The Clownery Mystery

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Life is a mystery, that's why we Africans are still poor because we just don't know how to solve mysteries for ourselves. Instead we leave it for the gods to help us figure things out.

But the problem here is that our gods are always too busy enjoying the blood of animals and getting wasted on dry gin to even know where to start from and by the time they get sober they can't remember what we asked of them and we're expected to come back with more animals and gin, and the cycle continues.

It was on one of my numerous quests to uncover the mysteries of life that I and other villagers embarked on a journey into a forest to find the original inhabitants of my now civilized village. Upon hearing from our village head that the forest is inhabited by cannibals, I decided to dress like a clown.

At the end of the futile quest, I was the only one that returned to the village in one piece. When I asked the cannibals why they spared me, they said that they can't eat me because they knew I would taste funny since I was a clown.

Talk about clowning, I remember when I bumped into a guy who was apparently running from the police after being declared wanted for impregnating an inspector's daughter. Sweating profusely, I managed to calm him down with a plate of food and drinks after which we got talking and he told me how he loved the girl but her parents won't accept him because he was poor.

I felt his pain though especially when he told me that he was an orphan. In a bid to cheer him up, I encouraged him to look on the brighter side of things. At first he struggled to see the bright side of things until I told him that at least someone finally wants him.

I don't know if I was hit by a truck or by a human hand, but I woke up hours later in intensive care. Few minutes later, the doctor rushed in to tell me that I needed an operation, but they could not administer the anesthesia because I was still unconscious. I felt eery because I hate needles and knives but I could notice that everything seemed prepped already for my surgery.

At that moment I started quarreling with the doctor for not seeking my permission before prepping me for surgery. The argument got heated and the doctor angrily walked out from the room murmuring something that sounded like "knock yourself out".

Feeling pangs of pain all over my body as a result of the argument, I noticed the anesthesia beside the bed and decided to help myself. I took the first doze and felt no immediate relief, then I took a second and third doze and knocked myself out.

I woke up two weeks later in an event that looked like my burial. I could see people crying and singing, but I weirdly felt good that I was about to wipe the tears off their eyes and cheeks. It's been a week since then and it seems no one can still hear or see me. I guess clowning couldn't save me after all.

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