in the eye, they
belong to the sea. You may think they are sleeping or shy, not so,
they are avoiding fire in their eyes.
Unless
they result from recruitment, none of them has the same mission and
yet there are some universal red flags. One of these red flags is
�zoning out�. An agent would be talking to you and he�d
ask you about something you�re passionate about. You would talk
about your passion without realising no one is listening. It is only
when you say something funny and pat the agent on the back that
you�ll realise you�ve been talking to yourself. It is
also at this point that the agent would have to leave whatever marine
boardroom and return to the body while it�s still in the same
position. A different position would spell death.
Another
red flag is personality. A marine subject will change personalities
when administering chaos. If it�s music, their voice will
change when singing. If it�s fashion, they will be a different
person in their Sunday best.
It
is said ��there is nothing new under the sun��.
Whoever said that didn�t consider the oceanic threshold that
exceeds the reach of sunshine. You see, where light fears to tread,
lies thrive and mutations abound, resulting in the 'new'.
Marina
never doubted the power of her will, not after possibly witnessing it
kill someone. Her one true friend Orphilia wasn�t available
suddenly. Who was she to share the wisdom with? Who would help her
digest everything? Who was she to absorb from? The mother didn�t
trust Orphilia�s siblings as much. She became demanding, always
needing Orphilia to do something, to stick around the house or go
some place. And so Marina purposed in her heart for Orphilia�s
mother to die. At first she gawked at this malicious wish, later she
grew accustomed to it, nursing it with every ��she�s
not here�� and ��I�ve sent her to
town��.
Marina
and Orphilia shared a bond so strong that a day without contact was
like a day without fresh air and sunshine. Marina became completely
consumed by the strangling thought of Orphilia�s absence.
"Marina,
write numbers one to ten for us, in order thank you��
decrees Miss Ekans, handing her the chalk. Up bounces the young lady
with her trousers tucked into her boots. It is worth noting that
girls that do not wear pants, nor do they wear boots in school. As
she writes on the board the class erupts in laughter.
"Does
that look like a seven to you?" snarls Miss Ekans. Unsettled,
she turns to the madam who by now is standing akimbo. '�If I
stand this way I am Marina, If I turn the other way, am I not still
Marina?�� she challenges as her audience ejects a barrage
of chuckles.
Her
mother used to say ��peace implies war, power implies war
and glory implies war". She could tell these were not her words
because these words were stained with frustration. She was invested
in indifference. Women and emotion are synonymous but a dragged life
of disappointment left her callous. It didn�t help living in a
land where the dams had dandruff, the function of rivers was reversed
and the smell of rain was a distant memory. While kicking stones and
mud cakes to and from her gig or what others call school, she would
dip into the despair her mother wanted to feel.
There
was a medicine woman in the village that Marina�s mother was an
apprentice to. It is said that all rains from the past fifty years
were the result of her sacred dance. At seventy-four, and without
anyone trained in this art and science, the village was in jeopardy.
Guerilla governments and mercenaries were closing in on this region
and the rain and war goddess Aleeneh required appeasement. The rain
dance was unlike any other. The shaman would have to camp on the bank
of the river for five days. During these days the shaman would not
eat or drink anything.
Candlelit
dinners were the true reservoirs of knowledge for Marina. She often
wore the tiara her mother received as Miss University, even at
supper. ��Mama, why do we live in the desert?��
asks Marina with feathery frustration.
"We
live in the desert because we are poor; we are poor because Africa is
poor and Africa is poor because things come easy here. You don�t
need air conditioning, you can sit under a tree. You don�t need
heated floors. You don�t need to fertilize soil, you just plant
a seed. This land is cursed. I pray to Aleeneh, may this hell shed
its rancorous skin to reveal the lush splendour our Moorish
forefathers wrote about.�'
The
ancestors have ways of calling the living into service. Marina's lack
of attention at school wasn't due to her wanting attention. She was
plagued by the sound of crashing water, visions of crystal crocodiles
and the feeling she was not the only inhabitant of her body.
After
vigorous evaluation, Marina took it upon herself to consult the old
medicine lady to find out what the ancestors wanted. She arrived to a
macabre display of freedom. Rare animal skins like that of leopards
and pythons were draped on the walls as if to wean oneself off the
wilderness. Elephant and hippo bones propped up the roof and were
ignored by villagers, as if acknowledging some shamanistic immunity.
To
enter a trance, the medicine woman had her assistant beat drums
drunkenly as she eased into a limping dance. Incense smoke
reminiscent of forest fog colonised the consultation room while the
witchdoctor sought guidance from her bag of bones. A piece of broken
mirror rolled out the bag as she discarded its contents. "Makhosi"
she grunted as she launched into convulsions and clapped her hands to
welcome the ancestors. "Young lady you must answer the call of
the ancestors or they will sicken you to death" she said while
pointing at the mirror. "You are the only hope this village has,
perform the sacred dance. Know one thing however, you are
replaceable." And she disappeared in a stinging storm of smoke
before the assistant escorted Marina out.
Later
that evening, Marina would set out for Lana River, carrying with her
not a change of clothes nor food, but incense and other ceremonial
devices. As she paused to stargaze, she saw an array of lights
zipping by as if to celebrate her journey. Prayer and chanting were
the order of the night as she braced herself for this adventure.
Hoots and howls fluttered in the air as Marina noticed a fig tree.
She had never seen one this big, the fruit itself beyond comparison.
Marina wrestled the craving, deciding to camp by the tree until she
convinced herself. And surely she did, a few hours into the night.
Five days will begin tomorrow, she snuggled into the thought as she
gorged herself on figs.
She
awoke to an army of frogs encircling her. "What is this?"
"You
are pregnant" proclaims a voice seemingly coming from within
her.
"But
I've never-" shudders Marina.
"With
desire" added the voice. "Sometimes willing and waiting are
enough." And a cascading reassurance came upon Marina as she
watched the frogs leap into obscurity.
Cyclops. Moorish revivalist. Prince of the royal secret. Dadaist as evidenced by a contribution to Maintenant 13: A Journal of Dada Art and Literature. One who breathes like tortoise. Mental health activist. Eleven embodied. Evangelist of the epiphysis. Owl incarnate.Modern-day Essene. Aspiring master faster. Angelo Soliman, Benjamin Banneker and Ziryab all wrapped up in one. Subject of the last absolute monarch in Africa and citizen of the Republic of South Africa.
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