Range CHAPTER 5: THE CURSED RANCH

It may have been just a few minutes after 2 pm. I limp-jumped over the caustic vine, and landed on the other side without making the slightest sound regardless of being in quite a safe distance from my antagonists. I was vaguely aware that the latter would concentrate on the now inert people to allow me considerable time to cover as much distance as possible and catch up with the fleer. In the trampled scanty signalgrass, I jumped on the bicycle and started riding following the tracks northwards. I was so blessed that the grasshoppers remained still enough not to give away my position. I continued wildly as the tracks slowly disappeared. And the vegetation slowly transformed greener. I looked up ahead and noticed the day had turned unnaturally grey and humid. I had never seen a day quite like that before; producing a feeling of drowsiness to hit me.

I paused in the greenest signalgrass I only imagined after reading their description in science books. Thus, conditioning me to reflect on how every event that happened prior was perhaps psychological. Mere gazing on the grass reinvigorated a repressed desire of reminiscing the biannual rainy seasons — when rains fell virtually each day. When nature was strikingly magnificent: the grass, the crickets and butterflies hiding behind emerald leaf blades, the lizards and rodents creeping on red anthills, foraging for their convenient meal. It was even more beautiful in the twilight: the relatively less bright sunrays in the western horizon piercing through the clouds to reflect a glossy gold colour.

Something was indeed trying to push evil thoughts in me! I could feel it but it is hard to prove this at the moment, even emotionally. “This is enemy territory I am standing on! Basing on the previous portrait this must be the Ogwals’ cursed ranch”! Has my constant isolation finally taken the best of me? I thought. Truthfully, I was that only member in the family usually more unwilling to engage in social situations. Spending lesser time with my family except during nighttime shortly before we slept quite early, at 8 pm sharp. Honestly, this facilitated my escape from the insufferably dreary family interfaces by spending most of the day alone, except for myself, the animals and a couple of text books. Now I was genuinely missing the presence of my family yet minutes ago Nyeko had mentioned that they wanted to get rid of me — a blatant lie.

Against my willpower, I learnt that it was an hour after I left home at dawn. I and the goats were over one mile east of home, seeking the rare signalgrass. That day was also my first in a long time — during school holidays — to avoid abandoning them for any available tree branch on which I relaxed and revised one of my books. Perhaps, if the rebels’ threat on Layamo sub-county had happened, I could for the first time had been greatly hesitant to move so far away from home that day. Pulling the thirsty goats by their ropes, I directed them farther east, until it seemed as if they were bleating to pause a little while — I intently refused to grant them their request.

Since my family was allowed occasional access to the neighbouring pasturelands, another half a mile in the same direction, I frantically guided the animals there. Eventually, we reached a serene ranch, with the required nutritive forage. The poor goats could not wait for my signal to go for their meal. I stood by the edge and watched them for a while. As my eyes scanned the land area, I saw there was no sign of livestock rearing at all. Not even a sign of a single homestead. Notwithstanding, my school was still thirty minutes away, and in a different direction. The fields were covered with elaborate grasses and herbs that captivated us. Entering it with caution was what I did even with a clear understanding that there was not a chance of harm awaiting me.

In the steadiness of wind, a familiar airborne substance of what I currently know is the odour of sulphur ensued. For a short while I paused pondering how such a small concentration of the colourless gas could send an awkward but powerful feeling to my sense of smell. Afterward, my entire body waned due to sudden electrification. I was lost! I decided to walk back, pulling the ruminants along. For almost a mile, we moved in the young signalgrass and dandelions. I walked, utilising my blurry eyes to look back over my shoulders several times, for I heard tiptoes behind me. Inadvertently, my foot missed the ground, causing me to tumble head first amidst the dandelions, and passing out.

Minutes later I revived but with my eyelids so heavy I was unable to open them. I still felt the panga in my left hand, implying that it was the real-time future moment in which I was still pursuing after Ongwen. Had I broken free from the memories? Yes, I was sure I did! However, I detected the smell of sulphur again — and felt weird electrical activity in my amygdala. Opening my eyes, it was weird to find myself enclosed in near-vantablack darkness. I got up and started walking in a direction I could not tell; now unaware of the generally flat and treeless scenery, except for sporadic Acacia shrubs. The rustling noises from my feet, loud sounds from cicadas, plus an unstable mood explained my trembling as I continued.

