Skin deep.

Muwado Ad by Muwado - Africa's Storytelling Platform

The Eugene Foundation knew exactly how to market their latest product. They commissioned celebrities to talk about the pill on talk shows and had the heavy-set ones use it then  document the results over the next few days. A morbidly obese person miraculously had abs in just five days without changing a thing in their diet. Their skin cleared and tightened, giving them the smoothness of a baby’s face. It was a hit.

There was even a performance piece where a fat man sat in a glass box placed in the center of the National Museum and took the pill. Visitors passed by and watched the results with their own eyes to avert any doubts. A YouTube channel that streamed everything was set up to show the whole world.

Within a few weeks, demand for the miracle drug was at an all-time high.

The Foundation, once a humble collection of labs with their bestselling product being mid-grade baby powder, was now the company to watch on Wallstreet, beating out unicorn apps and blue-chip companies for the biggest investments. The drug had not even gone public yet.

The night before sale, pharmacies had interminable lines of overweight, acne riddled and deeply insecure souls stretching from their doors to as far as the eye could see. Most had in their hands the sum of their hard-earned savings, ready to buy that single capsule that promised them a new life of beauty and, for many, even romance.

In Uganda, it was decided that the pill would come out in the middle of the wet season, when lazy dark nimbus clouds hung over the city and no one had the energy to work twice as hard to sweat in the cold. The product would be the ultimate cheat code.

…

Aggy, a mother of four and proud housewife, was the first to suffer the consequences.

When she first met her husband, he  convinced her that she did not need anything but him and she believed him. How could she say no to that smile.

She had given up her career as a lawyer to stay home and have his children.

She  settled  into  domestic life and, with no time between taking care of the kids and being the perfect now, not-so-little wife for him, selfcare was a distant memory.

The weight crept up on her so silently over the years that by the time she finally overheard the off-color remark her mother-in-law made under her breath, she barely recognized herself in the bathroom mirror later that evening.

Her husband, as her father had predicted after Aggy told him that she was choosing retire early to be his wife, completely changed.

Whenever she visited his office, she saw a few too many young women in skirts that were a little too short to be professional. The late nights soon followed, and no amount of denial could conceal the truth: he had found a younger, fitter version of her. It was obviously Faith, his secretary. Cliché as it was, she was his type: dark skin, deep sultry voice with an affinity for jewelry. She also wore glasses with a heavy prescription much like Aggy’s. Something about the vulnerability that came with bad vision seemed to turn him on. She knew this from the “games” he used to make her play where he would ask her to take off her glasses and…anyway, Aggy knew it was Faith.

Subconsciously, she kept waiting for him to come home one day with the divorce papers  like he had done to the  wife before her.

She went about her days like a zombie waiting for the worst. Everything she did felt like a dream as she sunk deeper in the depression that comes from watching someone fall out of love with you bit by bit .

All she had was her soaps, the ones where every woman looked like they were made  in a lab and the men chiseled from marble. One day, like divine intervention, she  decided to watch the news, something she rarely did as she had long  stopped caring about the world outside lunchboxes and laundry day. It was on the third channel she tried. The answer to all her problems. A pill that would make her a Faith again.

The flame he once had for her would return in an instant when he saw her long lost waist. The diets, fitness videos, and apps all did little more than nothing, and she had abandoned all hope but this could be it: her ticket back to his heart.

It was going to cost her a big chunk of her monthly allowance, but it was better than the Tiffany set she was planning on ordering that afternoon. She quickly looked up the website on the screen and was directed to an early access option that cost even more. It was either that or wait with the masses on the street.

She dug through her bag for her debit card and filled in  the details. The message confirming the payment came in less than three seconds. It was more money than she had let herself spend in the last three years. She felt guilty for a spell but excitement soon followed at the thought of his eyes finally lighting with desire and, also, her mother-in-law choking on her words.

…

He has been away for two weeks, and she has not FaceTimed  him in the last week since she took the pill. She wants it to be a surprise.

