Kaduna the Golgotha (continued).

A swarm of Tsetse Flies

There, hovering above, just below the ceiling, were two tsetse flies. Tightly they clung to each other. Am I seeing conjoined tsetse fly twins? Or has my office become a mating nest for these flies? I briefly thought. But the flies kept gliding above. Sometimes they drifted away, evading my watchful eyes. Then they would always suddenly reappear with a determined dive towards me, as if trying to land on my head.

I instinctively grabbed a white folio-size cardboard sheet on my office table, thrust it forward with a side of the sheet facing the coupled pair of flies now resting on the wall behind my office table. With stealth, I stalked the uninvited pestilential guests, the spread out white card-board sheet between us. Invariably the pair did not notice my approach, since they are by nature insensitive to solid, white colour surfaces.

With the white paper screen less than 10 cm from the blood sucking demon flies, I was primed to crush them. But a strain of thought restrained me. I gradually withdrew. Yet, that thought persisted. And the thought became spoken words:

“Speak love to them.” The thought said to me.

“That’s a crazy thing to do.” I wordlessly replied in thought waves.

“But you had in the past, as a child, spoken to and even had dialogues with animals.” It insisted.

“Yes. I conversed with cats, dogs, goats and even birds. Those were our house pets then…” I concurred.

“Every living thing responds positively to genuine love. Send thoughts of  dispassionate love to them. And they will yield. They will reveal secrets to you. Love conquers all things.”   

 Having been so persuaded by that subtle irresistible inner voice, I simply yielded to the suggestions. Casting a steady gaze at the tightly coupled pair of tsetse flies perched on the wall, I silently spoke to them.

“This environment is my own natural space which you have invaded without my permission. You will therefore quietly go back to where you came from, by the way you came. I bear no ill towards you.”

Just as I finished communicating with the flies, I heard what sounded like a knock at my office door. Quickly, I darted a gaze at the door. But there was no further sound heard. No one was at the door. Then I remembered the uninvited visitors—the winged blood-sucking conjoined pair of intruders. When I looked again where they were perched, I could not see them. I searched everywhere they could possibly be hiding. But they were no longer in my office. They had vanished. Gone the way they came.

Standing beside my table, I silently sang the sacred Song of the Wind for a few minutes, and settled down in my seat to go through the files on my table.

Not long after, Adams, my orderly came in to inform me that the Zonal Commander, BaGo sent for me. I quickly rose to my feet and proceeded to BaGo’s office. Seated therein were BaGo in his usual seat, and Dr Shuaib, the Zonal Medical Officer. As soon as I sat down, BaGo pointed to the office ceiling above, saying:

“Chike, look at your tsetse flies.”

The three of us, BaGo, Dr Shuaib and myself, looked up simultaneously at the white ceiling above. Behold, within every centimetre of the ceiling was perched a tsetse fly. A massive swarm of tsetse flies had completely occupied the ceiling. It was such a chilling, goose-bumps inducing experience.

“No sir”, I responded. “They are your tsetse flies. And you will give Sarah, your office assistant, money to buy ‘Shell Tox’ aerosol insecticide for your blood suckers.”

Like one under a spell, BaGo dipped his right hand into his trouser pocket. He brought out money which Sarah collected from him. Within a short while, she was back with the pesticide spray.

“Sir, it’s time to kill your tsetse flies. Sarah, hand the insecticide over to the ZCO. He will by his own hands eliminate those blood-sucker demons.” I emphasised.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, as if compelled by a power he dared not disobey, BaGo, meek as a donkey, took the pesticide from Sarah and proceeded to spray it against the swarm of flies resting on the ceiling. The rest of us temporarily withdrew from the ZCO’s office while the aerosol spraying was going on.

Soon, BaGo flung his office door wide open as he emerged therefrom. All the flies lay dead on the carpeted floor and every other surface which could hold them. The sweeping and cleaning of BaGo’s office yielded an eerie basket-full harvest of dead tsetse flies.

 

Tsetse flies—those two-winged flies. They feed only on human or cattle blood. A bite from one of such blood sucking large flies inhabiting much of tropical Africa, can infect anyone with a terrible parasite which afflicts people and animals with the deadly sleeping sickness disease.

By their nature, tsetse flies are not swarming or cluster flies. Hence, monitoring them in nature is indeed a very difficult task. These facts as stated above are well known by the cattle Fulani who daily contend with these obligate parasites in the wilds.

