Excerpt from Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The Seeker nodded. "I am listening intently, Papa D."

"Good. Even from the moment you spoke to me on the phone, I knew you were no ordinary seeker. Your voice reached out to me as belonging to someone eager to learn. I counsel all kinds. Every strand of humanity passes through those gates. You'd be surprised what con­trasting souls have sat on that very stool, if I chose to tell you."

The Seeker smiled wryly, gestured away the offer. "Papa Davina, that is why I am here. Your reputation cuts across not just the nation, but the continent."

"Ah yes, perhaps."

"And even beyond."

"Oh? So tell me, what have you heard? Those who directed your feet here, what do they say of Papa Davina?"

"Where does one begin?" The woman sighed. "Well, let me take the most recent, the candidate from the Seychelles ... You prayed over him, and the world knows the results."

Davina executed a self-deprecating gesture with his hands, turning them into limp vessels that ended with palms upturned, as one who gave the credit—and glory—somewhere else.

"For you, I have mounted a ... special perspective."

As he spoke, Papa D. appeared to dissolve into the peripheral gloom, but the chamber, whose curtain opening she had barely been able to find moments before, became gradually suffused with light, as if in replacement of the daylight she had just effaced. It proved to be just the beginning. Under the Seeker's gaze, the drab consultation chamber was turning into a fairyland. The woman gasped. Her host, one arm outstretched, appeared to be spinning slowly. In his hand was a little silvery gadget that also moved with the widening arc. Clearly he was standing on a sunken turntable. Papa D. pointed his control to the ceiling, and there was light. Next, another nearly inaudible click, and a gurgle of water interrupted the silence, its source gradually revealed as a cleft in a rock that had risen magically, a spring whose glistening waters cascaded in a lulling caress, then snaked into a grotto and vanished forever. An undulating vista of hills and valleys, plains and plateaus, shimmered into distant horizons, while soft luminous tubes rose from the floor towards the ceiling, bathing the chamber in a psychedelic sheen. Gradually an alcove shimmered into view, then another directly opposite, then a third at ninety degrees, and finally a fourth to complete an emerging three-dimensional installation. The alcoves were evenly spaced, emblematic as housing for the four com­pass points. On the floor, made of polished wood tiles, a large embed­ded map of the zodiac embarked on its own progressive illumination. From the ribbon folds that served as capstone for the archway across each alcove, a spiral of smoke billowed downwards, then began to curl all over the signs of the zodiac. The Seeker was enveloped in a medley of incense.

She heard Papa Davina's voice: "I was speaking of other perspec­tives. You see, if you inhabit a dung heap, you can still ensure that you are sitting on top of it. That is the other perspective. It is what separates those who are called from the common herd. It sits at the heart of human desire."

The Seeker sighed. It had been a long journey to this moment, a journey of startling contrasts and revelations, both physical and men­tal. Tutored in the mandatory protocols of the prophesite, she had embarked on full compliance, even to the contents of the pink enve­lope she had brought with her and laid solemnly on a small altar-table that stood by the entrance to the building. What was at stake did not permit any deviation from redemption rites of passage, a num­ber of which she would normally consider degrading to her social status. After all, it had taken a while, nearly a full year, to arrange this audience—it was not the moment to place salvation in jeopardy. On the way she had caught sight of scavengers glancing slyly at her, transferring their gaze from hillside foraging to Papa Davina's eyrie, as if to say, Ah yes, one of these days we also shall qualify to mount those final paved steps and be admitted into the Prescience. They had heard all about it, heard stories of the magic interior that spelt trans­formation, belying the exterior of chapped walls and cracked cement. News filtered through and touched lives of longing with intimations of a changed destiny. Some played the football pools religiously, others the annual National Lottery and more, but craved that final touch of the magic wand—Papa Davina's blessing. They dreamt of the day they themselves would climb the paved approach of twenty-one glistening steps and be ushered into his Prescience. Active or dreaming, they hoarded images of the splendour of the recluse, the magician known as Papa Davina.

Excerpted from Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka. Copyright © 2021 by Wole Soyinka. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.