Child Sacrifice
Zag Kunde Chronicle #016 - in which Nyako gets some sage advice from his Imam friend.
New to the story? Start at the beginning.
Previous Chronicle - Zag gets a room, a mentor and a set of keys.
I'm not saying it's wrong Nyako, I'm saying it's child sacrifice, said Baraka, the Imam
What do you mean? I'm only doing what's demanded by duty. Nyako responded.
Duty it may be, but it's purely your decision which of your duties takes priority. Yes, you have a duty to your adopted tribe, if I can even call it that. I think it’s more of an unthinking cult, that you call a brotherhood to make it sound more palatable. Baraka said.
Nyako was about to interject, but Baraka raised his hand quickly and continued speaking serenely.
Remember, you also have a duty to your Zag your son, to Maya your wife, and ultimately to Allah.
Nyako: What's my duty to Allah?
Baraka: To do good.
I've done good. I know this is the right thing to do. I feel it in my bones, said Nyako.
Ok, so you’re fulfilling your duty to yourself? Is that your criteria, that *you* feel it and that makes it the right thing to do? Fair enough! Then why are you here? Why did you seek me out? Are you here to have me justify your action? Well, I won’t do that. Yes, in your eyes, you've done good. But is it actually good? There’s a big difference, Baraka said.
Here you go getting philosophical on me again. Nyako said.
I’m not getting philosophical Nyako, Baraka said. This is way too serious for philosophical jousting.
Baraka paused, stood up and walked to the window. He stood there with his back to Nyako.
They were in a small, poorly-lit room. The one window in the room was covered with dust baked-on with sun and rain. He couldn’t actually see very much through it. The only other light came in from some square spaces in the brickwork high up near the roof. Baraka’s desk, now behind him, looked like a work in progress - a construction site of sorts. A Quran lay open on the desk, its neat Arabic script waiting for someone to lift the words off the page and perhaps philosophize. Next to the Quran, there was a brown leather-bound Bible in Namanga language. It had gold-leaf edges and the words Baibele yamu Namanga written in golden letters on the front. Several other books stood in two piles on the floor to the right of the desk. Some of the books in the piles were open, making the piles look precarious but somehow well-balanced.
Baraka was wearing his usual day-to-day Imam attire. He preferred simple clothes except when at official gatherings. White cotton pants and an off-white long-sleeved shirt with basic embroidery down the middle. And it was always brown open-toed sandals for him. Always brown for Baraka. His kufi hat partly covered a full head of unwieldy hair, at least two months overdue for a haircut. His odd-shaped eyeglasses made him look more like a scientist than a clergyman. As always, he had a blue ball-point pen in his shirt’s left pocket and a white handkerchief in his right hand, which matched the white hairs that had invaded his beard since Nyako last saw him.
There was a red pen with the lid off on the desk, lying on top of a yellow writing pad. The kind with the pale-blue lines and perforated pages that you can tear out. The number "1545" was scribbled on the pad in red ink. Several crumpled pieces of yellow paper were gathered on one side of the desk, in a small collection - like juggling balls, ready for someone to lift them and juggle them. Except Baraka was juggling thoughts.
This is not philosophical, he said, turning back to face Nyako. Your son is in an *actual* prison and you *actually* put him there. It’s not philosophical.
It’s not a prison. It’s a training camp for the best of the best. Nyako said.
That’s what they told you. It certainly doesn’t look like that to me. Baraka said. Listen Nyako, what you do is your business. What I advise you is my business. Whether you take my advice or not is your business.
What’s your advice then? Asked Nyako
Ah! so you’re here to seek advice. I wonder why. Baraka said.
He didn’t wait for a response. And Nyako knew not to rise to the bait of another expositionary rabbit hole.
Look, I don’t know everything, but I know enough to say this: Get him out of there as soon as you can.
Baraka, the Imam, and Nyako had been friends as children growing up in Namanga. This was before Baraka converted to Islam and became a well-respected spiritual leader. Even as a child Baraka was quick-witted and full of wisecracks. He spoke in poetic language as if bringing his discourse from distant lands and times. He was always the one to find just the right proverb to suit the occasion. Like when Nyako had returned from a fishing trip empty-handed while all his friends had caught something. Baraka had said, "it’s not the sharpness of the hook that counts. It’s the sharpness of the fisherman". The laughter that followed led to Nyako earning the nickname "Sharp". He seemed to collect nicknames.
