“Stop snorting like a bush pig,” scolded Kanairombe, squeezing a death-beetle underneath Kambangane’s stone-hard pillow. Immediately, Kambangane blinked his owl-like eyes, and she rubbed her chin at the idea of strangling him. Later, she blew the evil thoughts through the star-shaped holes in the roof. 

“I’m awake,” said Kambangane, peeling the saddle-like blanket from his face. “Did you hear that?” asked Kanairombe, crushing a moth blowing out the paraffin lamp. 

“Hear what?” Suddenly, she pinched her bottle cap-sized ears towards the brrrrrrrr coming from under the bed. Kambangane grabbed his hockey-like stick and arched over the grrrrrrrr sound. In response, Kanairombe lowered the cylinder lamp as the yellow fireflies pictured the snake.  “Here it is,” shouted Kanairombe, sticking her tongue under the creaking bed.  “It’s Zakueeua’s snake,” cursed Kanairombe, her beady eyes clashing with those of the ongura snake.  “It’s spitting venom!” yelled Kambangane, mincing the twisting snake on its three-cornered head. Kambangane picked up the rope-like snake and rolled it around a tree that stood in Zakueeua’s path.  “Is this your snake?” Kanairombe quizzed Zakueeua, who was hobbling towards her.  Immediately, the dead-faking snake fell on Zakueeua and coiled its belt-like body around his neck, stretching until his eyes became full moons hanging from his blood-drained face. 

Luckily, Kambangane unfastened the snake from his brother. That morning, Zakueeua refused to sip the leafy tea Kanairombe brewed for him. “Did you sprinkle charm in the tea?” asked Zakueeua, stirring the foamy tea.  This time, Zakueeua spotted his lifeless body floating on the simmering tea. Later, he emptied his stomach through his mouth after spotting a tortoise on top of the tree.  “Do tortoises climb trees?” asked Zakueeua, spitting slimy mucus. This time, Kanairombe joked about the nightmare in which she mixed Zakueeua’s breath with the dough before burying him in the four-cornered fire pit. 

The three strolled towards Zakueeua’s hut. 

“Red ants!” stuttered Zakueeua, his eyes journeying along the ants’ path up to his bush-fenced kraal.  “The dead are looking for someone,” said Kanairombe, licking a blistering pimple on the tip of her tongue.  The appearance of Zakueeua’s black cow suckling a foal made them knit their eyebrows. The two men rested their hands on their hips, and Kanairombe placed her crocodile skin hands on her toothless cheeks. A short distance, a black bird patrolled Zakueeua’s kraal, and an owl hooted on top of his dung-plastered hut. As if by magic, Kambangane’s black goat had given birth to a one-legged puppy.  Later, the trio squinted at long, thin clouds cutting the sky into two halves.  “Spare our lives,” said Zakueeua, rubbing chicken pimples on his arms. Like two baboons, they squatted on grey rocks and gossiped about Kanairombe’s black magic. 

“I want as many red-headed goats as these rocks,” said Zakueeua, numbering the white rocks. Instantly, his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the sandy rock on which he was squatting broke into grain-size pieces.  

“I pray for black-headed sheep as many as the stars,” Kambangane said, and a grey pigeon pecked his kinky hair. In addition, the pigeon showered its face with gooey poo and flapped its wings.  Finally, the popped-eyed brothers twitched their noses and sniffed the scrambled eggs before shuffling their sandals towards Kanairombe, who was frying tortoise eggs.

Footnote: The wife had the ongura privileges

-Mungambue@gmail.com