To Brahmuhn, the feast felt like deja vu. It was like re-living the marriage of his mother to Chief Mbada those fourteen years ago. The ear-piercing ululations, countless and tempting foods and of course, inevitably, the drunkards scattered everywhere mumbling inaudible yet irritating mumbo-jumbo to each other or passing rude jeers to passing women.

Cheetah looked deep in conversation with a man a short distance from where Brahmuhn was sitting.

Brahmuhn had no interest whatsoever in traditional beer but rather, he was obsessed with his mbanje. However, on this particular night he was not in the mood for a smoke. He had decided to allow his anger to take control of his mind. He was sitting by a fire in the company of Bhonzo, Ngoni and two other men. One of them looked like he was Chief Mbada’s advisor. The four men were sharing a gourd of beer whilst Brahmuhn’s eyes were concentrating on the flames before him. He could not stop picturing his father’s death. The painfu