She drives the kids from school, where the compliments from other moms and glances from the dads had her soring. Her own kids seemed to walk slower to the car, no longer feeling uncomfortable to be seen with her, now that the pimples and flabby arms were a thing of the past. The night sweats and running stomach she had endured for days was finally paying off.

Tonight is all planned out. She will feed the little savages, put them to bed early, and wear something in his favorite color; red. Butterflies in her belly make it feel like she is back in high school, at the back of the class during night prep, talking to Kevin, her first love.

As she drives up the hill, she spots a little traffic jam ahead. Her heart sinks for half a second but then, on the ascend, she notices the clouds parting for the first time in three months. On the horizon, the sinking dark orange ball washes the valley with warm sunlight. The further up the road they go, the stronger the light gets, and soon the car is bathed in the beautiful glow, much to her delight. It is dusk  but it feels like a new dawn.

Suddenly, something bites her neck. She slaps it away, thinking it is a mosquito that somehow got into her car. It is that season. Her eyes search the car but there’s nothing. She listens for buzzing. Nothing.

She looks to the passenger seat where her eldest is playing a game on her phone and asks him if he has seen or heard a mosquito. He shakes his head without looking up from the game. She asks the munchkins at the back, and they say no. She shrugs and forgets about it.

The car finally catches up to the traffic jam and comes to a halt. She taps the steering as she hums to herself.

A few moments later, she feels another bite on her leg, on her calf, but it is no mosquito bite and it does not stop. It feels like gnawing from underneath her skin. She struggles to scratch the spot with one of her hands while the other is still on the wheel, but she can barely focus as the gnawing digs deeper. She scratches harder and harder, but the itch keeps getting worse. The top skin feels numb, yet something drills deeper into her flash. Soon she feels wetness on her fingertips, blood, though her nails don’t stop digging, the itch now unbearable.

The spot on her neck starts up again as the traffic  in front of her moves a little but she does not notice.

Impatient drivers behind her make a ruckus and she recklessly drives forward, bumping violently into a pavement to her kids’ protests. She parks at an angle that lets the golden glow of the setting sun flood the car.

Her eldest asks what the problem is. She ignores him as she scratches both spots with increasing tenacity.

Another starts up. right between her breasts. This time, it really does feel like something is crawling under her skin, and she attacks her chest with her right hand, keeping her left at her neck. The more she scratches, the worse the itch gets. The deeper it sinks.

Her eyes well up as the itching turns to searing pain, invisible worms chewing tunnels throughout her body. She screams in frustration as her vision gets blurry, a pressure forming behind both her eyes.

Her children call to her, mortified. But they might as well be mute.

Finally, unable to get to the feeling in her chest that spreads toward both breasts, she reaches for the glove compartment and frantically retrieves the pocketknife she keeps there.

The eldest watches in horror as she stabs herself in the chest repeatedly. Blood spews all over the front of the car staining her bright yellow sundress and her son’s school uniform. He catches sight of her chest, blood runs from multiple vertical gashes down her breasts.

His siblings have their eyes tightly shut, hands over their ears, retreating deep inside themselves.

Her back feels like a million needles are stabbing her over and over and she tries reaching for it and scratching wildly. Everywhere she touches, the surface feels numb but right underneath, that pure agony. An amalgamation of agony and frustration clouds her mind, and she frantically jerks about, all the while her vision dims. She now sees little more than golden rays through the fog.

The car shakes as Aggy squirms violently but the seatbelt restrains her movements. Small lights and beeping sounds erupt from the dashboard as she kicks wildly, pushing any and all buttons. The air conditioning vents blast harsh warm air when her foot turns the knob all the way up which intensifies the feeling wherever the air touches.

Her face gets the full brunt of her air-conditioning. She frantically feels for the long-discarded pocketknife all over the dashboard and floor. She finally feels it in her seat, grabs it and without hesitation, drives the knife into one of her eye sockets, splashing fluids on the windshield.

