Gherkin Street

By Milton Montgomery:

To My Dear Mother,

Hello Mother, this will be my last letter. There is no point beating about the bush, I am dying.

I know you warned me about the dangers of being a missionary in a remote African settlement but nevertheless I believe it was worth it. I was able to bring the joy of Christianity to so many of my fellow townspeople.

You may recall that when I arrived here some three years ago I had nothing but my wife, Bible and just a few essentials (you know how I cant live without salt and pepper eh?). It was very difficult, especially in the early days. You may recall that most of the locals here were cannibals but fortunately that old private school trick of smearing oneself in animal faeces kept me safe until I was accepted.

I wish I could say the same for my wife who refused to let her sense of style be compromised by such vulgarity. She retained her chic right until the end, even as they slow roasted her. Now that was something to behold. I miss her, even though she was very “proper” – a “proper” pain in the neck. The locals liked her though. Immensely.

To digress, the townsfolk have very unique culinary talents when they eat someone. They wrap their victim in banana leaves covered with a sort of herb, reminiscent of cumin, before they par-boil and then slow-roast their “Yum Yum” as they call it. The method preserves the juices producing an aromatic, succulent and highly flavoursome taste.

In any case, through my sermonising and preaching I was able to enlighten many of the heathens such that they stopped their barbaric practise. Unfortunately, the society revolves around cannibalism and only those who partake are able to receive enough nourishment to continue living as the landscape here is very scarce in terms of nutritional offerings.

This meant that many of my followers soon passed away through malnutrition. They were duly eaten by the non-Christians.

Over time it dawned on me that cannibalism was the only way that the peoples of this isolated hellhole had survived. They had endured by maintaining a delicate balance between birth and death (or “Yum Yum” as they call it). My bringing Christianity to them represented a serious threat to that balance. As you know, I was raised never to quit so I stayed.

The only trouble was the inescapable and ever-present feelings of hunger I was experiencing. I would rather, Mother, that you didn’t reveal this terrible fact but the only way I have survived this long was by eating what the locals do. I resolved that in this way I was able to preserve my strength while continuing to convert the barbarians, one by one.

Unfortunately, as soon as I converted one they shortly thereafter perished from malnutrition or by brutal attack of the remaining tribe. We would be forced to eat them.

Mother, the strength to continue is leaving me, such is my emaciated state. Let the Church know that I was able to convert every single one of the locals here to Christianity, one way or another. Of course, they all became the “Bread of Christ” (or “Yum Yum of Christ” as they called it).

Its just a shame there are no more to convert. Still, their memory, among other things, will live on inside me until my death.

In my belongings you will find a jar of the cumin-like herb that I have left for you. I highly recommend it with banana leaves. Why don’t you try it on the postman, he was rather a portly man as I recall.

Eternally yours,
Your Son.