It was a strange Saturday morning and the sky looked ready to pour torrents from its heavily pregnant grey clouds. This was welcome as the heatwave was getting unbearable. At the next house, someone was conversing loudly with another. Amidst all that was said, it was clear that a particular king was dead. But it wasn’t so clear if our neighbours were sad or happy about it, as their ramblings were tainted with respectful contempt. Dissatisfied, I turned on the radio.
“News reached us that king…” This was someone talking on the radio in the Yoruba language about the king’s death, “…is rumoured dead.”
Discontent with the news, I checked my Instagram and there it was; a video of the supposedly dead king throwing his fists at an imaginary opponent, accompanied by an official release from one of the king’s aides, stating the news of the king’s death as an unfounded rumour. Soon after, my brother returned from grinding some beans for Moinmoin, across the street and started pouring out news about the dead king. He reported seeing people gathered in small groups discussing the dead king.
While poking my nose around the king’s death, I found out that some people were happy that he was dead although they talked in the usual reverent terms used for a dead Yoruba king, while some made it obvious that they weren’t. However, history tells me that apart from the king’s family, there’s usually somebody who would be genuinely sorrowful at the king’s death; and I think that he might be the reason why the king’s death is usually as coded as it is. I’m talking of the one who has to die and be buried with the king–the Abobaku who is rumoured to be on the run.
Read – Sesotho Speakers – A Flash Fiction by Letseka Thapelo, Lesotho
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