Her oldest screams.

Aggy feels some respite, twisting the knife in the socket to make it last. It does not.

She stabs her other eye and twists the knife once again in the socket to amplify the feeling, but the sensation is a tenth of the first. She growls wildly, not in pain but in frustration. Pain would be a welcome substitute.

The ghostly ribbons crawl their way into her ears. She feels them slithering in her skull through the canals. She claws at the ears with her fingernails, but they cannot get deep enough.

Luckily, the pocketknife has a corkscrew.

She flips it out fast and jabs it into her ear in one swift movement. A shiver runs down her spine and she feels an ephemeral relief. Seconds later the itching returns, deeper and far worse. It feels like a beehive has exploded in the center of her brain. The only other thing her mind can process is the feeling of wetness of her own blood all over her.

She is in so much pain. All she wants to do is make it stop, stop…STOP!

Using one hand to hold the corkscrew in place halfway into her ear and the other hand to hammer the butt, the winding metal chases the itch in the center of her brain. The rest of her body is still a beehive, but nothing compares to this spot.

She redoubles her efforts and with one last hammer, the corkscrew digs too deep and everything goes black.

Aggy’s whole body goes limp.

Her hand drops on the handbrake button, and the car slowly rolls backwards down the hill until it comes to an abrupt halt when it hits something.

…

Officer Okello was not even supposed to be here. He was assigned traffic duty after he was caught with his pants down, pressed against the bars of the jail at his station as Leti, a “lady of the night” or “love merchant” if you will, that was a regular occupant of the cells was “servicing” him in exchange for releasing her that night instead of the morning. She had work to do and he even planned to pay half the price. This posting was his punishment for the next six months.

God forbid a man supports female entrepreneurs.

Anyway, the station captain himself had walked in on the scene and in a blink, he was on the road, raising his hand every other second like a haunted scarecrow.

He soon discovered it was a blessing in disguise. The bribes he collected from drunk drivers at night at the Kabalagala junction alone doubled his salary.

…

Okello approaches the car, ready to unleash his threats upon  the careless driver. He had practiced his serious face over time. It made the bribes go higher.

The man in the car Aggy’s collided with is shouting at the top of his lungs at the officer to go and do something but soon shuts it when the officer reminds him that he is still the law. Okello also points out the cracked windshield as he walks off the investigate, making a note to himself to come back and collect that bribe as well.

Okello lazily taps the tinted window, expecting to find a drunk driver, given the carelessness of the accident. When nothing happens, he moves to open the door, then hears crying in the back. He quickly opens it and is met with three ghost-pale faces, tears streaming, eyes wide open in shock.

He notices the red splatter on their faces and clothes. He turns to the front door and opens it. He freezes for three seconds, then vomits the rolex he had for lunch.

…

Six months ago, in an unexplored part of Lake Victoria, a new fish was discovered. Inside it, a fat-eating bacteria was found. The biological reason for the bacteria’s symbiosis with the strange pinkish fish was yet to be determined. The Eugene Foundation, however, saw an opportunity. Their scientists began work to turn it into their latest product.

The bacteria ate fat reserves under the skin, first clearing pimples and then burning through the fat people wanted gone. It was designed to go dormant after consuming all reserves, but the scientists in their fluorescent-lit labs did not anticipate what happened when the bacteria were exposed to sunlight, they did not stop eating.

A month ago, on the top floor of the tallest building in the city, several men and women in suits sat in a dark boardroom and watched a screen. They saw a time-lapse of a fat man go from obese to fit in a week. Their emotionless faces glowed from the screen. After the video, two men stood before them, one in a suit, the other in a suit and lab coat.

“Will this even sell? I see a lot of skepticism from the public, as we’ve seen in the past with snake-oil weight-loss solutions,” Mr. Olowo, a board member, asked after the presentation.

The lead marketer and the scientist exchanged a look, a nod, and turned back to the millionaires.

“It will make a killing,” the marketer said with a grin.