K'obi was awe-struck. His mouth hung agape at the unfolding scene.
From as far back as he could remember, nobody in their hamlet or the surrounding ones had ever contradicted his father.
It was not just his position as priest, and mouthpiece of the ancestors, it was also his personality. His regal bearing alone was intimidating. When coupled with a voice that boomed across the square during clansmen meetings and wisdom that was almost always unrivalled, it was near overwhelming.
And now, in the same square where he often held court, he was being opposed before the community. Part of what made it so amazing was the opposition.
The young man, not old enough to be initiated into the masquerade cult, was spindle-thin. His scraggly goatee and oversized clothes amplified the image of someone in need of bowls of banku.
The novelty of the faceoff was wearing off for K'obi, like most others. They all wanted to see what'd happen next.
They did not have to wait long.
The issue was that the young fellow had blurted out that the drought was not because the gods were angry. He'd said they were nonentities, hence could not afflict the people. He claimed to know a superior God.
The priest, filled with consternation, lifted his staff to the sky, muttered some incantations, pointed it at the other and announced:
"If you are not dead in three days, you will run mad."
His opponent was still for a brief spell before responding:
"I will do neither. Since you mentioned three, in three hours, there will be rain upon this land."
People were yet to get to their homes when a heavy wind began to blow. Dark clouds hid the sun and the sky opened up.
It rained for three days nonstop.
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