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The Double Homicide

by Daman Laurent Agobe (Adjehi)

140 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0210; ISBN 1-55395-847-0; US$18.54, C$26.95, EUR15.00, £10.40

The Double Homicide is the true story of a killing related to the practice of sorcery.

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About the Book

The Double Homicide offers an autobiographical work in which the author seeks to relay a journal of memories of unexplained events, and deaths related to sorcery practices in and around his home village, Bossou in the Ivory Coast.
He opens with an introduction of the disguised crimes in which the victims do not see their assailants, as opposed to the open crime where the criminal uses a weapon.
He asserts that God made some of his power available to human, to be utilized positively and creatively for the good of all. It was not meant to be used negatively and deviously by associating it with evil spirits, and transforming it into sorcery, and witchcraft, and using it to kill and destroy others' properties and blessings like it is today. He sites bibliographical references from the book of Genesis to back his idea that, evil that we are victims of, or the practice of sorcery that we are experiencing today, is not new; it all evolved when mankind fell into sin after being induced into it by the devil, taking advantage of man's naivete; then corrupting the world henseforth. "But there is hope, and I am optimistic that, in the name of Jesus, the world will get back its mormacy"
He continues and explains how a driver named Goubo was thwarted in his marriage plans with the chief's daughter by unseen forces and mistaken events. The story unfolds and shows how Kolongou, one of the chief's sons was sacrificed, and sent to go hunting with Goubo. Kolongou was prepared mystically to be transformed into a deer once in the bush, and be killed, such as; using a small fish to catch a trout.
In the Double Homicide, the author's tale reveals that death, no matter where and how it occurs, is ever perceived naturally as the end of life cycle.
His descriptions of rituals, ceremonies, and ideologies, central to West African Culture, are designed to augment the scope and tone of this chronicle.

About the Author

Damon Laurent Agobe (Adjehi) was born in the Ivory Coast, in his native village of Didoko. His first languages are French, Dida (his own dialect), and many other dialects in the country.
After he graduated from college in the Ivory Coast, he traveled to the neighboring country of Ghana, Accra, to study English. After an Associate Degree at the Workers' College of Adabraca, he attended the University of Leggon where he received a Bachelor Degree in English.
The author came back to the Ivory Coast and worked as an English teacher before he was hired by Air Afrique Airline Company as a translator. After eight years, Daman decided to quit and travel to the United States to pursue further education.
He attended Delaware Technical College in 1996 where he earned an Associate Degree in Business Management, before transferring to University of Maryland for a Bachelor's degree. "My goal is to receive my Masters and Doctorate when I can afford to financially."
Daman Laurent Agobe is a talented writer. He has created his own series, "The Disguised Crimes Series," which represents a deep source of inspiration. His first book in the series is The Double Homicide.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

We were not aware of the existence of crime and violence as teenagers. Because growing up in our village and around our parents, we were never exposed to those kinds of situations. However we were told about Gbeyere, a kind ghost among all the other ghosts in the region, known as a child provider and protector of our village Bossou. Gbeyere the Ghost was our ancestors'savior during the remote times when tribal wars were frequent. Tribal conflicts and disputes always arose over land ownership and the limitation of their territories. Most of the times, these disputes ended up with bloody fights in the attempt to push the invaders away. The ancestors did not have sophisticated weapons to fight with except for their handmade arrows and arcs, stones, and whatever else they could put their hands on. The defeated tribe would move away and find a new land. In most cases, the supernatural power was used for their defense. They could hide without being seen by the enemy, disappear or even resuscitate if they were deadly wounded. Even in time of peace, it was still exercised and used for their protection and safety. The use of this precious power was part of their lives. Growing up as teens, we enjoyed the safety around our parents therefore; in any given instance crime and violence of any nature never crossed our little minds. I recall as a child walking fearless and doubt free in the nearby woods with my friends.

