The stench of filth from the wicked act “boomed ” the air, feeding our nostrils with a bad breathe and our ears punctured with innocent screams of damsels fighting for their lives.
Dede and I watched keenly but rather with trepidation from where we hid.
An aged man believed to be the mouth piece of the oracle came out from the hut with a tiny knife he held which was covered in blood. He lifted his staff, “eru eru” he shouted lifting his eyes to the sky.
And there was lightening from above, striking “ikemba” to the ground; The oracle burned.