Quickly, it grew quieter; quiet enough for a slight body movement to sound like a mild thunder, and whistling winds like howls from a pack of feral dogs. Shortly, I unintentionally started shuffling on trampled grass, possibly to avoid alarming a nearby savage being: a carnivore, a hunter or the LRA. Abruptly, I felt the icy temperature; it was unforgivably cold I assumed my blood vessels were practically transporting icy blood. “How did I even wind up in this eerie place”? Extremely unnerved, while anxious to awaken from a likely nightmare. Only to step on a prickle, which fiercely penetrated the sole of my left foot.

Instantly, I dropped the panga down and placed one hand over my mouth to avoid shrieking from the agony. Gently lowered myself with the other hand to sit on the dewy grass — extracting the spike from the wound. However, I sensed that blood brimmed unusually — oh no, it damaged an older laceration, hence the previous limping! I could not make of when and what caused the wound, but instinctively thought the previous blood clotted a few hours ago. “I am truly running away from something”! I exclaimed in horror. The pain amplified each minute, until evanescent flashbacks forcefully appeared in my head: memories of being in a company of very lovely people, six hours ago. “Yes, I was with my family and our mothers were pouring porridge in our respective mugs, as Lanyero warmed the previous day’s roasted grasshoppers in a tiny saucepan”! I whispered.

Then, there was a pungent pain in the persistently gushing wound that interrupted. So, I pressed my hand to it to accelerate the coagulation. Afterwards, I felt so exhausted to proceed, hence reposed, hopeful for a gradual acclimatisation to the chilly air. Even so, my concentration became slightly more stable than prior, enough for me to chronicle the previous fleeting memories. Not a single revelation appeared, though — “amnesia probably”! I gazed up for a slight view of the night sky. There was still total blackness; igniting my desperation for the tiniest ray of light. Trust me the beam from a firefly would have been as luminous as a floodlight in that situation. Looking up again: “Wait, is the moon stashed behind those dark clouds? An impending storm in a dry season that might end in late January next year”!

No, actually it is the sun from the flashbacks! As baffling as things got, nothing denied me the power to rediscover that the memories were being mystically engrained in my head. At that exact point, my eyes cleared — as if from sleep paralysis — to see clouds dusting the atmosphere and slightly eclipse the sun. “It is still afternoon”! I wondered. Seconds later the sun was unveiled, and its rays fell upon a home that looked much like our own. It was at least a mile away. “What”? I wondered even more. Then I did not get lost in the first place! There was a shocking realisation that there were no cumulonimbus clouds; the environment was just too hazy. Worse still was the sudden awareness that I was in a blood-stained creamy shirt and stranded in perhaps a 300 square metres waterlogged area.

I got up and moved forward, only to realise my legs were submerged in clayey substrate within the knee-high clear cool water. I developed some escalating shivers running beneath my flesh. Through the water I saw several torn pieces of white polythene bags marked ‘Made in China’, ‘Made in India’, and ‘Made in USA’ on them. I used the panga to scoop some pieces up to get a closer look. On the calm water surface, I pulled a few together like pieces in a puzzle. The connection made a huge blue printed label marked NPK. I decided to maneuver through the swamp yearning for dry terrain. In the clay, my feet touched thick metallic water pipes — five inches in diameter — of water. When I followed them 60 yards ahead, they were connected to a submerged decrepit algae-covered foundation of a large bungalow. I could not tell its age, but it was apparently not less than 30 years old.

The seven compartments seemed to have had three beds, a decaying leather couch, mugs, source pans, ’70s clothing among other things. This is the exact spot of the Ogwal’s house. I saw the algae-filled brown broken bricks looking extremely weathered; suggesting that this happened something like 20 years before my ordeal. This was no natural swamp; but water just licked through the busted pipes causing the logging. I saw dry land less than 50 yards away and forced my way through the water to reach there. There were eight skulls and more than 20 ribs and a femur in the mud in front as I climbed out of the water into the signalgrass. Being desensitised to such a sight was relieving. Needless to say, some of those bones belonged to the Ogwal household.

Sealed transparent polythene C3 envelopes were here and there. Inside each one of them were acknowledgement receipts, confirming that high-level transactions took place. Other paper copies included purchase orders and invoices that had fading stamps and blue ink writings indicating dates especially in 1980 and 1981. Others included court orders and various official documents I could not understand. The place was clearly abandoned and uninviting, save for the vegetation and water. There was a notebook that had a map of vehicles bypassing the town in the northeast to connect to the main road towards Kitgum town. I saw postal letters from China, Sudan, Zaire, United States of America and Kenya, all indicating business partnerships I cannot provide full detail now. Others showing when and which customs might have been used for transporting the livestock products.

