by Richard Stevenson
Swahili for Bat Wing.
Ain’t no bat, though
it casts such ragged shadows
when it attacks…
Shapeshifter evil spirit or shatani —
the focus of mass hysteria or panic
in 1965 when he first appeared
on the Tanzanian island of Pemba —
soon had folks in Unguja in a flap.
Some say he’s the spirit unleashed
by an angry Sheikh. A jinn sent
to take vengeance on his neighbours.
The sheikh lost control of the jinn
who took on demonic ways.
Some say he’s the embodiment —
the spirit — of the rage
of long dead slaves or the
vengeful ghost of assassinated
president Abeid Karume.
And though folks claim he’s apolitical,
his savage attacks rise and fall
with the election cycle in Zanzibar.
Holding or reciting the Koran
has been known to keep the beast at bay…
But what do you do
if you’re not Muslim,
do not believe in ghosts,
let alone religious politicos
or vengeful shape shiftin’ critters?
Can’t blow him away with a gun,
even with hollow point silver bullets.
Can’t splash holy water on ‘m
or wave him away with a cross.
No ooga booga mumbo jumbo can save you.
Prayers of contrition, sacred water witchin’?
A home-made meal? Mordida or dash
in American dollars? Ain’t no way
to kiss a Popobawan ass, it seems,
save, maybe, to trap it in your dreams.
But how would you do that? Conjure up
a frozen treat or hamburger and fries?
Wait for Halloween and waft the scent
of a fresh-baked pumpkin pie with whipped cream
into a dungeon or cave? That won’t work either.
Do good deeds? Treat your neighbor as family?
Might not work, but it?s a start at least.
Could get a beast to pull up a chair
and take a closer look at that fresh pumpkin pie…
Maybe he’d smile. Break bread, stay a while…
Maybe fresh fruit would please him.
A glass of ice cold water — assuming
it didn’t pour right through him.
Maybe dog biscuits would get him
slavering over something other than blood.
It’s worth a try. Never say die.
Put away the bang sticks and bazookas.
Maybe he’ll go goo goo for coco puffs.
Never get enough tobacco or spirits —
They say jinns go good with tonic…
Try friendship and hospitality. Leave shortbread
cookies like you did for Santa Claus
when you were a kid. Maybe he’s a kid
havin’ a temper tantrum. Maybe he just
doesn’t want his existence denied.
Bring out a yoyo or bolo bat — a hula hoop,
maybe a slinky to follow downstairs
into some basement of consciousness.
Just don’t make a fuss. Teach him to play.
Throw a stick, but don’t run away.
Richard Stevenson retired from a thirty-year gig teaching English and Creative Writing courses for Lethbridge College in 2015. He is the author of thirty-two books and holds a Masters in Creative Writing from the University of British Columbia (1984) and an honours Bachelor’s degree in English (1974) and Diploma in Secondary Education (English, 1977) from the University of Victoria.
