The Stick (A Short Story)

It feels great getting back to the root. At least, that’s what I think because who knows one might not get even one chance for it in a lifetime. Life is mostly a forward journey. But, we look back to our past. We want to get back to the place where everything started. But only a few who wants to relive the past being close to their root. It may seem rude. It may seem ironic. But, it is true.

The journey of early humans had started from the African Savana. Then millions of years passed. Human evolved physically and psychologically. They spread all over the world. Their voyages gave birth to myths, legends, and epics. Whatever the odds were, they seemed to have flourished continuously. There is another thing, not all early ancestors left Africa. Some remained into nature. So, getting back to this once-called-dark-continent from a so-called-developed civilization could be something adventurous for the modern enthusiasts. And, it’s also interesting for those who want to explore another dimension life. Some may do this to entertain their curiosity. Some may do it for getting first-hand knowledge of Africa. But, most of the people want to taste her and use her.

I feel a spiritual connection with Africa. I am not sure- whether I’m modern or not, as most definitions are stereotypic and biased to certain things. But I know I have a powerful reason. I have a personal orientation with Africa. I was born there. I spent my childhood over there. And, I can feel her sufferings. She is dying. I know the main causes of all her pains. And I know what happens when roots are infected and weakened.

I’ve returned to Congo for one month only. I’ve been living in America for last twenty years. I am a professor at a renowned college over there. I’m also a popular writer. The Mobutu dictatorship invited me to conduct some seminars here. I thought this is going to be the best opportunity to revisit my past. The country is not safe for anybody for some decades. It is hard to tell which one is the worst: the colonial period or this Mobutu- era.

The outside world’s exploitation has caused unseen and incomprehensible changes to Africa. And Africans have never been able to cope with these changes. Now they are experiencing an identity crisis. And, the term Africanness is nothing more than Mobutu’s political propaganda. That’s my observation of two weeks.

You can’t figure out what’s going on in Congo staying outside. International media are not welcome here for their sneak peeking. So, you would get is less of Congo and more of Mobutu and his easy-to-understand lies in the newspapers. When you are telling lies with great confidence and do not bother about how it looks; real or fake – you are definitely a powerful man.

Mobutu is the Primary cause of my family’s escape from the eastern-coast of Congo to America. Our ancestors were from India. For generations, we were living here. But the situation changed drastically when Mobutu took power by force and started to establish his version of Africanness. It was actually no more than his personal glorification. Nothing has changed.  And, that’s what I am observing in this room of his hometown palace. In every inch of it. He has invited me to a dinner.

I am alone in this gigantic room. A servant boy left me here.  He is not the one who received me. Both of them are not wearing the costume that we see servant-boys wear in the presidential domain. These boys dress has nothing to do with that so-called Africanness. This is the first sign of Mobutu’s hypocrisy I’ve found after coming here.

I am seating on an expensive sofa.  There are many of them. Among these, only two are organized in face-to-face alignment. Others are kept to some distance. I think this arrangement is done for tonight. Looking at the photographs from the wall this can be understood. In those photos Mobutu can be seen with important guests; mostly delegates from different nations. The American president has also visited this palace.

The covers of these sofas are made by skins from the big cats, probably from the fastest ones. And, I’m feeling uncomfortable inside. I’m thinking of a crime that I’ve never committed.  I also hate killing animals in the name of Trophy Hunting. It’s also because I do not have that much money to entertain my killing instinct. Do I possess this instinct? Probably I do not. Not for fun for sure. The use of Ivory is also easily noticeable. Though, the wall and floor are white in color; neat and clean, I’m seeing blood everywhere. I can smell it too.

So, I am getting more time to see and think about him ‘you know who’. The boy didn’t tell me how long it would take to meet him. I haven’t heard any kind of noise. The room is comfortable with plenty of air. I can see gardens and swimming pools from this room for two huge windows. Though, there is no sound. The TV is turned off. So are the surroundings. But of course, I am not feeling homesick or nervous. It is not because I have been to places of this voluptuous kind. Instead, I think it’s because I’m feeling more curious to meet the person. It is a kind of excitement. But, Surely, I’ve never met a-cock-who-never-left-a-hen-unruffled type of man in my life.

What will he ask? How will he behave? Why had he invited me to his palace in the first place? Am I this famous to the outer world? These are the questions appearing in my mind right now. He is a Godlike figure. His personality is worshiped in different forms, it has become a cult. You might not see this everywhere in this world anymore. He appears in public with his leopard-skin cap and the famous stick in hand. When he raises his stick- the world seems to stop rotating. People stop talking. And, when he sets it on the ground, there is life. His stick symbolizes his power and control over his countrymen. I keep imagining. Who would have thought that the bipedal journey of human civilization would need a tool like this at any point in their history?

The boy appears again with some bottle of drinks and water. I am thirsty. So I will just take water for now. The boy goes quite silently. When he disappears, I hear a sound of a knock from the same direction. The Lord of Congo is standing right there.

“May I come in?”-without my reply, he enters the room and continues, “I am very sorry for keeping you waiting. I hope you had a good journey to my home”. He comes right in front of me. I forget when I stood up and became mute. My hand acts automatically and accordingly, they go towards him. We shake hands. I answer, “No. The journey was spectacular; it was quite a view on the way outside.” He smiles and replies “Yes, this is Africa, my friend.” I was recovering from my thinking. Probably I needed more time. But no, it comes out through my mouth. “Where is your stick? – I ask him. I realize my mistake. I think he might get surprised by this question. But it is not. He smiles and says, “Don’t tell me you have come back to your birth-place only to see a stupid stick.”

[Note: This story is written completely out of imagination. And, this is mainly a trail of writing a short story. Thank you.]