Spirit King: Return of the Crown

by Dashiel Douglas

  Within minutes, the boyz emerged wearing homespun traditional Kipaji attire. Loose silk trousers enriched with stylish slits along the sides were paired with sleek V-neck tops designed with elegant stripes running past the waist. A matching cap graced their heads—called a kufi, by tradition six inches in height and flat on top. Jeylan’s outfit was cocoa with tan trim; Kazim’s was scarlet with yellow; and Marley’s, white with crimson.

  D’Melo was styled in garb reserved for a native Kipaji. His pants were comparable to the boyz, but his purple and gold top was robe-like and composed of a richer material. Also, his taller kufi was adorned with a gold tassel.

  They strolled proudly into the living room. Kazim modeled his outfit like he was on the runway, turning on a dime and striking a pose. “Not even I thought I could look this good,” he said.

  Then Zara walked in. The room suddenly went silent. Awed, everyone paused for a moment to drink her in.

  While her normal attire was quite fashionable, this African style was a world apart. Her features were accentuated perfectly. It was as if the ensemble had been delivered from heaven especially for her. The dazzling emerald hue of the dress and the artistically styled eyeliner drew out the mesmerizing qualities in her eyes, making them more striking than ever before. The bright orange streaks on the wrapped piece that crossed her torso seemed to be an extension of the fiery light that burned within her. And the ornate gold choker hugging her neck reflected her lively personality. D’Melo had never seen her so beautiful—scratch that, he had never seen anyone so beautiful.

  But alas, the moment was fleeting. All it took to break the spell was for Zara to open her mouth.

  “What are you guys looking at? It’s the head wrap, right? I look stupid, don’t I? I knew I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. Ohhh no,” she covered her mouth. “Do I have seeds in my teeth? I shouldn’t have eaten those strawberries!”

  And just like that, everyone snapped back to reality. Zara was Zara, no matter what she was wearing.

  Milpisi’s eyes creased into a smile. “It is most pleasing to see how well you all clean up.” He then offered his elbow to Zara to escort her to the luncheon. The boyz followed.

  Together they walked through the forest along a winding path through trees hundreds of years old. D’Melo could tell Zara was blissfully taking in the woods. She seemed to be noting every kind of flora and fauna.

  Kazim, on the other hand, had his head on a swivel—listening for feral creatures. Suddenly, a bullfrog bellowed a boisterous croak. “What was that?” he cried, halting.

  Zara teased, “Is Pimp Daddy afraid of a little frog?”

  “Kaz ain’t afraid of frogs,” Marley jabbed. “Have you seen the girls he’s been hitting on?”

  They wound their way down to a picturesque clearing in the valley. Long wooden tables of gleaming oak were arranged in concentric semicircles. The tabletops were low to the ground and colorful seat cushions decorated each place setting. A special table faced the others; it was covered with a diamond-shaped fabric with silver tablecloth weights dangling along the edges. Lavish flowers embellished each end.

  Milpisi signaled Jua, who ululated toward the Amanzi forest. Within minutes, scores of Kipajis in vibrant garb, maybe more than a hundred, materialized at the forest’s edge. They paused at the semicircle of tables.

  D’Melo was confused. “Why did they stop?” he asked Milpisi.

  “They won’t take their seats before the Maalum—our honorable guests,” Milpisi explained.

  “Oh, great,” D’Melo said. “Special guests. Who’s coming?”

  Milpisi extended an open hand toward D’Melo and his friends.

  “Us?” Marley piped.

  Kazim lightly punched Marley’s arm. “He’s just messin’ with us, dawg.”

  “I assure you that I’m not—,” Milpisi paused, apparently struggling to drop the words from his polished and eloquent tongue, “‘messin’ with you.’”

  He gestured to the grand table. “You’ll find a special trinket located at each place setting. Your seat will be the one with the trinket that most resonates with your heart.”

  Jeylan found a wooden pendant on a natural-fiber necklace. It was a carving of the continent of Africa. “Oh, this is me, y’all.” He sat.

  Kazim eyed a rock of tan-colored stone sculpted into an African man clutching the hand of a boy that seemed to be his son. Kazim’s eyes became sullen. “Is it okay if I have this seat?” No one objected. He sat deliberately, his eyes fixed on the sculpture.

