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Two witches came by my shop last night. They were dressed in the old European fashion – tall pointed hats, black gowns with ragged hems, and black boots.

“I’m Murogi,” the short one with a nose as pointed as her hat and skin the colour of a ripe pawpaw announced.

“I’m Ajwaka,” the other one, tall and dark-skinned, said.

“We’re here because we want to fly,” they said in unison.

(It should be noted that the name of my shop is known far and wide. If one who practises the dark arts in the sub-Saharan region is looking for a place to upgrade one’s mode of transport, Mukasa’s Shop along Masaka Road is the place to go.)

I rolled my wheelchair out from behind the counter and made my way to the sandal-covered wall which acted as my cover for when the Local council and URA officials came looking for taxes. To the ordinary eye, I was Mukasa the shoemaker. Behind the wall which flipped open to show my real workshop, I was Mukasa who catered to the vehicular needs of witches, wizards, and wizardesses.

“Are you looking for something family-size or more individual?” I asked. Ajwaka snickered and elbowed Murogi in the side. “He thinks we look like homemakers.”

Individual then. I moved over to a rack and picked up a broom with a gleaming steel handle.

“The Cumulus 900 just came out,” I said. “It’s especially great for cutting through cloudy night skies. It comes with a soundless exhaust and night vision goggles.”

“Yes, a broom would be nice…” Murogi mused. “If I fancied having a log stuck up my butt crack all night!”

The two witches cackled and elbowed each other in the side. (It should also be noted that witches have an inappropriate sense of humour.)

I put down the broom and picked up a beautiful embroidered mat.

“What about this flying carpet?”

“A flying carpet? Oh, you mean Aladdin style? No, we’re looking for something a little more African. Papyrus? No, not THAT African.”

“How about the Hoverboard360?”

“Ajwaka, he wants us to float about looking like Little Wayne. Is that an insult or an insult?”

They were difficult customers. Eventually, I had to offer my secret product. It is ridiculously expensive, but that didn’t faze the two witches. Witchcraft is a very profitable business.

“Wind in a bottle,” I said, holding out two tiny clear bottles to the witches. They took them with curious eyes and greedy hands.

“What does this do?” Ajwaka asked. I steepled my fingers before my nose. “It will make you soar like a hawk, soundlessly, at whatever speed you choose.”

“Will we look cool?” Murogi asked with narrowed eyes.

“Cool as ice. Oh, before I forget, here are the nose plugs that come with it,” I said. Ajwaka wrinkled her nose and said, “What are those for?”

“I didn’t mention it?” I said, rolling my wheelchair away. “It’s made from the farts of 1000 elephants.”

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Written by Acan Innocent Immaculate (3)

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