On the tenth day without any sign of shoots except the bushy weeds which almost covered the farm, he decided to pass through the shopping center where peasants occasionally congregated to listen to the news from the shop keeper’s “Sanyo” transistor radio which was always stacked high in a shelf, neatly covered with blue, red and white crochet, like a small holy idol in a miniature shrine.
It was like all the village peasants had been summoned for a meeting that evening at the shopping center. They all congregated there talking about the failure of their seeds to germinate in spite of such generous rainfall. Nobody had a plausible explanation.
They all listened to one another’s tale of gloom. Any failure or catastrophe in Africa is always blamed on witchcraft. What else could it be? The s