We enjoyed those moments when we carried bags full of stones, and our slingshots, and went to hunt for birds in our spare times. We enjoyed picking mushrooms everyday in the cornfields nearby the village. The mushrooms were used in combination with tarots and other ingredients to cook our lunch meals after school, knowing that our parents were absent from home at that time of the day. Their day of work in the plantations started at six and ended at five, so we were on our own. Looking back today, I can see that we took a lot of risks while walking into the woods, but we were such innocent children that we had no idea of what we were exposing ourselves to. In the cornfields some of us went barefooted, running sometimes when we had to, without any idea of being hurt by a piece of wood, a stone with a sharp edge or being bit by one of the venomous snakes that abounded in that part of the woods. As we ran, the only thing we had in mind was to return home. There we would start peeling the tarots, cutting them into pieces, washing them along with the mushrooms, and mixing all into the cooking pot that was already on the firewood.

The tarots would boil and get soft within half an hour, and we would add salt, pepper and palm oil, which gave the meal a very pleasant taste. Cooking my meal was not always an easy task, compared to my friends. I would be very excited coming from the cornfield with my mushrooms, ready to cook, but making the fire for the cooking was what I hated the most. Several times my firewood would light up with difficulties, or it would not light up at all in some instances. I recall struggling one day for nearly an hour trying to make the fire. I failed because the logs were wet from moisture. Because of my bad experiences with the logs, I solved the problem by simply teaming up with my friends. It was an excellent idea because my friends were better cooks than I was anyway.

Though life was not as perfect as it should be, we were very happy with the life we were living in the village. One of our favorite hobbies was to follow older people to the hunting sessions on Thursdays when we had no class, and regularly during the vacation. There, we would test our strength and courage during those hunting sessions, and prove our manhood by catching a porcupine or a deer.

We enjoyed life around our parents, and we had nothing else to worry about. We valued the protection, the love, and the treatment we received from them at any time, and in return we treated them and everybody else in the village with the same type of respect. What really mattered was that we were safe. So in any given instance whenever we heard news about crimes or violence that might have taken place somewhere, it always sounded strange and unreal to us. The reason was that we assumed that people in the entire universe were as protective and caring as our parents.

The village was safe and we played under the moonlight. The neighboring woods seemed safe as well, and it was always open to us in our spare times. Obviously we never experienced any danger going into those friendly fields as we pleased. The couple of times that we ran for fear, we were in the huge abandoned field looking for pineapples or in the coffee fields looking for snails. During those times, we were more engrossed by the illusion of the possibility of the existence of living ghosts, whenever we heard a tree falling somewhere in the bush. We strongly believed in their existence. As a matter of fact, abandoned graves were seen here and there while we were hunting in the fields on one of the two old sites of the village. We were terrified at seeing the lost graves, thinking that the dead ones were looking at us but we could not see them because we were human. Our parents told us that dead people do see us but, they do not approach us to touch us, or make themselves visible because of the divine barrier that exists between us. But sometimes they do appear for many and predictable reasons. Commonly they do come out of their hidden places during the night, and they stroll all over the place. This seemed plausible, because every other night, a light appeared far on top of the mountain at the second old site of the village. The light moved very slowly down the road, and we would admire it for hours getting close to the village. It would stop once it reached the cemetery. We knew that it was not a normal person who was doing this from what we experienced. The light would stay there for a long time, and every time that a vehicle emerged from behind the mountain, we wished we could see the person with the help of the bright lights down the road, but to our great amazement, it looked like nothing ever happened. After the vehicle was gone, the light would reappear at the same place. It would stay there until our parents urged us to go to bed. A couple of times we would see the light returning slowly to the top of the mountain where it came from, and after a while, it would disappear in bewitchment. In the beginning, when we started to see it, we would not go into our bedrooms alone for fear that the mystic person might come to catch us. But when we got used to it, we did not care anymore. At different times, we saw no light but an eerie silhouette wearing a white dress and writhing down the road. The silhouette would be standing by the cemetery for hours without moving, unless a late farmer was coming down the road with his bicycle, a motorcycle or a vehicle. It looked like the phantom was hiding for a few minutes, and would reappear afterwards. Since we did not have a TV or a movie theater in the village for entertainment, we finally enjoyed watching those freakish and ghostly displays instead under the protection of our parents. Our catch and hide game that we used to play under the moonlight, was our only other entertainment.

