We live in the rocks surrounded by cactus. After the death of my uncle, my father often went alone to speak close to his grave:
Your spirit is unworthy
Your witchcraft is dead
You can’t see us here
Go to the land of death
And become a vampire there.
After a month I began to follow behind my father to see what he often did. He spewed some substance like libation on my uncle’s grave.
After a few days I visited the site and saw my uncle’s grave dug (when his body wasn’t yet osseous), his skull thrown beside it and no deleterious smell.
Those days my father often complained that our people seldom reasoned to give their children good names.
‘The instances are pellucid’, he said.
My late uncle’s name, Makanan, means a person, who is inflicting diseases to people by means of witchcraft. My name, Murum, which my soho (grandpa) gave me although my father prohibited its use as my real name, means hyena. And my father’s name means cemetery.
I couldn’t understand why my father often complained about that till when I realised he was who harvested the skull of his late elder brother to calculate the number of worms inside it, and come with the theory of how many people he kananed before his death. He had inherited this sense from his father, the former king of traditionalists of our clan.
Makanan’s death came about when he tried to Kanan someone, who was powerful than him–and the person retrieve it to him and made him looked like a pellagra victim for a month before he died. During his valediction, after his corpse was laid down in his grave some people swore a dark cloud formed over the tree in his compound.