How I was stopped from becoming a millionaire over night (1)
By Clem Oluwole
The whole drama began one late afternoon when the old man sent me on an errand to one of his friends who resided at a location called Ashanti New Town. Knowing how playful and adventurous I was, he spat on the floor and warned that the saliva should not dry up before I returned, and promised me a tin of condensed milk which I loved most. Midway to his friend’s house, I sighted from afar a motley crowd which formed a ring round a magician. The adventure in me diverted my course and as I moved closer to the crowd, I heard them chanting: ‘Come and see America wonda! Come and seeee America wondaaaa!! America wonda!’
I joined the crowd and elbowed my way to the front row. The magician wore a multi-color monkey jacket on a pair of red trousers. There was also a piece of red cloth hanging from his shoulders down to the back of his legs….the type supermen wear in movies. And dangling around his chest was an unusually large Celtic cross. In his left hand was a finial (magic wand) which, I was soon to discover, he used to conjure all manner of magical sights. He also had two smart looking acolytes with him who assisted in the abracadabra business. I quickly plunged into the America wonder chorus. Fascinated by the scene, I out-sang and out-clapped everyone around to the admiration of the magician and his two disciples. The former even gave me a thumbs-up.
After chorusing for a long while, he gave a signal to one of the acolytes to bring a bowl. He waved the bowl to us and turned it upside down. We all agreed that it was empty. He covered the bowl with its lid and brought it under a piece of red cloth. After encircling it with the finial and muttering some mumbo jumbo, he unveiled the bowl. Lo and behold, white rice buried under peppered chicken steamed out, inducing salivation from the fascinating crowd who clapped and clapped. Next, he bent over his tummy and began to churn out boiled eggs from his mouth. He must have laid more than one crate. Moving the finial up and down as if he was conducting a symphony orchestra, we chorused the wonder song for a long while. In the midst of the chorus, he requested for a piece of paper from the crowd. He got one and squeezed it into his mouth. After chewing up the paper like a rodent, he began to pull out fresh currency notes from his mouth. My eyes popped out of the sockets, and I did not even realize that my lower jaw had dropped until I felt my chest and tummy wet with saliva.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was supposed to be on an errand for my dad. But I quickly dismissed that from my mind, convincing myself that the old man and the entire family would be better off if I acquired the power to transform myself into a human ATM, disgorging mints, than being an errand boy.
Then, came the anti-climax. The magician asked for a volunteer among the crowd. One man stepped forward. He sat him on a wooden box for a while and told us that he would kill him and bring him back to life. I shuddered a little. I scanned the faces of other onlookers. All I saw was curiosity and not shivers. He spread a piece of red cloth on the ground and asked the volunteer to lie on it. To my surprise, he obeyed. He covered him with another piece of white cloth. After that, he drove a dagger into the man’s belly and we saw blood oozing out. I backpedalled in fright, causing two people standing behind me to lose their balance. I apologized profusely but I stayed on. He then asked someone to step forward to certify the state of the man. One man came out to play doctor. He planted his ears on the dead man’s chest and lifted his arms a couple of times…no life. ‘He is dead!’ the ‘doctor’ announced to us. At that point, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Should something go wrong, all of us could be arrested and treated as murder collaborators. But the journalist in me (right from childhood) would not allow me to flee the scene. The magician then ordered us to chorus the America wonda song louder. We obeyed. He waved his finial for a very long time. Then he tapped the cadaver by the tummy and the dead man truly sprang back to life. Wooooondaful!!! That was the reaction from the stupefied crowd. I was among those who rushed to touch the man by the belly…to feel the hole the dagger left in his navel region.
After the stupendous show, many admirers showered cash gifts on the magician, a la offerings. I stayed back after others had left and decided to engage the miracle man in a dialogue. I flattered him for a while and indicated my desire to be part of his ‘wondaaaful’ team. He responded with a guffaw and told me I was still an under-age. It was my turn to laugh, reminding him about the story of an under-age in the Bible named David who slew a giant called Goliath. He seemed to back down but was quick to tell me that there was a process I had to go through to become a super magician like himself. Apparently trying to discourage or scare me off, he said I had to spend seven nights in a graveyard where I would commune with the power givers. He, however, warned that I would go mad if I got frightened by the creepy creatures, and pointed in the direction of the nearby Kumasi Lunatic Asylum where I could end up. I instantly developed goose pimples but the thought of becoming the richest boy on earth emboldened me. I assured the man that I was immune to fear. To prove how fearless and daring I was, I told him that a few days back, I had single-handedly chased away a ghost (not goat) that came to our compound when I went to ease myself in the wee hours of the night. That lie sent him reeling with laughter. To cut a long story short, and seeing how desperate I was, he accepted me with both arms and fixed an appointment for the next day at a spot where he was billed to perform. I threw my tiny arms around his lanky frame, thanked him profusely and departed.
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