  Zara knelt next to him. “That’s beautiful, Kazim,” she said compassionately. She laid a hand on his shoulder. She knew Kazim’s father had left his family soon after Kazim was born. Kazim hadn’t seen him since.

  Zara was immediately drawn to what looked like a petrified twig. Curious, she leveled it with her eyes.

  “Rub it,” Milpisi said.

  Zara swept her fingers along the twig. The perfume of lavender lifted gloriously into the air. The aroma immediately reminded her of better days—those she’d had with her mother. From an early age, Zara had trouble sleeping. Her mother knew that lavender was a powerful natural remedy, so she would always put fresh lavender in Zara’s room.

  “Thank you so much, Milpisi,” Zara said, her eyes misty.

  D’Melo scanned the table. Milpisi watched him attentively. D’Melo stopped abruptly when his eyes fell upon a silver ring, engraved in Kipaji. Milpisi offered the translation: “Your life as a man has just begun. May you take your rightful place among the heroes of Kipaji who have come before you and will come after you.” Serenity flowed from the ring into D’Melo’s heart. He could feel Baba’s presence for the first time since he was killed.

  “This was your father’s ring,” Milpisi explained. “Fathers bequeath it to their children when they return from the Ibada—a rite of passage. All Kipajis at fifteen years old venture into the forest for nineteen days with a spiritual teacher. It is a time to delve deeper into themselves than they ever thought possible. That’s when they first begin to grasp their true connection to a mysterious power outside of themselves, a consciousness that binds everyone and everything together—the Great Spirit. Baba’s father died before he was born, so I gave him the ring when he returned from the Ibada.”

  “Thank you,” D’Melo murmured, teary. He kissed the ring and slid it onto his necklace next to his mother’s locket. Then he looked up suddenly, upset. “But Milpisi,” he said. “What if one of my friends chose this? Then I wouldn’t have received it.”

  “Ah, son. You are seeing with eyes fixed in this realm—the realm of substance and disintegration. When you see things from the realm of the spirit, you will understand that it would not have been possible for anyone else to have chosen that ring. Its spirit has attractive power for you only.”

  D’Melo didn’t understand what Milpisi was saying, but he trusted him.

  “Ahhh, man,” Marley griped. “Y’all left me with the rock! That’s messed up.” He examined the glossy stone from every angle. He dropped it on the table then spun it. “Man, it doesn’t even do anything. How’d y’all get all that dope stuff, and I ended up with this rock?”

  “Mr. Marley, this is a daima stone—daima means ‘always,’” Milpisi explained consolingly. “Do you have an electronic device?”

  Marley took out his cell phone, his Lumalink, his power bank, and pulled off his glasses. He reached back into his pocket for more.

  Milpisi stopped him, chuckling. “That’s more than enough.” Milpisi pushed the power bank aside. “You won’t need this anymore. Please look at the charges on your devices.”

  Marley’s cell phone was down to 32 percent; the Lumalink to 7 percent; his glasses to 44 percent.

  Milpisi tapped each device once with the stone. “Now look at the charges,” he said.

  Marley lifted his phone skeptically.

 
“No way!” All the devices were charged to 100 percent.

  Marley eyed the stone again. “But how do I keep the rock charged?”

  “How do you keep the sun charged?” Milpisi responded rhetorically. “How do you keep the wind and water moving? The rock has perpetual energy. It will never be exhausted—well, certainly not for at least the next thousand years.”

  “Oh, my God! I can’t handle this.” Marley fanned himself. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”

  Milpisi rose from his seat and addressed the community. “We are the proud people of Kipaji, sons and daughters of the Great Spirit Mungu, the bearers of the banner of Kipaji, born of damu udongo, the blood red soil of Africa. We, together, are the Wapendwa, ‘the loved ones of the Great Spirit.’

  The Wapendwa ululated.

  “We welcome our native son back home, and with him our honored Maalum.” Milpisi raised his glass. “This is a blessed day! Our Kipaji family has grown by five! Kwa uzima!”

