Sacrifice Flash Duel Final Round
Welcome to SACRIFICE FLASH DUEL Final Round. This contest is being held in honor of Late Joseph Blankson, a Nigerian man who died to save his co-passengers from a capsized boat. He may be dead but he is immortalized in our hearts.
12 finalists have emerged from a pool of beautiful entries. Only two are remaining. Their pens are drawn, poised and they are ready to battle in honor of this legend.
“Koma Hills first encounter with technology/civilization.”
Rules of Engagement for Sacrifice Flash Duel Final Round
* Read BOTH stories
*Head over to Chioma Ngaikedi’s Facebook Wall where the voting is taking place
*Vote CLEARLY the story you think best interprets the prompt.
* Critique if you can.
*Tag others to come read and vote the Story of their choice
* DO NOT guess who wrote which.
* DO NOT tell people which story to vote for.
Voting ends on Tuesday, November 6, 2018 by 8pm GMT.
KEEPERS OF TRADITION
A green and white hawk perches on Koma’s highest hill, letting out a piercing screech which signals the approaching flood. Angry waters destroy everything in its path, leveling hills and trees until the once glorious hill country becomes an abandoned plain.
Jakpu wakes up. This is no ordinary dream and as Kpani of the tribe, he has to discover its meaning. Before dawn, he heads to the holy hill and sits to await a message from Zum. The Supreme Being always speaks to him through the rising sun which would bless his head with its golden rays.
By noon, Jakpu arose dejected. Zum had said nothing. Returning to the village, he heard the excitement. Strangely dressed men were in their midst, among them those who wore green and white just like the stranger who had visited before. He had called himself the government’s servant. Suddenly, he understood the dream. Quickly rushing to the Clan head, he blurted without usual ceremony, ‘’Trouble is here. Those who seek to destroy us and our ways are here. We must act fast.’’
‘’How do you know they are enemies?’’, Danladi, the clan head asked.
‘’Zum revealed it this morning.’’
Danladi knew better than to disbelieve the village priest. Jakpu was always right. ALWAYS.
Quickly, he ordered for the village braves to be assembled at the palace. No one would destroy them. They were the keepers of tradition.
One of the youth corpers sidled close to the Governor, ‘’Sir, this looks like trouble.’’
Governor Mamza looked up and was filled with dread. Fierce looking men were quickly surrounding them, faces smeared with red earth and the tips of their sharp spears shining.
Before now, naked children had touched him out of curiosity while the women covered only in fresh leaves had kept a distance. Now, he could see why there had been no man around. Still, he asked the interpreter, ‘’Are we in trouble?’’. Fear quickly replacing the urge to bring civilization to this village.
‘’Yes, Sir. They want us dead’’, his interpreter replied.
Mamza brought out his gun and turned to the corpers, three of them. ‘’When I shoot, just run without looking back. You all have a bright future.’’
‘’What about you, Sir?’’ One of them asked.
‘’If I do not make it out alive, feel free to call me a hero’’, he replied with a half-smile.
A shot was fired.
FOR ALL HE CARED
Lekere had decided to become a medicine man once his sister inherited everything their mother owned; their land, their house, their yams, their livestock, everything. He had no choice but to claim to be called by the gods. You see, he was a lazy man who could do nothing with a bow and an arrow, but he could talk, and according to the rumour he had done so well to spread, see visions also.
So when Lekere prophesied that men who dressed strangely and indecently, men who covered almost every part of their body, would come over the hills and help the people of Koma, nobody doubted him. He was, after all, called by the gods.
Only last week, the gods aided his victory in the farting contest among all the medicine men Koma had at that time, his third such farting conquest. His was the loudest and most smelling fart that Koma had ever witnessed since time immemorial, slipping out from between black cheeks of a sunken butt not covered by the leopard skin he wore. Most would say his conquests in the farting arena was entirely unrelated to the rate at which he consumed the eggs the natives offered for sacrifice.
So the people believed him and welcomed the strangers who had the same black skin they had, but spoke in a strange language. Lekere was the only person who understood them, and this was seen as a clear sign from the gods. He was the trust they needed to hand over twenty of their daughters, so these strangers would help them as the gods willed. Their daughters would come back when the moon was full again and they would come back with great knowledge that would help Koma Hills. The people of Koma nodded, bowed and waved at the men who wore mirrors over their eyes.
As that day moved on to an end, somewhere at the top of the hill, Lekere counted the materials that had been given him, while watching the strangers depart. There was a crooked smile on his face as he watched them go.
No one knew he had been in contact with these men long before now and learnt their language; no one knew that he was now rich beyond compare; no one knew that the young girls were not coming back. The moon could swell over for all he cared.