'Buburu… Onidan…'
I have not been at my physical or mental best this weekend, but that has not stopped universe from rolling on, supplying its usual blend of minor comedy moments and high strangeness. From the mild surprise of Spoon Boy – one of my occasional housemates – casually producing a sack of more than a 2,000 After Eight Mints to discovering that thick, eye-stinging smoke pouring from your kitchen is enough to deter unwanted Jehovah's Witnesses, nothing beats the oddness of complete strangers accusing you being a ‘bad wizard’.
I was minding my own business on a train, scratching lines of prose into one of my little black books, when I became aware that two gentlemen dressed in St. George's Cross t-shirts were growing excited, pointing at me and talking loudly to each other in Yoruba. After a couple of minutes where I kept hearing: 'Buburu… onidan…' one of them approached me and told me I was a ‘bad wizard’. It seems that one of the things that gave me away was writing with my left hand. I must remember this in future because it seems ridiculous that my secret identity as a black magician should be exposed through such a schoolboy error.
My accuser asked to see what I was writing in my magic book. After seeing my words and handwriting he changed his mind and decided that I was in fact: ‘A good wizard, clever wizard’ with a ‘clever hand’ he insisted on patting. When he and his partner left the train, they insisted on giving me complex handshakes and bowing. Even in my occasionally odd line of work, this is not an everyday occurrence.
I was minding my own business on a train, scratching lines of prose into one of my little black books, when I became aware that two gentlemen dressed in St. George's Cross t-shirts were growing excited, pointing at me and talking loudly to each other in Yoruba. After a couple of minutes where I kept hearing: 'Buburu… onidan…' one of them approached me and told me I was a ‘bad wizard’. It seems that one of the things that gave me away was writing with my left hand. I must remember this in future because it seems ridiculous that my secret identity as a black magician should be exposed through such a schoolboy error.
My accuser asked to see what I was writing in my magic book. After seeing my words and handwriting he changed his mind and decided that I was in fact: ‘A good wizard, clever wizard’ with a ‘clever hand’ he insisted on patting. When he and his partner left the train, they insisted on giving me complex handshakes and bowing. Even in my occasionally odd line of work, this is not an everyday occurrence.
9 Comments:
You should have messed with the dudes, pretended to put a spell on them or somethin. At least, that's what I woulda done.
Ah, they got you too? I was first identified as a potential demonic force when a teacher in a catholic primary school caught me writing with my left hand. Unfortunately, her worst fears were confirmed: I refused to have my natural brain wiring stuffed up by changing to the other hand (unlike a poor girl in the same class, who the teacher was very proud of, despite giving her a learning disability), and, later on, decided that organised (i.e., marketed) religion was a seriously sick crock of shit, to put it mildly (yep, all that body and blood guff, repenting and feeling guilty for being human, crucifixes and a vatican bank...)
But, strangely, enough, some three and half decades later, and despite my inherent evilness, I feel quite fine, really.
Never a dull moment in the life of David. Sheesh! That train ride story is a delight. I wish I could have seen it, but the next best thing is your descriptive wending of words to paint me the picture! Thanks.
Hope this week is better for you.
It’s not so strange that they would think you are a wizard. It does seem odd that they would walk up to you and actually say it to your face. I wonder what the next course of action would have been had you confirmed their original suspicion. I’ve read that in some regions, those suspected of black magic are treated to a burning tire around their neck.
No comment.
Slag - In England those regions would be Norfolk and and Lincolnshire.
Great story! Just loved it. Weird shit like that really tends to spice up one's day.
What was the other 'many things' that gave you away? You are saying that on the basis of you being 'sinister' that they called you a wizard -be it good or bad it was on that basis????
Yes ‘anonymous’, that is what happened. Being a ‘sinister’ and looking the way I do seemed to be enough for my Yoruba speaking friends to make their diagnosis.
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