I yearned to regret. Such was my desperation to live.
The myth I ignored as a child took on a new significance that fateful morning at work when a colleague suggested it as a remedy for my predicament.
“A baby of the wind.” Talatu repeated in answer to my incredulous expression.
“Are you crazy?“ I whispered back loudly.
“Just go see her, Ok?”
I got to the dirt football pitch just before sunrise. Having bathed earlier with the potion and struggled through the incantations given to me by a garlic reeking witch doctor, all I needed was a whirlwind.
I frantically ran towards three whirlwinds, scantily clad in a wrapper from my bosom. Each time and with uncanny precision they would dribble past me, then whittle down as soon as I got close. I began feeling as psychotic as I must have looked.
Fate attempted a wry smile as a whirlwind manifested near my feet. I swooped, cupping the center with my calabash and felt lifted in the air — strange considering the teeny size of the whirlwind — yet I maintained pressure on the calabash. Sharp pain seared through my limbs as I was lifted higher. Just as suddenly, I fell to the ground smashing the calabash.
I felt my consciousness seeping away yet my eyes were wide open. I couldn’t move even as I perceived an almost unbearable whiff of garlic. A familiar face came into view and my joy quickly turned to panic upon the realization I could not speak! A sense of foreboding gripped me as the witch doctor effortlessly lifted and put me on her back. How could this frail old woman carry me?!
I yelled out to her to stop but all I heard was baby talk …