CHIPA GONDITII-KAZINGIZI

AFRICAN CURE: THE STORY OF PLAMBUS CHIKARA

I dedicate this short story to my mother who is my greatest friend and to my father who is a
firm believer in my work.

27/06/19
AS he quickly stabbed his forearm with the fat-tubed syringe, Plambus Chikara immediately
felt the relief that usually came with the injection. He could not normalise his breathing let
alone regulate it, his heart that was beating with the same intensity as that of a Shona
tribesman pounding a traditional drum at a bira. As he slumbered in the fecal waters at the
city slums, he knew it would be at least 20 minutes before he was breathing normally again,
30 more for him to think rationally.

It had been two weeks before the previous ‘incident’ as Chikara called them, he wasn’t due
for another week. The antidote that he had got from his friend Dr Oliver McCracken at the
capital’s Centre for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) office was becoming ineffective as
time went by. One dosage like the one he had just taken just now initially prevented him
from having any “incident” for 6 months. However, the frequency of these incidents was
now starting to scare him, when the period started to depreciate the incidents started
occurring at four months intervals, then three months, soon after that it became two weeks
and now it was down to a week. Now he knew a simple calculus of the number of incidents
divided by time would tell him when the next “incident” would occur. And this scared him.

He knew he had to find McCracken very fast, he would know how to fix him. The last clinical
trial test they had run on his body had been a risk and he knew it. They had tried to cure his
incidents by submerging his body in a bathtub full of some organic electrolyte solution he
had stolen at the CDC, that mixed with the horse placenta fluid extract was supposed to be
jolted by a powerful surge of electricity which was being fed directly from the main grid. All
Chikara remembered was the cold bucketful of water splashed on his torso by McCracken,
whatever fatigue he felt was immediately erased the moment the first drop touched his
body. McCracken had told him that this unusual trial though a failure had provided him with
valuable information on how to make a formula which would finally cure him. He had never
doubted McCracken’s brilliance it was rumoured at CDC that his IQ was 40 pints above
genius but damn he was starting to have his doubts.

He was now starting to get regain his rigidity now and he had to lay low for a moment. The
cops would be probably be looking for him now. He headed to in the direction of his house
that was one of those new government built structures that all looked the same, it would be
empty by now. And as predicted it was empty, the maid who usually cleaned it had left ages
ago, Plambus quickly grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and thirstily gulped it and
after a short while he was surprised to find out that he had quaffed the full one litre bottle
in one go. This meant one thing: his temperature was already rising, the tell tell signs that
another attack was already imminent. The quest to find McCracken would have to wait he
had to get the last vial that was left in his office suite at 2358 Mboza street in the capital
which was 10 miles away. Plambus entered the garage and wobblingly entered the Prius, it
had been given to him as a present by his father in law at his wedding and now six and half
years later his wife was dead because of him and this car was the only the only thing that
still reminded him of her, Thando. As Plambus ignited the engine the Prius’ engine rumbled
to life, he smoothly reversed into the driveway and headed into the direction of the CBD
thinking that time was of the essence. When he was about to change into the second gear
he was surprised to see that his palms were sweating profusely and when he gazed down
his shirt it was soaked and he cursed. The pimples that signified yet another step towards
his transformation began to show this time he cursed even louder.

Meanwhile McCracken was having a difficult time moving jaw, the stiffness and the searing
pain that he felt when he tried to move it gave him the assurance that it was broken. The
last punch that he had been biffed by the man called Claubo although not the hardest he
had ever taken was definitely in the top three and the row of broken teeth on the left side
of his jaw confirmed that. They had been torturing him since nine in the morning. They had
caught him in Albersville as he was getting into his car, “the old excuse me sir and get
clubbed from behind” trick had worked perfectly on him and the next thing he remembered
was waking up in this dingy warehouse and being berated by a question which he did not
know the answer to: where is Plambus Chikara? Claubo had asked him this question to
which every denial was swiftly rewarded with gunshot jabs to the ribs or a haymaker from
up close which was responsible for turning his face into a messy red cabbage. The torturers
were three and judging from how they were perfectly coordinated McCracken guessed that
they were either intelligence or Special Forces but unknown to him they were actually
Military Intelligence. These were they the guys who had single handedly quelled the
nationwide protests, strategic deployments within various provinces had ensured that every
Tom, Dick and Harry who thought they could have a go at the government simply got their
asses handed to them. McCracken was forced to drink water that one of the guards held to
his mouth, he breathed heavily as he tried to read their actions through a squint and when
he saw them attaching some electrodes to a car battery he knew the worst was yet to come.

