By Ilongo Fritz Ngale
During the last day of his campaign as Mayor of the Ebola Rural Council, Efite Ngolo scheduled a meeting with recalcitrant party militants of Camp II who had vowed to vote for the opposition, following their vehement accusations that he had done nothing for the municipality during his first term in office. Addressing himself to Tonga, head of his compaign team, Efite was saying: “If we do not win in Camp II my political career is finished.” “Take it easy lord Mayor. We are still on course. It takes very little to bring the rabble to its knees.” “Why don’t we send bags of rice and cheap red wine to them before the meeting day proper?” Suggested the anxious Ngolo Efite. “No, no my lord Mayor. This time around we have to go beyond simple stomach filling. We have to step up the pressure from a new angle.” “Tell me about that. You know I will do anything to run for this second term.” “We have to carry out mind control on those rebels.” “How is that?” “Through hypnotism.”
On the eve of the meeting with their Camp II militants, Efite and Tonga went to visit a renowned hypnotist who lived in the hills of Ebola. In his small thatched hut filled with holes, the old man consulted his beads thrown on sand besides a small fire. Clearing his throat, Pa Mbosi wheezed out the following messages: “You will need to eat three leaves from the plant that I will give you. Once you have done so, none can stand up to you. You will be able to act on people from a distance, not to talk of when you are face to face with them.” The men profusely thanked Pa Mbosi, and a substantial amount of money changed hands in the smoke filled structure. Two hours before Efite Ngolo and his campaign team arrived at Camp II the following day, the atmosphere was tense as militants promised to raise hell and disrupt the meeting. The most radical of them were saying: “We should give Efite Ngolo the thrashing of his life.” “We should take neither his money nor his food and drinks.” “Wait and see what we shall say to that corrupt, unscrupulous and embezzling Mayor.” There was electricity in the air when the team arrived, with the Mayor calmly chewing on his cud of three mysterious leaves. He then proceeded to harangue the crowd: “During my first term in office I planted certain seedies, started projects which are about maturing. If you do not vote for me, you will lose all the fruits of the actions I have initiated. I beg for a second term so that we can reap the fruits of our joint efforts. I hear there are some grievances here. Can your main representatives speak up now?” The campaign team anxiously waited for a stormy reaction from the people, but to their amazement none of the previously belligerent radicals opened his mouth to say a thing. After some time, when no one had spoken Tonga rounded up the meeting by saying triumphantly: “There is food, wine and money for everybody. Let us make merry.” The people rushed on the sacks of rice and barrels of cheap red wine. ‘Smiling and totally relieved, Efite walked majestically among the people, “spraying” them with crisp bank note, thinking to himself: See the rabble scrabble in the dust for money. My leg is on their necks unknown to them. My victory is now certain.’ ‘On the day before the elections, Efite Ngolo thought to himself: “Instead of three leaves I will eat six in order to make assurance double sure that the rabble all go out in their numbers to vote for me.’ How great was the shock of Efite’s campaign team when they realized that on the day of the voting no individual from Camp II came out of his home to participate in the voting exercise. The villagers were paralysed by an inexplicable sense of stupour. They knew they had to get up and go out to vote, but some force beyond them kept the people captives in their beds. By the time it was four o’clock in the afternoon, Efite Ngolo knew he was going to lose the elections. In a wild and desperate last ditch action, he decided to eat three more of his lethal leaves in order, according to him to counter the inertia that six leaves were causing among the people. Like a huge monstrous wave, the people slowly got up from their paralysis looking red-eyed and belligerent, with all their deep seated grievances ascending to the surface in boiling waves of fury. The rabble rousers went about saying: “Efite must go. We even prefer the opposition to him. We shall go and disrupt the vote.” Like an angry sea at high tide, the men and women of Camp II, caught in an irresistible destructive impulse, crashed their way into the voting booths, tearing voting cards and evicting the officials. On the run by now, Efite Ngolo slowly made his way to the hut of the old man who had earlier given the leaves. In the smoke-filled, mosquito infested hut of Pa Mbosi, Efite was weeping in despair: “I have lost everything.” “Did you follow my instructions to the letter?” Asked the old man. “No Pa Mbosi. I ate six and later three more leaves.” “Nine leaves?” Shouted the old man. He continued: “You are lucky to have escaped alive. There is nothing I can do for you now. You disobeyed my orders and unleashed the negative side of those leaves.” “I am going away, and I don’t ever want to see you again!” Shouted a desperate Efite. “I need the balance of my payments now.” Insisted Pa Mbosi. “You will have no franc from me, you old fool.” “Well then you will not only lose the elections but also your sanity.” “Mad!” Shouted a wild eyed hysterical Efite. “I shall have to neutralize the negative effects of the overdose you took. You will even have to add more money.” Shaking and muttering, Efite Ngolo counted out some money, and gave a substantial amount to Pa Mbosi who in turn said: “Take this bottle. Drink its contents twice a day for two weeks.” When Efite blundered out into the night, Pa Mbosi was saying aloud: “What a fool this one is, to imagine that medicinal leaves are food to be eaten in any quantity.” Back in town, a state of emergency was declared by the provincial governor, and following investigations the opposition candidate was declared victorious.
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