They danced round the fire to the beat of the drums. Clad in traditional costumes and chunks of beads adorning their necks, the natives strutted in perfect rhythm and harmony. The clanging and tingling of the bracelets, bangles and anklets echoed through the hills.
The moon obliged everyone with its luminous glow. The view of the dancers were clear from where we stood. Everyone was mesmerised by the swaying of hips and waving of hands. Then, a tantalising aroma of freshly brewed stew filled the air. We thought we saw an animal tied to a pole, half of it in the pot and cooked over the fire.
The smell of meat cooked in cloves and cinnamon seemed irresistible. It made everyone salivate with hunger. We thought of approaching the war-painted face dancers for a share of their fare. But realising we were trespassers, we could be caught and dealt with.
Soon, what seemed like eternity, our stomachs growled louder than the sound of the music. We decided to take the chance of being caught than die of hunger. We waited for the music to stop and the natives halted their activities and slept near the fire as the night was getting cold.
We came out of our hiding place and crawled towards the pot. Beaming with joy, we were elated as we made our way there. Then, a cry was let out when someone saw that it was a human that was being cooked. The sound woke the natives up and they captured us. We tried to run for our lives but were caught and tied over the pot waiting to be cooked.
The drums started to beat again. War cries echoed across the land. Then, as we were lowered into the pot, a plane flew over and water was released onto us, extinguishing the fire. We were drenched. Opening our eyes and wiping our face, we felt the dampness of our bed.

© autumnB