Date with fate

My turn had come. I had not been to the river at least for such an event. How easy would it be to face my destroyer right on the face and allow him to move on? Mixed feelings were all over me, i contemplated fleeing, i thought of shouting or rolling on the ground. The pleasure however was all mine to imagine finishing strong or so to be thought.

Litaya my childhood friend would not take it, he looked at the knife, loved his body more. The nearer it was, the more faint he grew. He would no longer stand the fate, a step back, two more and swiftly into the bush. No one was expected to run after him, a curse of violation was on any attempt to set back. You could see the sweat on his father's face after that as elders stared at him with despise. Shame had befallen the King, the heir had escaped the knife.

Similar ordeals had marked earlier seasons, my father had threatened a curse on any of his sons who would dare embarrass him. I stood there quite firm in resolve but keen on the details of the process. It was no longer next minute, he stood right in-front, signaled me to kneel. For a moment, my body half-freezing, half-burning. It wasn't a cowards affair neither was i. The cutting edge sunk through the skin gently opening deep streams flowing to the ground, affirming my loyalty to my people. No turning back, no tear to shed, instead my body swam in the lake of sweat that sprung from every pore on my skin. Being the last on the line, nothing was left to chance, precision was at it's best.

Spontaneous dance and singing went to air immediately the elders left their stools. One after the other, in a well rehearsed walk followed to the camp. Women with an assurance of tribal continuity took to the floor with ululations feeling the sky. The season of feasting and festival had just be declared. Even the lame had their cells to dance. My turn had come