The two elders sat across from each
other with the beer stuck between them. Straws dipped into the frothy brew and
found their way to their lips. They sipped the froth with masked apprehension,
eyeing each other suspiciously. If their history was anything to go by, then
apprehension was warranted.
Though they seemed like best
friends, matters republic at times seemed to drive them insane. Both were known
to steal, lie and deceive, one more than the other. They had turned the
republic into a giant chess board. Each playing from his village; rallying
their pawns and knights towards the opposing king.
The
great man from the west, who had brokered the truce between the two, also sat
besides the pot. His eyes kept darting between the two elders, perhaps trying
to figure out what was going through each of their minds. He kept caressing his
straw, changing it from hand to hand. Not once did his straw go to his lips,
but this passed un-noticed.
The tension was high, so thick you
could almost touch it. The air was stale from the odors of a multitude of
unwashed bodies, but this also passed un-noticed. The republicans had already
gotten used to the smell. Water had become a very rare commodity in the
republic.
Not a word had been spoken since
the meeting had convened. The silence around the giant baobab tree was almost
solid. There was a sense of déjà vu. Only two seasons before, a similar
gathering had been summoned, two weeks of madness had gripped the republic and
the situation would only have worsened had a meeting not been called.
The problem had been control of the
watering hole. You see, the system had been that, for every five years, one of
the tribes would have its elders elected by popular vote to govern the water.
At first, this was a fair system. Until someone got greedy.
The five year term had come to a
close and the ruling elder was expected to vacate office. He had done quite a
lot during his tenure: roads had been paved around the watering hole; he had
ordered that troughs be constructed all around the water point and had devised
a system that continuously pumped water into the troughs. Only one problem
though, he was greedy. When he was first elected into office, he took over a
smaller watering point and had run it dry. It had been customary for the tribe
that was out of office to run the smaller water points and his actions had
cooked up some hate.
When his time to leave came, he
discovered a loop-hole. The counting of the votes was done by the leader who
was in office. Who was to say that he could not declare himself winner and
govern for another term? It seemed like a crazy idea at the time but he was not
willing to let go of the perks that came with being Chief.
And so he devised a plan. He
counted the votes and declared that: although it had never happened before, the
same man had been elected into office again. He went on to say that: since it
was a popular vote, the person with the most votes would be the winner. And the
winner, he announced, was: Him! Anyone who felt the need to complain could go
consult the oracle.
Mayhem seemed to engulf the
republic like a dark storm. He swore himself in at night. The tribe that had
been rigged out could have none of it. Only the swords could decide. War and
chaos, rape and murder became the new order until the great man from the east
came to republics rescue.
He made the two agree to share
governance. The ruling elder would maintain control over the major watering
point while his colleague would control a network of smaller water points with
authority to expand and develop them. All were satisfied and peace was
celebrated over a pot of beer similar to the one they were now sipping under
the giant baobab.
‘Mmmh! Mmmh!’ the peace-broker
cleared his throat breaking the silence. ‘I have come with orders from the
oracle,’ he continued. ‘He sent me bearing this brew as a solution for eternal
peace, drink from it and all your ills will be cured, all your evil banished
forever.
The two elders nodded and sipped on
in earnest. The great man ordered for more straws and distributed them to the
remaining members of the council. The mood lightened at the gesture. Some
chatter emerged; even the sun seemed to grow less cruel.
Suddenly the ruling elder from the
east felt a sharp sting at the base of his rectum. It was accompanied by an
uneasy ache at the pit of his stomach. He grabbed at his stomach and glanced at
the surrounding crowd wondering where he could find a bush. Sweat streamed
across his face as he struggled to hold it in. He had to go fast! He glanced at
his counterpart sitting across from him; he was in a similar shape; grabbing at
his stomach and glancing around like a scared mouse.
They could not hold it in any
longer; they jumped to their feet tipping over the pot in their haste; running
in search of a thicket. Their bottoms seemed to be on fire. No bush was in
sight. The unforgiving sun had obliterated any sign of green from sight.
They ran straight through the
bewildered crowd. Unable to control their bowels, they lifted the ship-skins
bound around their waists and released their intestinal contents in smelly
heaps. The crowd was ecstatic. The scene was being repeated all around the
baobab. Every council member who had drunk from the pot was crouched close to
the ground shitting themselves pale.
A roar of laughter erupted from the
crowd. Every republican was rolling in laughter, holding their noses against
the putrid stench. The great man from the west stood from his sit, he placed
his unused straw against the tipped pot and took his walking stick. Smiling to
himself, he walked towards the sunset. After some distance, he cocked his head
backwards at the embarrassed elders and broke into laughter. He shook his head
and walked on. ‘The elders will sort out their differences amidst hushed
groans,’ he thought to himself and strutted on.
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