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In the vast township of Kigoma, news spread that Kabedi, the middle-aged prostitute, had become fresh again like the day she started her career, when she was barely fifteen years old. Men ran to her like bees to pollen, and everybody marvelled at the miracle performed by the new and young witch-doctor. Yes, even though requesting the services of a witch doctor was looked down upon, Kabedi could not refrain herself from shouting on the roof where her good fortune had come from. She could not believe it, she gleefully said, she had been consulting sorcerers as soon as her beauty had started fading in her early 30s, and never had their predictions, amulets, promises and pomades worked on her and brought her men. Still, she clamoured, she did not give up hope, and look where she was now! Her business was booming, and money poured in like never before. She had added to her dwindling, aging clientele a group of young, vigorous men who not only paid her after sex, but also made her feel things she had never felt before… She had not, until then, associated prostitution with pleasure. She sauntered more than she walked now, her enormous breasts jumping up and down on her chest, just as happy as the person who carried them.

Patient noticed that Edo was growing increasingly worried, and he could only imagine why. Their business was meant to be a masquerade, but now people were claiming that they were performing miracles. Worse yet, it really seemed like all their fake amulets  administered to the population of Kigoma were working. Lovers were coming back, more in love than before. Maurice, the man who came to them and complained that he suspected his wife of cheating, came back the following morning and claimed that after doing what Edo had told him to (he had placed a mirror, and a knife under her pillow), she had confessed of her treacherous ways in her sleep. Astride, the ambitious woman who wanted to marry an important man, had started being solicited by the governor of the province. More and more people visited their little hovel at night, still without knowing who they were because the two boys wore black masks during their peculiar office hours. Patient thought it was time to stop the comedy, but he realised that they were now engaged in something bigger than themselves, something horrible and demanding which would soon make its demands. Suddenly Patient remembered that he was but a child. Hairs were barely growing on his pubic area and chin, he still enjoyed children’s games, he still longed to go to school and lead a normal life. If only he had not become friends with Edo? If only he had not followed him in his crazy idea of becoming a witch-doctor? Patient was so sorry he could cry. Although no one knew their identities, he sensed his stature and importance mysteriously growing in the township, and noticed that people treated them with great respect. Do you think they know it’s us? He once asked Edo, after two women bowed to their knees while greeting them. Don’t be silly, Edo answered. I haven’t told anyone, and you know we always wear a black cloth. Patient, terrified to see his secret life grow, resolved to tell his mother everything. We need to stop this, he urged Edo. We are becoming real sorcerers. Everything we say come to pass. We need to tell our parents. At those words Edo jumped as if he had been stung by a scorpion. His face contortioned in an hideous grimace, and Patient stared at him, paralysed with fear. They had known each other for as long as he could remember, they had always played together, eaten together at times, and never Patient had seen Edo looking so grim and menacing. I will kill you if you tell your parents. Then I will kill your parents. Those words hit Patient like bullets, and their violence rang deeply in a part of him he did not know existed. Fear gripped him. A hand, colder and stronger than steel, took a hold of his heart and he knew, then, that he would keep quiet. He suddenly got the confirmation that their enterprise, or rather the one his friend had dragged him into, was something evil, intentional, and designed with a purpose. He doubted Edo himself knew what he had gotten himself into, and he even wondered if Edo had initiated this, or if he had been coerced, or manipulated into it. They had what they always wanted, money, but Patient now knew they were in grave danger. He could not see, or touch it, but he sensed it; it was closing in, sticky, dark, enormous, suffocating, sucking all life and joy and peace out of them. Now that they could afford certain things that they had always wanted, they could not enjoy them because they could not really explain the origin of their funds. So they bought sweets, biscuits, and spent the rest in dingy little places where pornographic movies were played.

Over a few weeks, each night, the two boys collected more money than they had ever seen. But for some reasons, every following day by midday they found out they had spent it all, and had no coins remaining in their coffers. Every morning they resolved to save and do something significant with the money collected, and always they saw themselves spending it all, without being able to stop themselves. It was as if their hands, and minds did no longer belong to them, but to someone else who commanded them what to do with their earnings. Patient was concerned about his friend. He wondered if the latter realised his behaviour was highly peculiar, worrying. Edo grew darker each day, preoccupied, and moody. Clearly, he was battling something, but Patient did not know how to help him. They still consulted by night, and everything Edo predicted came to pass, and every medicine he administered worked; every amulet he gave fulfilled its purpose to the fullest, whether it be giving extra strength to the amateur wrestlers pullulating the area, or giving luck to the job seekers, or bringing customers to the many prostitutes (thanks to Kabedi’s success, prostitution saw many new recruits swell its ranks).

Patient’s fear grew as more customers visited them at night. His young life was spiralling into something he could not control, or comprehend, and sadness filled his heart. His mother considered him with a lot of grief, but her modesty prevented her from saying anything. Those days, women exercised a lot of shyness towards men, and because Patient’s body was now displaying all the signs of maturity his mother’s attitude towards him had turned into a mix of pride and prudery. One evening she talked to her husband about their son, and tried to urge him to do something about his sorry state. Patient’s father did not understand what the big deal was. The brave man hardly spent time at home, and he had not built any sort of bond with any of his children. He worked hard for a miserable pay, and as far as he was concerned he was too busy trying to put food on the table to worry about an adolescent’s state of mind. To be sad, he thought petulantly, was a luxury only rich kids can afford. Poor kids do not have feelings, only arms and legs to work. Satisfied with his reflexion, he promptly put aside his son’s issue and went to have a drink at the local pub. He got drunk that night, and slept with Kabedi. At dawn he went home, and found a crowd in front of his door. He heard women wailing, screaming, and amongst the cacophony he identified his wife’s voice. He had never heard such bitterness in a cry. One bystander informed him that his son, Patient, had been found dead in his sleep.