Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

The Wizard of the Crow did not take back the mirror. He looked long and hard at Kaniürü’s face.

“Is that all you want?” he asked Kaniürü.

“That’s all I want.”

“Then don’t worry yourself to death,” the Wizard of the Crow told Kaniürü. “You are young. You can still turn your life around. What you need is to get rid of those things that trigger anxiety standing in the way of a new self, a different self. They are the enemy”

“Thank you, Mr. Wizard of the Crow. You have read my mind correctly. Get rid of the enemies who stand in my way or at least neutralize their power over me. I believe in you and your medicine.”

“Hold the mirror before you,” the Wizard of the Crow told him. “Hold it firmly. Now look directly at it and don’t let your eyes wander. Concentrate all your thoughts, all your desires, all your needs, into the gaze. If you lie, you are lying to yourself. If you speak the truth, you are speaking the truth to yourself. When you feel yourself ready to receive the magic of curative and protective words, let me know.”

“I am ready. I am ready for the cure and the protection,” Kaniürü said quickly, fearing that the Wizard of the Crow might suddenly change his mind.

“Are you are looking at the mirror directly?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Say after me: Remove from me the enemy of life; the days of thieves and robbers are numbered.”

“Remove from me the enemy of life; the days of thieves and robbers are numbered.”

“I want you to chant that seven times.”

Kaniürü did as he was told and chanted the magic words seven times, his eyes and their reflection gazing at each other, his lips and their reflections mimicking each other seven times.

“Now remove all the wax in your ears and anything else that may block my words,” the Wizard of the Crow pronounced with authority. “Listen to me. Every morning you must stand in front of a mirror, look at it, and say the formula seven times. Do that seven days a week for seven months.”

“Is that all?” Kaniürü asked.

“That’s all,” said the Wizard of the Crow, now taking back his mirror.

“And will that cast a protective spell over my life and property?”

“Yes, if you do it right.”

“What is the fee?”

“There is no charge because I did not dispense any herbs, powder, or liquid. Yours is a malady of riches and property, and the medicine for that resides in the heart. Your soul and all you have will be well if and when you arm yourself against your enemies of the soul with the right words.”

“Words?”

“Yes, words. And actions born of the right words. So take good care of what you say from now on. What poisons a person goes through his mouth. I must never hear that you have repeated to the ears of another what you have seen or heard in the shrine of the Wizard of the Crow. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Say after me: And if I say what I should not say, may the words tell on me.”

“And if I say what I should not say, may the words tell on me.”

Kaniürü felt a big load off his mind. His riches were now protected. His monies were beyond the reach of his enemies, whoever and wherever they were. He was so preoccupied with his lightness of being that when the same woman who had earlier received him now gave him a piece of paper, he just took it and put it in his pocket and moved on without a thank-you, a glance, or a word. The only person to whom he felt enormous gratitude was the Wizard of the Crow. The man is a true wizard, Kaniürü kept saying to himself, marveling at how much the witch doctor knew about him and his condition. And that he had not asked for a fee proved his authenticity all the more. The false are always ready to take and the true to give. No less amazing was how the Wizard of the Crow had managed to lull his fears so that, except when he had lied to the wizard about his malady, Kaniürü had felt at peace and talked to the wizard as if they had met somewhere else and were just renewing their acquaintance. He quickly dismissed the possibility of a previous encounter and attributed the ease and familiarity of their conversation to the wizard’s divining skills.

That night he hardly slept: his entire body was taut with joy, relief, hope, and self-congratulation on the success of the deception. He had even gotten the better of the Wizard of the Crow, he thought.

But the face of the Wizard of the Crow kept appearing to his mind’s eye. The face danced just so in his mind as to awaken his dormant artistic instincts. At school, his artistic bent was in portraits; his mind had been a storehouse of the different faces he had encountered. He had, however, become disillusioned with art as a means of material accumulation; his memory had lost its clarity and sharpness. Now he turned the face of the Wizard of the Crow over and over again in his imagination. There were moments when he saw the face exactly as he had seen it during the divination. But there were others, particularly in the twilight of sleep and wakefulness, when he saw the face floating above the streets of Eldares, calling unto him: Come, follow me and I shall make you fishers of everything: trees, property, people, men, women. Yes, women particularly…

He recalled the woman who had given him the piece of paper. What was all that about and what was written on it? He felt too lazy to get out of bed and retrieve it from his pocket. But unable to sleep, he slipped out of bed, put on the lights, and read the heading: The Seven Herbs of Grace. This witch doctor was endlessly amazing: hmmm, talking about the care of animals and plants and even insects? How funny! A witch doctor who cares about life all around him? A modern witch doctor, an environmentally conscious witch doctor, he said and yawned, returning to bed.

He dreamt of the Wizard of the Crow and himself chasing each other in some forest. Sometimes it was he, Kaniürü, who was in pursuit of the Wizard of the Crow. At other times it was the Wizard of the Crow who was chasing him, and wherever Kaniürü sought to hide and take breath, a tree would be saying: Look at the mirror in your heart seven times.

He woke up in the morning and went to the mirror in the bathroom and chanted the sorcerer’s incantation seven times, only to have the word seven echo in the corridors of his mind as if it had a life of its own and was asserting itself. The magic must be working. Seven. The Seven Herbs of Grace. The word kept playing tricks on him. Sometimes the word seven found itself in the middle of a sentence: The Herbs of Grace were Seven. Sometimes at the beginning: Seven were the Herbs of Grace. Seven Grace. Grace Seven. Grace Mügwanja. Grace Mügwanjar

Nyawlra’s other names were Grace Mügwanja. Was this possible? He felt paralyzed with disbelief at the thoughts now forming in his mind. Had the Wizard of the Crow been trying to communicate something to him about Nyawlra? That Nyawlra could be found? Seven herbs of Grace. Grace. Seven. Grace Mügwanja. The different faces of the Wizard of the Crow started floating in the air. He was now certain that he had seen that face before. It was the face of the person who had changed himself into a beggar outside the gates of Paradise.

Kaniürü was so disoriented that he had to hold on to the wall of the bathroom in order not to fall. The man was no ordinary sorcerer. He was one of those djinns reputed to wield potent magic. That explains why he knew all about me even though he had never seen me. He even knew the drama in my heart! That’s why he asked me whether a woman was holding my heart captive. He was upset with himself, now recalling his response: that although it was true that he was looking for her, that had not been his mission in coming to the shrine.