  At his cue, food servers emerged from the woods, carrying a feast fit for a royal family. Balanced on their heads with seemingly impossible grace were large wooden trays. They carried the trays to the central table and arranged them on top.

  The Wapendwa sat motionless. They waited for the Maalum to approach the sumptuous buffet first. A soft breeze carried the tantalizing aroma of exotic foods—an array of colorful salads, succulent tropical fruits, spicy pea soup, potato stew, jollof rice, githeri, fried plantain, and an assortment of other savory dishes.

  “I’m gonna get my greez on!” Kazim said, licking his lips. “Are they bringing the meat next?” he asked Milpisi.

  “We don’t eat animal products in Kipaji,” Milpisi said.

  “For real?” Kazim whined. “I gotta get some meat soon, or else I’m gonna shrivel up and die!” Kazim eyed an okapi with containers of water strapped over its back. “That horse-zebra thing is lookin’ tasty,” he joked. “You think it tastes like sausage?”

  D’Melo was genuinely curious. “Milpisi, it seems like you have everything in Kipaji. But you can’t get meat?”

  “It’s not a matter of not being able to. The largest animal farm in Africa is less than ten kilometers from here, in Malunga.”

  “So you choose to be vegan?” D’Melo asked.

  “Not exactly. We are vegan, and so are you, you, and you,” Milpisi said, looking at each of them. He reached over and cupped Jeylan’s chin. “Open,” he said.

  Jeylan complied, with a furrowed brow.

  “What do you see in his mouth?”

  “Crooked yellow corn kernels,” Kazim quipped.

  Marley added, “And gingivitis!”

  “Besides that?” Milpisi laughed. “Do these look like omnivore teeth to you?”

  “Omni-who?” Kazim said.

  “Animals that eat both plants and other animals. The omnivores you would be most familiar with are bears, raccoons, and skunks. Their teeth are long with a keen edge, particularly the canines, right? Jeylan’s are short and blunt.” Milpisi pushed his fingertip against Jeylan’s canine teeth. “And the rest are flat—a very poor design for shredding flesh, don’t you think? Our canines are similar to those of animals that use those teeth to crack nuts and break the skin of fruits.

  “Also, the human digestive system is not designed to process animal meat. Because of this, there is undigested red meat in your bowels right now, festering.”

  Jeylan made a disgusted face, his mouth still open.

  “So we don’t choose to be vegan; we are vegan,” Milpisi concluded. “You choose not to be.”

  Zara pointed at the boyz and said, as she so loved to say, “Oooh, scorched!”

  Milpisi continued. “But it is not just about health. We recognize animals as creations of the Great Spirit, just as we are. They are our earthly companions. I would even go as far as to say that they are our friends. Would you eat your friend?”

  Kazim said briskly, “If he was a pork chop, you’re darn right I would!”

  As the boyz descended upon the food table, Milpisi asked Zara to remain behind.

  “My dear,” he said. “I hope my intrusiveness is not off-putting. But curiosity has gotten the best of me. I have never had the pleasure of meeting any soul with the name ‘Zara.’ From where does it originate?”

  “It’s Nečzian,” she said. “I was born there.”

  “Please forgive my ignorance, but wasn’t Nečzia at one time known as Nečsláva?”

  “Yes,” Zara said, surprised. “Not many people know that. It was Nečsláva until the revolution in 1959. After that, it split into two countries, Nečzia and Sláva.”

  “And your surname?” Milpisi asked, looking at her searchingly.

  “Zanič.”

  “Ah huh,” Milpisi uttered, stroking his beard. “My dear, at the festival tonight, would you do me the honor of accompanying me? I would like to show you something about Kipaji that very few people know about.”

  “That would be awesome!” Zara said.

  When Zara caught up with D’Melo he asked, “So what was that about?”

  “Milpisi invited me to hang out with him!” she said, bubbling with excitement.

  “Whaaat? Why doesn’t he want to hang out with me?” D’Melo said, teasing her. “After all, I am a son of Kipaji.”

  “Sorry, dude. Obviously, that’s not enough. You need to be special, like moi,” Zara teased back.

  Zara lifted a forkful of the beet and carrot salad to her mouth and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “It’s like my taste buds have come alive for the first time! I wish I brought my Tupperware. I could take some back to the rondeval with me.”

