by Antonio Napoli

In a land of golden savannas and ancient baobabs, King Abasi, ruler of the kingdom of Ndara, dreamt one night that he would be defeated in battle if he shaved himself, or at least that’s how he remembered it. The dream, brought by the spirits of the ancestors, convinced him that fate could be fulfilled through even the humblest of actions. So, when the time came to march against the rebellious tribes of the mountains, Abasi brought with him his entourage, including the barber Mosi, who had fled from the mountains in his youth.

During a rest near the Wana River, the barber Mosi encountered a witch with braids woven with seashells. Her gaze was like fire hidden beneath ash, and it drew him in. The witch, seeing the man hesitate before her charm, cursed him with the Spell of Truth for a day. It was the hour of sunset, and Mosi would no longer be able to utter a lie, nor hide the truth until the next sunset.

The following morning, Abasi summoned Mosi to his tent adorned with leopard skins for the usual beard trim. As the blade brushed the king’s smooth, dark skin, Mosi, feeling the spell burn on his tongue, whispered with a trembling voice: “My lord, many enemies have failed to take your life… but I could do it with a single stroke.”

The words, born without malice, sounded like a betrayal. The king, furious, had Mosi arrested and ordered that he be thrown into a pit under the blazing sun, at the mercy of any beast.

But no other barber could be found in the conquered lands, and the memory of the dream troubled the king. Meanwhile, his beard grew, bristly and hard, pricking his skin with a subtle annoyance, as if every hair were a needle hidden beneath the surface.

Desperate, Abasi sent his spies to the enemy villages. When they returned, they brought with them a barber wearing a mask, concealing his face up to his nose, leaving the rough, bearded cheeks exposed.

“Take off that mask!” ordered King Abasi.

“A witch has forced this mask upon me,” replied the man. “Anyone who touches it will become blind, and whoever touches them will share their fate!”

“Go ahead, trim my beard,” said Abasi, without ordering him to remove the mask. “Be careful what you do.”

Two archers stood guard over every movement, their bows drawn, but the barber worked with his usual skill. When the trim was finished, the king offered him a place in his service, but the barber shook his head:

“My loyalty belongs to my people. I will return to the village, even if you suspect me of betrayal.”

Abasi, struck by the man’s sincerity, let him go. But before leaving, the barber asked for a mirror and permission to shave. A mirror was brought to him, and Mosi placed it on the table where the battle plan was drawn.

No one had noticed that this barber was in fact Mosi, saved from punishment thanks to the help of an nganga, a healer who protected his community from diseases, misfortunes, and witchcraft. It was the nganga, who predicts the future, who had told him to lie to his enemies about the use of the mask.

When Mosi finished shaving, Abasi laughed upon seeing the man’s face covered with irregular tufts.

“You’ve forgotten your trade on your face,” said Abasi. “It’s true what they say: what a man does for others, he cannot do for himself alone.”

“I haven’t forgotten my trade,” Mosi replied with a smile, and, accompanied by a soldier, he left the military camp.

Two days later, Abasi was defeated. On his way back, he saw, incredulously, Mosi sitting on the branch of a baobab, cleaning the razor with a leaf.

“A barber has defeated a king!” the man shouted with a clear voice. “You wanted my skin, and I used my beard!”

“How did you do it?” cried King Abasi.

“I only wrote on my face the secrets of your battle plan, making you believe I had shaved as if I were inexperienced.”

In vain, the king’s archers tried to strike Mosi. The warning of King Abasi’s ancestors had come true: although it had not been he who shaved himself, but Mosi, he had proven “similar” to a great strategist like King Abasi.