I'm not sure why I went to Botswana in the first place. My daughters were horrified that I was going. Still my friend Max from India insisted that he knew this cool five star resort on the beach we could stay at. I think the real reason was that he had business to do with the fledgling Botswana Air Force and wanted to make a vacation out of it. He kept telling me that Botswana was midway between India and the United States so it would be a perfect place for us to meet. I never found out what happened to Max.
When I arrived at the Botswana regional airport, the situation was already in turmoil. The government troops had been driven back and the airport was in control of the rebels. I was put on a rickshaw under gun point and told that I would be going to the rebel army base. Along the way, my driver and guard were shot and I was taken by a group of teenagers to a small village on the outskirts of Gaborone. It was there that I learned that the teenagers that captured me were part of the Al Kareem Jabaar, the local franchisee of Al Qaeda.
It was surprising how well I assimilated. I wasn't treated all that badly. I could tell that they wanted to be friends with me. I went through all the religious rituals they taught me. I learned how to shoot an AK-47. I was provided with a little sleeping mat which doubled as a prayer mat and given my little corner of a crowded room to sleep.
What I remember most of those endless days of training was the food. Next to the kitchen area was a little bucket were they put all their scraps of food to ferment. Fermented mango was my favorite dish there and I kept thinking how healthy it made me feel. As if I was living close to nature and getting all these natural probiotics that I missed in my Western diet of processed foods.
So everything was going along swimmingly until the Imam's came. I had no idea of who or what an Imam was, but the Al Qaeda people I was with started freaking out when they looked up at the sky one day and saw what looked like priests dressed in white robes and turbans descending on hand gliders into our facility. I later learned that these Imam's were kinda like enforcers of the Islamic faith. Brutal enforcers. They made sure all the local Al Qaeda franchisees were operating an organization that was up to snuff. I could tell right away that my new Al Qaeda friends were concerned for my safety. I soon found out why.
As soon as the Imam's landed, Marquis, the ad hoc leader of our group was engaged in heated discussions with one of the Imam's about me. They kept pointing in my direction. Like a good little acolyte I kept my head down and avoided any eye contact the the Imams. Soon one of the Imams came over to me. I was already prostrate before him.
"So infidel," the Imam began, "I hear that you have infiltrated our little coven here with your blasphemy, but you don't fool me."
I remained silent.
"Tell, me, heathen," he continued, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
Without hesitation I replied: "All sound comes from Allah."
Hmmmm, the thought for a moment, "show me your true face before your parents were born."
Again, the answer welled up within me and I grabbed a piece of dirt: my face is the earth before Allah intervened and made it the white devil face you see before you today.
"Not bad infidel, but you will not be able to answer this: tell me does a Dog have Allah nature?"
This I knew was the ultimate trick question, but thankfully my new friends had made me study the koran every night and I remembered the answer from my arduous studies:
I responded. I choose answer "D" which in the official version of the Koran article 3 subsection 2 states, and I quote, "All things come directly from Allah, even the fermented Mango that we all enjoy with our our dessert."
"I like your faith, white devil, but I think my colleagues have other plans for you."
He motioned over to a different Imam, with beady eyes that they called El Al Eichmann. Al Eichmann approached me and motioned for me to get up on a makeshift bench. He then removed a rope for his pocket and started stroking it with his palm.
Soon, Al Eichmann had me prone on the bench. It was then what I saw was in store for me. For on the other side of the compound they had another acolyte tied up on a bench with his legs bent behind him in an unnatural position that I knew would be intensely painful. The acolyte was screaming in pain.
"This is a little test of our faith," Al Eichmann said as he began to tighten the ropes.
I'm don't remember exactly what happened next. I remember them pulling my legs back in a way that was painful. Then I blacked out. Afterwards, my friends told me that I had survived the ordeal. And I had thrown up. And not just a little. Instead, I had thrown up prodigiously, which indicated, at least according to the Imam's that I had spewed out the great Western Satan and all of his works and was now ready to accept the one true God.
So I went with that idea the whole time I was in Botswana. But in my heart, I knew better. For it wasn't any great Western Satan in my vomitus--but rather just a bunch of fermented Mangoes.
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