Nura, a rustic Fulani, who was specifically employed as a permanent night guard at the Zonal Commanding Officer’s official residence, could not hide his surprise at what he described outright as, ‘a very rare clustering of tsetse flies which could only happen through witchcraft manipulations.’ He insisted that even in the natural forest environment of these flies, they do not ever gather together in such a large cluster.  In a mix of Hausa and rigid, halting Pidgin English, he announced:

“Kai. Wallahi, it is. Not. Fpossible. I seeing, zhis, fplenty fplenty fply. Unless I, kwalling me zhey. By juju.”

 

The Shifting Odour

I arrived my office that fateful morning, only to be assailed by a terrible smell. It was such a menacing odour. Discomforting. Nauseating. Noxious as the stench of death.

“Search!” I urged my staff whom I had summoned at the passage. “We must locate the source of this evil stench. Open up everywhere. Pull out and thoroughly check all the drawers, cupboards, cushion chairs and tables. Search everywhere entirely.”

The boys set to work, but they never knew what they were contending with. The source of the odour was illusive. Now it seemed to be emerging from a drawer, and the boys would quickly pull out that particular one.

Quick. Subtle. The ever deceptive, stinking artful dodger would shift its location. And so, they continued with this puzzling game of hide, seek and miss. For two days we were under the siege of the stench. For two harrowing days, we were mercilessly harassed by this unrelenting, invisible, sly skunk.

On the third day, by 1500 hrs, before close of work, I ordered that all the windows in our office, the Operations Department, be shut. I also asked everyone out. Alone, I entered the office and closed the door behind me. For about 6minutes I silently sang the Sacred Song of the Wind—the sweet, Sacred Song of the Spheres, after which I firmly asked the malodorous psychic entity to return to wherever it emerged from.

The next morning, just as I arrived the Zonal Command premises, Adams, my orderly ran to meet me.

“Oga, that thing wey de smell for our office don shift go for BaGo’s office.” He announced with glee.

I went straight to my office. Indeed the foul odour had completely vanished. Without wasting time, I proceeded to the Zonal Commander’s office located at the other end of the office complex. The pervading smell of burning incense and smoke gushed out as I pushed the door ajar after knocking.

Entering therein, I saw BaGo, the Zonal Commander, sweating profusely, muttering some incantations as he ran his fingers through his Muslim prayer beads. Underneath the pervading odoriferous smell of the burning incense, one could still perceive the sickening, deathly stink of the same psychic entity which had invaded my office earlier, as it tenaciously struggled to assert its malodorous presence. It was indeed a Battle of Odours.

BaGo was visibly startled when he saw me. He was quaking in a feverish manner. He stopped voicing his incantations. Gradually, his body stopped quavering. Then he put away his prayer beads and stammered an incomprehensible word. Looking straight into his eyes, I saluted, and said to him:

“You now can tell how it feels to have a taste of your own poison. Your evil messenger has again returned to hound you. The other day, it was the blood-sucker tsetse flies, today, it is the shifting stench. Have a nice day, sir.”

Quietly I left his office, went back to my office to face my responsibilities for the day.

 

A psychic attack may appear in different forms and means. It could be subtle or crude. However, in all, it is a base, perverted practice of the art of magic or witchcraft. This psychic malpractice is still rooted in many parts of the world.

Usually it works by introducing fear into the conscious and even the subconscious mind of the target victim. Fear is capable of drilling holes in the human psychic defence walls, if it is allowed the chance. Through those perforations, the destructive suggestions of the adversary enter and entrench themselves in the victim’s subconscious mind. The evil thoughts feed and grow on the fears of the victim. The more intense the fear is, the more severe the damages caused through the suggestions.

But we must realize that, one renders himself vulnerable to psychic attacks if he engages in the perpetration of such evil against another.

The most effective armour against psychic attacks is to culture the habit of thinking only healthy thoughts, always sending out goodwill to all; never thinking destructive thoughts about others. Above all, when you realise that you are Soul—the divine atom which emanates from the body of the Supreme Soul—appearing in the image and likeness of the Infinite One, you come into the knowingness that you are in truth, only subject to the Law of Love—that Love which conquers all things. Once you are wrapped up in Divine Love, no evil can near your dwelling place.

 

To be continued.

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