Ghosts of the Kamisi Mountains[i][/i]

BY: IDOWU JOSEPH


Gathered around the blazing camp fire in the heart of the forest, the friends listened with rapt attention to the riveting tale spun by Mbutu, a tribal villager they’d contracted to be their guide on this thrill-seeking tour

Their friendship went back a long way; three happy friends who used to be impetuous students at the university. Now each had a family of his own, and it was time to unwind with their wives in celebration of true friendship right in the very heart of nature.

“An excursion like that can keep friendship alive,” they’d enthused.

So off they went, into the imposing yet mystifying ambiance of the Kamisi Mountains. They packed their gears, snacks and other items for camping.

But not quite.

“Where’s the 33 Lager?” asked the one of the men, suddenly realizing what they were forgetting.

“Right here, boss,” answered another, walking up from the house with a large cooler containing the bottles of Double-Three Export Lager beer.

“Ice?”

“Chilled!” replied the man, with a buoyant expression. Then he pulled open the lid of the cooler for his friend to get a peek at the bottles of chilled 33 Lager that were cocooned amidst the ice cubes.

Everyone was in high spirit. They hopped into the car, the ladies first, of course, and hit the road for the long drive to the camp site.

Now they were in the basin of the mountains. All around them the forest seemed gravely unsettled; there were loud calls of strange birds, chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs, as well as the occasional snapping of twigs and undergrowth, which everyone found most disturbing, as if a wild beast was lurking in the shadows.

Mbutu, the tribesman, knew the forest well. He knew the various myths and dark superstitions surrounding the Kamisi Mountains. But his ghost tale at that time of night didn’t help matters for the tourists.

“The Ghosts of the Mountains are real, I tell you,” he said to his petrified audience, his voice deep and spellbinding. “They are real as they are vicious and bloodthirsty!”

The winds howled and the trees danced back and forth on the spot, projecting many frightening apparitions. Just then, a deep belching sigh shred the atmosphere, startling the group severely. As they gazed in utmost horror, two hideous looking, towering creatures emerged from the enclave of the forest and lumbered forward towards the campers.

“Oh, no,” said Mbutu darkly. “It’s the Ghosts of the Mountains!”

There was a moment’s hesitation. Then with a loud, terrified shriek, everyone ran helter-skelter, scampering for safety behind a large boulder. But in the nick of time one of the friends remembered to grab the box of 33 Lager before dashing off after his friends.

The creatures stooped forward, sniffing around in the now abandoned camp. They went through some of the bags that the friends had left behind in their haste to flee to safety.

Mbutu listened carefully, craned his eyes. “They’re speaking something,” he told the group.

“What are they saying?” someone beside him asked.

Mbutu listened again to the mumble-jumble vocalization that the things were making. “They’re looking for something. I think they’re thirsty, my friends. “

One of the friends suddenly had a spark of genius. He opened the cooler and brought out two chilled bottles of 33 Lager. Then he stepped out from behind the rock and walked slowly towards the ghosts with his heart in his mouth. When he got close enough, he stretched out his hands, offering the 33 Lager to the ghosts.

They paused, stared at each other as though trying to make sense of what the human was up to. Then, and oddly enough, they reached out and took the 33 Lager. The friend took a step forward again, emboldened, and brought out a bottle-opener from his pocket. He opened the beer; there was a gentle hissing sound as a thousand sparkling bubbles rushed upward invitingly.

The ghosts sat down on the log if front of the camp fire and took off the grotesque mask they were wearing, much to the tourist’s surprise! They took a sip of the beer. It was a remarkable taste that the ‘ghosts’ relished, and they drank some more beer.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” they sighed with satisfaction.

Then from where they hid, Mbutu and the rest of the group came forward and were equally surprised to find that the ghosts of the Kamisi Mountains were actually a couple of tribal villagers like Mbutu.

Obviously, Mbutu knew the men, and it had been a wild prank all along! He turned to the visitors, grinned and said in his smattering intonation, “Friendship!”

Everyone burst out laughing. There was no time to ask questions. The party around the camp fire had grown by two and it was all good. More bottles of 33 Export Lager beer were opened and passed around, until everyone had a bottle of beer in hand.

“Friendship,” muttered one of the villagers.

“People make the world go round, right?” said one of the tourists.

“No,” answered another, smiling warmly, “friends make the world go round.”


#friendsmaketheworldgoround
#33cityoffriendship2018