Baraka was still Nyako's go-to whenever he needed perspective. They had had many conversations here in Baraka’s office at the mosque.
What are you writing? Asked Nyako.
You know I’m always writing something, Baraka said. I’ve been researching our old tradition of child sacrifice and what role it played in our society.
Ah, so this is why you said what I’m doing is child sacrifice? Said Nyako.
Partly, yes. But also because it is. Baraka said. This time he smiled.
What role did child sacrifice play? Nyako said.
Well - let’s start with sacrifice, said Baraka. Sacrifice is only sacrifice if there’s a higher principle for which the sacrificer must offer up the sacrifice.
I think I get it but can you say it in simpler terms please? said Nyako. And also, why must everything be a sermon?
Baraka ignored the veiled insult and continued: Sacrifice only exists when there is a higher value for which you’re giving something up. it’s bit of a tautology - I mean, umm a, ummm - well, what I’m saying is basically just the fundamental definition, but it’s important to say it this way. For example, if a thief broke into your house and in the process of the robbery killed your child, it wouldn’t be child sacrifice. It would be murder or manslaughter. It’s not his child and therefore has no intrinsic value to him. In the same way if someone offered someone else’s child as a sacrifice, it would not count. What makes it sacrifice is that what is killed is precious to the killer.
Ok. Got that. And your point is? Nyako said.
In child sacrifice, the higher principle is to please the ancestors. I may be wrong, but my thesis is that, actually, the more basic higher principle is the peace of mind of the parents. The peace of mind comes from the knowledge that the ancestors are happy. No parent wants to sacrifice their child. Unless… Baraka said
Nyako: Unless what?
Baraka: Unless they absolutely believe it’s the right thing to do.
Nyako: Right!
Nyako lit up. But Baraka continued:
And herein lies the problem. he said.
What’s the problem now? said Nyako
The question of what is right, said Baraka.
Nyako’s shoulders dropped. He sighed and said: You’re confusing me now.
Somehow I don’t think you’re confused. Baraka said. Disappointed maybe, but not confused. As you know, in Namanga, the Elders Council decided to end the practice of child sacrifice officially more than 45 years ago. Overnight it went from being “right” to being “wrong”. That in itself is a discussion for another day. People were still practicing it in secret even five years ago. They believed it was more right to do that than to obey the new laws. I’m convinced that the underlying need that drove parents to sacrifice their children in more ancient times still exists, and people are practicing it today - just in different forms.
Nyako let out a small laugh, shook his head and said Like sending them to training institutions?
Yes, why do you think licenses for these new institutions have never been issued by the government even though they’re growing in popularity? Nyako you have to think about these things. Baraka said
You think too much. said Nyako.
I hope you’re right Nyako. I hope you’re right. You and I both know Ndambo. He’s the most unscrupulous of characters and if it wasn’t him running Nishina, I would feel more comfortable about it. But with him involved, I worry that there’s something we’re not seeing, said Baraka
But he was cleared of all the corruption charges that were labeled against him by the Elders, said Nyako.
Of course he was cleared, but the money was never found. He was cleared but they still moved him from his role as Head of Intelligence. I just feel he’s up to something, said Baraka.
Nyako shrugged. Baraka sat down again.
Have you heard from Maya? Baraka asked.
Maya wa Moyo can be a difficult woman. I understand she’s even been to the police. Nyako said.
Baraka shot up, brow furrowed, and eyes fixed on Nyako.
Huh??! He said. His voice was rising
So… you … haven’t said anything to her?
Nyako stood up as well.
Not yet, Baraka. He said. It was the only …
Baraka interrupted him.
You fool! He said
Get out of my office. Don’t tell me another word or I’ll get you arrested.
Baraka sat down and lowered his voice. He said, Please leave Nyako. And when you get out of here, please do the right thing. For once!
Nyako left. He was not planning to go and see Ndambo straight away, maybe later in the week after he’d had a chance to think about it.
But as he walked away from the mosque he saw Ndambo’s car in the parking lot. He also knew that the other two cars there were his security detail.
Ndambo got out and walked towards the building.
I didn’t expect to see you here Nyako, he said as he approached.
Nyako did not really want to engage, not now anyway, so he decided to keep it light.
Just calling on my old friend, Nyako said.
As am I, said Ndambo. As am I. He said, slower the second time, and he smiled.
Without thinking, Nyako found himself saying, Can I come and see you tomorrow?
Of course, said Ndambo. Late afternoon is best. See you then.