Now, beyond were innumerous blood droplets splattered in the grass. My courage was shaken by this. I could tell that horror was a few steps away if I continued into the haze.

Quickly, I pierced together the aforementioned findings to determine the remainder of the Ogwals’ storyline. Picking up from Nyeko’s last account, I theorised as follows. Witnessing the benign success of the Ogwal’s in the early 1980s, the panicked chiefs and many other Acholi communicated throughout Mucwini blaming the couple for vanity. And this would yield nothing good except bringing curses and inexplicable punishments upon them and their associates. A few ordinary fellowships, however diverged, arguing that using our own ancestral spirits is indeed relevant so long as one utilised a local medium to summon the entities. “…possibly, the medium may be of Acholi descent and living in Sudan, who knows”? they may have added.

In response, Ogwal might have superficially slammed the critics, claiming that the complaints are by the undiligent. Surely, these were mere conceptions passed down by their equally hysterical descendants. I told myself this: “There was no witchcraft let alone an evil presence in the farm; people were just simply picking on them simply because they were rich. That sensationalism affected their ability to uphold modernism”. Even the senior agricultural officer in Kitgum saw no problem with the couple’s progress. But the villagers strongly rejected them as some district agricultural entrepreneurs were coerced to fiercely deny the couple membership of local farmer groups. The Ogwal’s chose to ignore the prejudices and moved on, seeking other approaches to gain from their farm products.

Shortly, Ogwal decided to shift focus to conducting business with only foreign markets especially Sudan, Kenya, China, United States of America and Zaire, most of which consisted of smuggling products through the porous district borders. In the process, they became incredibly successful despite being locally outlawed. They used ground water for watering their pasture during dry seasons. They used fertilisers to enhance pasture output; which explains that the viridescent powder spread by the supposed medium was actually NPK.

When most of the Acholi servants irrationally confirmed that the farm was indeed cursed, for they failed to understand the science behind the high yields, they left their respective jobs. Quickly, they attempted to avoid adverse infestations they inherited in the farm, by accepting to take part in the cleansing ceremonies suggested by the elders. They were told about ‘Moyo kum’ and ‘Moyo piny’, as the traditional techniques for cleansing their bodies. Others were given raw eggs to either eat or step on. These were followed by various reintegrating rituals to allow them properly mix with their fellow tribemates.

Meanwhile the Ogwal’s seemed to have maintained a strong

rejection of the rites; for they were recording sustainable success stories in their ventures. This might have angered the people including my grandparents. And as a response the angered locals forcefully entered the farm, slaughtering the Ogwals plus their subordinates. They destroyed their constructions, and stole their vehicles and other farm equipment. Though this has remained a theory on my part. Anyhow, with livestock left without active keepers, the former likely fell sick and died. Days later, without the couple’s appearance anywhere, a gossip spread out about their disappearance. Their entire corpses, including skeletons were eaten up by vultures and wild dogs. The local authorities and the police probably failed to trace them.

Not very long, the entirety of north Uganda started having frequent drought cycles. During which, Ogwal’s brother or relative came from Kitgum town and reluctantly accepted full rights from the district Administrator General to the latter’s property. But he and his family chose to stay away from it. When the droughts became harsher than normal, some people failed to contend acute scarcity of pasture and water for their livestock, hence spontaneously sought them in the farm. Moreover, after 1986, unfamiliar random people periodically intruded the place and surprisingly left unscathed. This did not deter most of the villagers’ indecision to do the same. Instead, the villagers confronted and slain the individuals suspected of entering it without negotiation.

And why did they give up on the cleansing rituals? Did these procedures prove vain or it was due to conflict in its efficiency that led to most of the participants later dying bizarre deaths — big lesions, stabs and others? Or most possibly, they never did quite figure out who or what exactly was killing the Acholi! I saw a full five litres of blood poured on the ground. “Oh, and this blood implies that they are still killing people in this place. Or most probably people may still be fighting for resources in here”. And there I was, in the cursed ranch, thinking that all along they wanted to kill me and my entire family by forcing Ongwen to lead me there!

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