"They will chop off your penis!"

Written in response to: Make your protagonist go through a rite of passage.... view prompt

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Funny Indigenous Contemporary

This story contains sensitive content

Disclaimer: The following contains images and references of blood, graphic content and references to male anatomy.


"They will chop off your penis!"


You will be okay. No he didn't say that. The father looked at the timid kid of half. Was he mocking me? He wondered. But then again everyone at school in both so-and-not-so sotto voce knew the joke. But few admitted as to what it truly entailed.


He loves his father. But he cannot help but wonder he was enjoying the process a few more pint than he should. He was single dad and did his utmost to raise the shy kid. And no he didn't drink save but a twisted dry measure of schadenfreude.


He wasn't sure if it was before or after he started wearing glasses. The memory fades away. And then sudden glitch hither and thither activates the latent memory. Triggered by a Proustian snuff, as if.


"And I have the photos to show your bride." Teased his Grandma'. May her soul rest in peace. He loved his grandma much but he couldn't help but fathom under what chthonic, bas relief of bass-shrugging rock-bed of abysmal blind-eels a twist must reside to relish in such weird-kinky fetish.


Really? I understand that you want to tease me about the 'girl-friend' thing - but why would anyone want to browse through such chapters after chapters of Kodak folio? He mused.


But shame he did feel. It was weird form of shame. And his grandma hid it in the steel vault-like almirah carefully hidden for that alleged day of wedding.


Speaking of such feast, he does remember that his father went to New Market to purchase a bulk order of printed cards to forward as invitation letter to such ceremony or as they called 'mousalmani' or 'the process of being a Muslim' which also went hand-to-hand with 'manhood'. And then they all came. There was milaad or religious acknowledgement and all his friendly neighbors were there. And then there was the goat sacrifice or khashi as they called it.


Then again such feat of rite of passage isn't the only one. Hand dipped in a glove of fire ants, making cicatrices on back of the body to appear like crocodile, vicious piercings, hanging from nails and vision quest, imbibing psychedelia of ololiuqui to 'flesh of the gods', diving off high platform to Sambian purification of noseblood-letting and semen ingestion and and yes, the custom of neutralizing your enemy for ritual sacrifice at the helm of your Aztec empire - such customs abound. However, male circumcision surely takes the cake.


For one, you are deploying your entire body at the throe and whim of some scientist in a lab coat. Then again, perhaps the gawky kid is too benign at this point to realize the wit of such surgical precision required to craft this masterpiece - if the dear reader so will.


Almost carrying the pincers with the finetune of whippoorwill or say, the forceps with the surgical precision of Dexter as if to make a 3mm inch incision to remove the outer dermis with all the care of a psychopath removing the outer layer of the eye of a victim as if being one such ex-sous chef at a Michelin star restaurant having first learned to julienne... nay the genius to commit such art escapes him.


Also he still doesn't know if such ritual had any health effects after all and he is not tsaddik or a Shahs Pollak wizard of Torah.


As the boy laid on the operation table (table?) all he could see from his vantage point after craning his neck was a man silently working away and he felt... no pain. Yes, that was to come afterwards. Hell of a psychic trip after consuming heroic dosage timing right before entering the Hall of Mirrors in the carnival.


At least the sheer Robespierre-inducing nightmare terror of an Arab jallad wearing a turban like an executioner and wielding a seax and scimitar and chopping off the most sensitive organ of a male did not materialize before his eyes either after the binge-watching of Arabian Nights at weekly intervals.


No. There was no contraption. No cigar-cutters. And certainly no one with a kris, dau or chukri of a Maasai gleefully shaving away against a whetstone as if to enjoy the most calculative torture ever.


Also he fails to decipher as to how exactly does it 'make' one a Muslim. He read the Koran in Arabic as was the custom and he was not cognizant of Biblical or Abrahamic origins. But who exactly is looking under the hood to make sure you are a gentile or not?


It was almost as surreal as being abducted by an alien. And then his father kept shuttering away. He might as well use a old one resembling a phonograph with a wheel that made huge flashes. Were there any recitations of religious incantations?


The thought escapes me. Yes, dear reader. I may not swivel a silver-breasted pistol like a gunslinger at Compton or East LA, but one thing I can brag like rest of the zillions of the world I have walked this walk and endured this pain. Some are lucky enough to have it at birth. Well... I guess I had to find the meaning of 'manhood' the other way.


Three centuries later... but how manly exactly have I become? No - here the protagonist fails. The outbursts, the psychotic episodes, the rudeness, the narcissism (and yes, the Andrew-Tate-ish narcissism), the passive-aggressiveness and as the wheel of omphaloskepsis churns the deceptions and gaslighting - all are but anything but matter of manliness.


Of course, nowadays taking psychedelics of toad venom and ayahuasca journey at Peru has become vogue. But, although I still cannot recall any spiritual or physical benefits to such custom, I can still vouch that I have been lucky enough to undergo such pain which are now drugged forever to somnambulance and haze with a vial and potion from top shelves of lotusphagi of Oedipus.


And the only commonality or mention of such custom was when I was reading the biography of Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela's 600+ volume where he wastes no time in revealing his similar treatment in the opening pages before being bored.


And what a I stark contrast I have been to such a man!


And somewhere in a hidden dusty attic or sludge of the drain in the world is still probably hiding the gore and graphic photo album as a testament to this madness.


July 06, 2023 02:43

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