Story 10 from ‘Absurd Tales from Africa’ by Robert Gurney
Joshua Wetherspoon was a bit of a loner. He was perfectly happy with his own company. This led him to explore the more unusual highways and byways of East Africa.
He was a tall, lanky man. He hailed from the Home Counties town of Bishop Stortford but he was never so happy as when he sitting meditating in a vent on Tororo Rock or investigating the spirits of the Sebei Caves on Mount Elgon.
He developed a fondness for the Twa people of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. This was prior to their eviction. He went on to develop an interest in the Great Lakes Twa in general, the Batwa, Abatwa or Ge-Sera, as they are variously called. The tribes in that area were, at that time, relatively under-researched. Joshua felt he had entered an anthropologist’s dream, a veritable Wonderland.
The Batwa or Twa are very short people and Joshua towered above them. His Twa hosts would tease him about his extraordinary height, calling him “Mr Giraffe”. “Dr Giraffe”, he would correct them with a smile. He took their gentle mockery in the spirit it was intended, but, one day, was forcefully struck by what one chief had to say.
“It is not good for you to be so tall,” he said. “Just look at your forehead. It is covered in scars and cuts. You need to be smaller. Then you will be able to follow us more quickly as we hunt animals and gather fruit in the forest.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Joshua in Kirundi, the language his friends had adopted.
The chief produced a bottle containing a liquid. He called it the Shrinking Potion.
“Like the one in Alice in Wonderland?” Joshua said, holding the bottle up to the light.
“We have not heard of this Alice,” said the chief.
“I have,” said a small child cheekily, putting up his hand. He was attending the nearby primary school.
Joshua decided to give it a go. He had become strangely self-conscious working among the Twa. If it worked, he would, he felt, fit in better. He would not be quite so conspicuous.
He took the bottle back to Makerere where he asked technical staff in the Medical Faculty lab to analyse its contents for anything dangerous. He didn’t want to ingest anything hallucinogenic. It would not have gone down well in his lectures on African Anthropology if he had started hallucinating in front of the students.
“All clear,” came the reply from the lab. Joshua started to take the medicine.
It was one of his students who first noticed that he seemed to be losing height.
“Are you all right, sir? You seem to be shrinking,” one remarked.
“I am fine,” he replied, smiling contentedly.
Secretly, he was happy with the effects of the potion. He began to take larger doses. His height shot down. Over a period of about six months he went from six foot seven to four foot one. He began to take more and more. The concoction was beginning to prove addictive. He couldn’t stop. By now he was down to three foot. He began to panic. The experiment, he realised, was spinning out of control.
Swallowing his pride — he hated to admit ever that he was wrong — he decided to pay a visit to the campus doctor. He had heard from his students that Dr Patel was very good.
He sat in the waiting room. All eyes were on him. Nobody had seen a three foot mzungu before. He became terribly self-conscious and decided that he could bear it no longer. He had to jump the queue.
He stood up and went over to the surgery door.
“Dr Patel, I must see you NOW!” he shouted.
Dr Patel called out that he was with a patient.
“No, now, Dr Patel, I must see you immediately,” Joshua pleaded through the closed door.
The door opened. Dr Patel eyed him up and down.
“I am sorry, Dr Wetherspoon,” he said. “As I said, I am with a patient. I am half-way through removing a jigger from his toe.”
“But … ,” spluttered Joshua.
“No I am sorry, Dr Wetherspoon,” Dr Patel insisted. “You’ll just have to be a little patient.”
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Story 11 in this series is ‘The Glutton of Namirembe’.
….to be continued.