Gbeyere protector of the village, and long time savior of the ancestors was found during the ancient time in a grotto where he dwelled, which served as a retreat for the warriors and their hiding place against perpetrators during the tribal wars. For their protection in case of ultimate and unexpected attacks, they chose to build their first village that became the namesake of their chief and father nearby the dwelling of the ghost, on a plateau. It was convenient at that time only for their safety, and it did not matter to them if they had to walk four miles down the mountain to get water. They were safe and happy, and throughout the years, as the population increased, they decided to relocate. This new location did not respond to their needs and requirements. Therefore, a few years later they made the decision to relocate further down the foot of the mountain, along the main road. During all those years, the village was always under the protection of Gbeyere the ghost, and the usual sacrifices went on regularly at the mountain. Special ceremonies were performed during which Gbeyere was asked to provide more children to increase the population of the village, or to make the yearly harvest very fruitful and productive, or in other instances, to keep the warriors' power up. Those ceremonies were important at that time and nothing, no matter how small it seemed, was neglected. Also, following rules was one of the ancestors' first commitments. Violating those rules could easily cause the violator's death, or the death of a relative. The day of the ceremonies, farm work was practically suspended, and groups of women, men, and children, singing and clapping their hands at rhythms of drums, went to the mountain and gathered at the entrance of the grotto. They carried foufou, which was made with plantain mixed with palm oil and grounded into a ball. Palm wine, eggs, chicken, and various other things were offered to the ghost. It was a big celebration at the mountain, and the songs and dances were interrupted from time to time by the leader who would comment how the Ghost felt about the whole ceremony and about some people in the group. At noon, they took a break during which the ghost offered them seats that, at that very moment, they needed not fear. These seats were rattlesnakes that came out of the grotto and they rolled up to form enough smooth stools for everyone at the ceremony. At that moment, Bowou, my aunt's former husband, who was now in charge of the rituals, after he bequeathed the legacy, took their requests into the grotto. In the afternoon at the end of the ceremony, women in quest of birth were given the sacred gift made of mud and wrapped into the peace loaf. The women were told to run back home under one condition:

As you are going home, do not look back no matter what happens to you on the way. And once you get there, place the gift near your bed in a safe place. The leader would recommend them as a message from the ghost.

Just go, and do not look back.

The rest of the crowd would follow later singing, clapping their hands, and playing drums, until they reached the home of the leader. The women in question would get pregnant within two months.

Most of my friends took part in these events each time; but me, I never did. I was not interested in going to such places, or to be honest with you, I was scared more than anything else when I heard the snake part. I said to myself, for no reason, I ever will go near a snake, even a dead one; I don't care how small it is. Now, talking about sitting on a living one at a special occasion! Shoo! I don't think there is a special occasion with this creature. It is ugly, dangerous and poisonous.

Gbeyere the ghost was known about in the whole region for his good deeds. Women always came from nearby villages to request his service.

Sometimes they would come with their husbands to express their needs together. The proceedings and rituals always brought a satisfactory result to all these women who, at some point in their lives thought that they were unable to give birth, finally did. During that time, our parents never worried about anything besides death, which we believed was a natural thing, and the natural disasters that they experienced occasionally. Sometimes the storm went on for days, and rivers and lakes flooded, which made farmers wretched for days. The most common things that our parents frequently dealt with were family conflicts, but most of the time they were solved with a happy ending. In rare cases they remained unsolved, and brothers and sisters would not speak to each other for years. Besides these, we never experienced any tragedy that I can recall. Love and peace were then assumed, and the world around us looked safe and a better place to live than it is today. Consequently, we children never talked about crime issues around our parents until came the time when things started to change drastically. That is when we experienced of people vanishing and death occurring almost every month. And for each case there was always an accused man who stood in front of a crowd to testify or claim his innocence.

Many of our ancestors had died during those years, leaving these precious powers in the hands of less prospective people unable to keep the secrets and their terms.

Breaking these rules left the village of Bossou unprotected and open to all kinds of mischief.

We were no longer safe, and wondered what the next tragedy would be: whether it would be someone to be buried or a child victim of sorcery dying or running away from school.

When will the next criminal break into the school and the village with a machete in his hand wanting to kill people? When will another hearse, carrying the body of another good friend cross the village again?

What will be next?

Night was no longer a time to rest, but a time of evilness and meeting with sorcerers instead. We children were then wrong to assume, as we did, that there was peace around us all that time.

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