  D’Melo shook his head. “I never realized how ghetto you are.”

  “Well, I’m learning from the best.” Zara motioned toward Kazim and Marley. Kazim’s plate was so full that he had to use his thumbs to keep his food from sliding off the sides. While they were watching, Marley reached onto Kazim’s plate and snitched a slice of fried plantain.

  Kazim swatted his hand. “Whatcha doin’, fool?” The plantain tumbled along the plush grass.

  “I forgot to get some of that,” Marley said.

  “You got legs. Go up there and get yours,” Kazim mumbled, bits of carrot shooting from his mouth.

  Marley jerked backward, trying to avoid Kazim’s spittle. “Man! Look what you did!” Marley brushed carrot from his shirt.

  “It was an accident, dawg,” Kazim said, laughing more carrots out of his mouth.

  Zara turned to D’Melo, “Need I say more?”

  “Point taken.”

  Dessert was a chocolate-coconut swirl cake, which the Maalum were devouring. Marley looked as if he was about to cry. “This cake is like what I always hoped heaven would be. I’ve never had chocolate like this. It’s so smooth and creamy. It melts in your mouth.”

  “You know, cocoa trees are not native to Kipaji,” Milpisi said. “Cocoa was brought here decades ago by one of our scientists who visited Guatemala. One day, he was offered hot chocolate. He couldn’t believe his taste buds. He called it a miracle. After that, he was determined to bring cocoa to Kipaji. But non-native agricultural products were not permitted in Malunga. So he swallowed some cocoa beans before flying home.”

  The boyz gazed at Milpisi, perplexed. “How did that help?” Marley mumbled around a mouthful of cake.

  “Well, when he arrived in Kipaji, he excreted the beans, then planted them. A few years later, Kipaji had its first cocoa pods. We now have thousands of cocoa trees in the Choma forest.”

  Marley stopped chewing. “You mean,” he muttered, “this chocolate came out of that dude’s butt?”

  Milpisi chortled, “Well, I guess you could say that.”

  The boyz smiled nervously as they nudged their dessert plates away.

  Milpisi addressed the Wapendwa to close the banque
t. “Thank you all for showing the utmost hospitality to our esteemed guests. I hope everyone filled their bellies to contentment with this fabulous food.” He motioned to the chefs with gratitude. The Wapendwa ululated. “We will see you all again this evening at the Festival of Lights.” The crowd dispersed, gradually vanishing into the forest.

  “As for the Maalum,” Milpisi said. “Jua will collect you at the rondeval just before sunset. She will escort you to the festival.”

  Back at the rondeval, Kazim was glued to the window, waiting for Jua to arrive. He planned to impress her with a piano piece.

  “His mom spent every free penny she had to get this dude piano lessons,” Marley observed disapprovingly. “And this is how he uses it!”

  “Here she comes!” Kazim shouted. He scurried to the piano and started playing Beethoven’s Für Elise.

  But just as Jua entered, the piano went silent. She looked at Kazim, puzzled, wondering why he was tapping the keys like he was playing something. Kazim tapped harder in frustration. Still nothing.

  “Just my luck!” Kazim moaned. “The honey gods are against me!”

  Marley mischievously waggled the Active Noise Control remote at Kazim.

  “Oooh, you—” Kazim said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

  Soon after, the Maalum were escorted to the main clearing—the Moyo, which meant “Life.” Thousands of big colorful cushions were arranged in concentric circles. Intricately designed bamboo poles were topped with glowing stones in woven reed lamps. Jua explained that the illumined rocks were called “wazi stones,”—clear minerals that capture the sun’s energy during the day and become luminous after sunset. Wazi-stone lamps lit the perimeter of the clearing and the four pathways that led to the center. The paths sliced the concentric circles into four sections, organized by clan. The color of the cushions in each section represented one of the colors in the Kipaji flag—gold, red, green, and purple.

  The Wapendwa filtered into their clan sections: Amanzi gold, Choma red, Joto green, Upepo purple. Enthusiastic chatter filled the clearing. As Milpisi made his way down the pathway, not a single soul missed the opportunity to greet him.