Major Claubosissus Chindiwo or simply Claubo as his men called was the man in charge of
this 3-man torture squad. He was what you would call an honourable in Army terms in that
he did not take bribes and he did not engage in extra marital sexual activities as most of his
fellow soldiers did. As one of his subordinates was unrolling the electrodes, Claubo was
thinking of how growing up he was also tortured because of his name though not to the
same extend as poor McCracken. People would always laugh at his name whenever the
register was called in class and he would frantically try to explain that his name was Greek,
which was not true at all but that is what he had been told by his father and that’s what he
believed. And sometimes belief is the only thing you needed to keep you going. However, he
did not believe in the way Takesure Gwata also known as Black Rambo was torturing the
American. What would have been intriguing in a situation like this was how Rambo was
actually smiling relishing how he would torture him again. Rambo’s over enthusiasm in the
prospect of torturing McCracken brought some worry to Claubo only some but he was never
the one to show any weakness especially in front of his men. Whatever it took to get the job
he thought done, even if it meant killing McCracken. Black Rambo did not care if McCracken
knew anything, personally he hoped McCracken wouldn’t confess anything so that he could
carry on with his visceral perversion. Only he did not see it as that, he saw it as some form of
hardcore justice that had to be administered to get the truth even though that did not
explain his smile. Rambo did not believe in psychological torture or waterboarding to him
that was just child’s play, to him torture constituted of just simply applying extreme pain to
the victim or suspect as he liked to say until they give up the information. On sunny days at
the barracks he would explain to his fellow regiment officers that torture was actually an art
that deserved a place at the university curriculums. This outburst earned him the name
Professor Torture although he shrugged when whenever he was called this name deep
inside he took pride in being in his torturing prowess. Rambo was coming in fresh from a 3-
week suspension that had been incentivised by a further hour of severe bludgeoning the
reason for his punishment according to the barrack commander’s report was that he had
been caught illegally torturing the camp’s prisoners who were mostly journalists who had
been caught during the recent protests. He had tried to bullshit Commanding Officer by
saying the directive for the torture had come from above but when he was asked where it
came from he started stammering. Now that was in the past now he had to do the job at
hand.

The 10 mile journey to the CBD took 10 minutes longer than expected and this was not good
at all Chikara knew this. In the car he had planned of taking the stairs so as not attract the
attention of the people who would normally be in the foyer but when the car stopped he
improvised, he quickly sprinted to the end where the elevators where situated and pulled a
baseball slide inside. This all happened in less than 10 seconds but the shock on the people’s
faces stayed for 10 seconds longer.

Plambus didn’t even bother to respond to the bewildered faces that surrounded him. By this
time he was breathing very hard and his shirt was soaked and when the elevator reached
the 20th floor where his office was he got off as fast as he had entered. As he got into his
office he immediately started looking for the vial he thought he would find it on the desk
but he finally found it in the second drawer. Just when he was about to inject himself that’s
when it happened, the deep chest pain immediately engulfed him to the extent that he fell
to his knees, it was as his chest was being ripped open using a crowbar. In a desperate
attempt to avoid the inevitable he tried reaching for the vial but he couldn’t move and his
arms were shaking terribly and at that very moment he knew that it was over there would
be no coming back now. As he foamed on the mouth his cries of pain where replaced by a
deep beastly growling sound. There was a slight one-two knock on the door and the
inquisitive voice of Maria his PA betrayed her presence, and as she stood on the safer side
of the door she asks: “are you ok sir?” As he lay on the ground he tried to yell at her to run
for her life but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a loud growl, which had the
undesired effect of forcing the inquisitive Maria to enter the office. This time he knew that
even the vial would not save him now, he regained his mobility and as the thick saliva
dripped from his mouth he gave Maria a 360 degree discus haymaker that broke her neck as
if it was a twig. Simultaneously he then jumped off the 20 th story window, a jump he could
easily survive in his current state, with tears of regret dripping down his face.