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Authors: Nick Griffiths
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the horrors, the crackling alone made my stomach kiss my heart. However, I was aware that no one had yet dived in and I feared breaking with protocol by
doing so first.
I dared to nudge the Shaman, hoping for advice. Both he and the boy glared at me. Before I could speak, Gdgi clapped again. The drumming stopped and the tribe fell silent.
The leader rose from his stool to address the crowd. I tried to make sense of his speech, but the sounds were impenetrably alien. At one point he must have cracked a joke because everyone
laughed. When I joined in obsequiously, everyone’s eyes fell on me and the laughter grew louder.
“We welcome our guests of honour tonight,” said Gdgi, thankfully switching to English. “The Shaman you already know, and with him our new friend, Pilsbury.” More
chuckling, which he silenced with a look of reproach. He turned to me. “When a white stranger accepts our hospitality, he must take a test, to show he is worthy.”
My buttocks tightened, my teeth clenched. Had I known, there is no way I would have stayed.
Gdgi continued: “We call this test Ymze Lysta and it has been taken by all before you who passed this way and asked for our help” – I didn’t recall doing so –
“It is simple, you will come to no harm. Probably. It is for our amusement. Pilsbury, are you hungry?”
“I suppose I am quite hungry,” I replied warily.
“That is good, because we have some food for you.”
A great “Ooooooooh!” arose from the crowd and he grinned knowingly.
I inspected the potential monstrosities on the dinner table before me. What could they have in mind? The offal soaking in a brown liquid, like a discarded rug sample in a full chamber pot? The
bowl containing two things that looked horribly like pig’s testicles? No, it had to be those grubs, those animated, stuffed, ribbed condoms.
Still, I was so ravenous that even they looked possibly enticing. No sense prolonging the agony, I decided. Lowering a hand into the dish, I pinched one around the midriff and felt its creamy
insides pulse past my fingertips.
“No, no, no!” interjected the leader. “Not the grub. How could we gain amusement from your eating such a delicious treat? No, we have something else in mind. Clnde and Yntha,
bring Pilsbury his test!”
Two figures, one male, one female, got up from the table to my right and disappeared into darkness towards the huts. As I watched them go, I noticed the other shaman seated on the far corner of
the table furthest from us, no doubt to keep the warring siblings apart.
His head turned slowly. He rose and pointed at me, staring. On his face he had painted a white beetle and he wore a suit made of, well, fish. Dead silvery flat fish strung together. And there
was me finding my shaman disconcerting.
Clnde and Yntha returned in a state of breathless excitement, each holding a cardboard box. Yntha, the girl I assumed, had a tuft of hair perched centrally atop her scalp and a
tapering jawline, which made her head look a bit like an onion. Clnde, like Yntha in his late-teens, wore a necklace comprising millipedes threaded end to end.
The pair held out their boxes towards me. A hush had descended upon the audience, broken by the odd stage whisper.
Gdgi spoke: “Pilsbury, you must choose one of the boxes, and you must eat its entire contents while we watch. Choose now!”
I dreaded to think what lurked beneath those lids if grubs were deemed too easy on the taste buds. Spiders? Flies? Maggots? A grilled snake? What to do? How to choose, minimise
the hideousness?
I studied Clnde and Yntha’s expressions, hoping for a clue, but they wore the same studied look of eager expectation. I could only resort to eeny-meeny-miny-mo.
Yntha’s box.
Should I change my mind?
No. Trust to eeny.
Inhaling deeply, I took the box. Yntha squealed and clenched her thighs, perhaps trapping an escaping modicum of wee. Clnde looked dejected.
The tribe began chanting, building towards
doing so first.
I dared to nudge the Shaman, hoping for advice. Both he and the boy glared at me. Before I could speak, Gdgi clapped again. The drumming stopped and the tribe fell silent.
The leader rose from his stool to address the crowd. I tried to make sense of his speech, but the sounds were impenetrably alien. At one point he must have cracked a joke because everyone
laughed. When I joined in obsequiously, everyone’s eyes fell on me and the laughter grew louder.
“We welcome our guests of honour tonight,” said Gdgi, thankfully switching to English. “The Shaman you already know, and with him our new friend, Pilsbury.” More
chuckling, which he silenced with a look of reproach. He turned to me. “When a white stranger accepts our hospitality, he must take a test, to show he is worthy.”
My buttocks tightened, my teeth clenched. Had I known, there is no way I would have stayed.
Gdgi continued: “We call this test Ymze Lysta and it has been taken by all before you who passed this way and asked for our help” – I didn’t recall doing so –
“It is simple, you will come to no harm. Probably. It is for our amusement. Pilsbury, are you hungry?”
“I suppose I am quite hungry,” I replied warily.
“That is good, because we have some food for you.”
A great “Ooooooooh!” arose from the crowd and he grinned knowingly.
I inspected the potential monstrosities on the dinner table before me. What could they have in mind? The offal soaking in a brown liquid, like a discarded rug sample in a full chamber pot? The
bowl containing two things that looked horribly like pig’s testicles? No, it had to be those grubs, those animated, stuffed, ribbed condoms.
Still, I was so ravenous that even they looked possibly enticing. No sense prolonging the agony, I decided. Lowering a hand into the dish, I pinched one around the midriff and felt its creamy
insides pulse past my fingertips.
“No, no, no!” interjected the leader. “Not the grub. How could we gain amusement from your eating such a delicious treat? No, we have something else in mind. Clnde and Yntha,
bring Pilsbury his test!”
Two figures, one male, one female, got up from the table to my right and disappeared into darkness towards the huts. As I watched them go, I noticed the other shaman seated on the far corner of
the table furthest from us, no doubt to keep the warring siblings apart.
His head turned slowly. He rose and pointed at me, staring. On his face he had painted a white beetle and he wore a suit made of, well, fish. Dead silvery flat fish strung together. And there
was me finding my shaman disconcerting.
Clnde and Yntha returned in a state of breathless excitement, each holding a cardboard box. Yntha, the girl I assumed, had a tuft of hair perched centrally atop her scalp and a
tapering jawline, which made her head look a bit like an onion. Clnde, like Yntha in his late-teens, wore a necklace comprising millipedes threaded end to end.
The pair held out their boxes towards me. A hush had descended upon the audience, broken by the odd stage whisper.
Gdgi spoke: “Pilsbury, you must choose one of the boxes, and you must eat its entire contents while we watch. Choose now!”
I dreaded to think what lurked beneath those lids if grubs were deemed too easy on the taste buds. Spiders? Flies? Maggots? A grilled snake? What to do? How to choose, minimise
the hideousness?
I studied Clnde and Yntha’s expressions, hoping for a clue, but they wore the same studied look of eager expectation. I could only resort to eeny-meeny-miny-mo.
Yntha’s box.
Should I change my mind?
No. Trust to eeny.
Inhaling deeply, I took the box. Yntha squealed and clenched her thighs, perhaps trapping an escaping modicum of wee. Clnde looked dejected.
The tribe began chanting, building towards
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