The screams continuously faded, leaving little to my imagination. My hand shook vigorously threatening to drop my torch as we strolled inside the room. Every occupant was dressed in long pitch black cloaks that swept the floor on their way in. My heart thumped insanely as I tried to keep up with their humorous ritual singing.
Mtoto wa mgema halewi mchana
Pindi tu jua ikishapotea
Yeye hunywa akiwa uchi.
(The son of a local brewer doesn’t drink at daytime. Once the sun sets, he will drink while his naked.)
On the farthest side of the room was my cousin, Jamba, who I’d been trailing with him having no slightest clue of it. We stood in long widely spaced rows allowing the ritual conductor to walk in between with ease. I kept my head down dreadfully worrying about being exposed in this bizarre place.
The singing commenced once more and everyone let go to the soothing rhythm while four freaks marched inside the room carrying a girl on a wooden stretcher. She lay motionless on it with her eyes closed and was in her mid teens. They laid her on the floor, everyone gradually kneeling down. My eyes still glued on her, I barely noticed what was happening.
“Kara has chosen you. You’ve proved your bravery,” the ritual conductor said stretching his arm. He narrowed his daring eyes at me, handing me a knife. “Go on,” he insisted. I walked between the kneeling cowards towards the front where she lay. I hardened my grip on the knife as I got closer and closer to her wishing there was a possible way out.
A small stream of blood flowed across her neck staining her dark hair…