He was the talk of the country, known in every town. At the market, school, or courtroom, his presence lingered like an oil stain—impossible to ignore. Loyal only to his own, he dismissed others with cutting words and cold disdain. But his prejudice had a cost, and one day, it all came crashing down.
His name was Tribalism.
Tribalism & the Grocer
That fateful morning began like any other. Tribalism strutted into the bustling marketplace, chin high, eyes scanning for familiar faces among the vendors.
At a fruit stall, he brushed his fingers over shiny apples as the grocer, a mild-mannered man from the Tantu tribe, greeted him with a smile.
“Good morning, sir. These are fresh from the farm. GHC 20 for the lot.”
Tribalism’s brow furrowed. “GHC 20? I already gave you GHC 200 when I got here. You just pocketed it.”
The grocer blinked, his smile faltering. “Sir, you must be mistaken. You’re my first customer today. My cash drawer is empty—see for yourself.”
Tribalism’s voice rose, drawing the attention of nearby shoppers.
“Typical Tantu thief! Always scheming, always taking what doesn’t belong to you!”
The grocer took a deep breath. “Perhaps you should check your pocket, sir. Maybe the money is still with you.”
Reluctantly, Tribalism plunged his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around a crisp GHC 200 note. He pulled it out, glaring. “You must’ve slipped it back in when I wasn’t looking. Clever trickster. Fine, take your money and give me my change.”
The grocer handed him the apples and his change without a word. Tribalism stormed off, muttering about the treachery of “those people.”
Tribalism at the office
At the office, the day only got worse.
As Tribalism parked his car, a sharp pang in his stomach made him wince. Another vehicle pulled up beside him. The window rolled down to reveal his secretary, a warm smile on her face. Beside her sat a man he didn’t recognise.
“Good morning, sir. You don’t look well today,” she said.
“It’s nothing. Just a bit of fever and weakness,” he replied, waving her off.
“My father’s a doctor,” she offered. “He could take a look at you.”
Tribalism scoffed. “What would a Raba know about medicine? I’ll go to my people—real doctors.”
The man in the driver’s seat leaned over. “Sir, I’ve been a physician for seventeen years. I assure you—”
“Save it,” Tribalism snapped, climbing out of his car. “Your kind wouldn’t know how to treat me.”
Clutching his stomach, he stumbled toward the building.
The Security Guard
“Boss, is everything okay?” the security guard asked.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Tribalism muttered.
The guard offered a bottle of water. “Here, have some. It might help.”
Tribalism recoiled. “I don’t trust anything from your people. Your food, your drink—it’s all suspect. Keep your tainted water.”
He pushed through the glass doors and struggled up the stairs. Reaching his office, he collapsed into his chair, clutching his chest as pain rippled through his torso. He placed a call to his brother asking him to pick him up to the hospital. An alarm trilled on his phone—his board meeting was overdue by thirty minutes.
The Receptionist
Barrelling down the stairs, he rushed past his secretary thinking only of beating traffic. His foot caught on the stair, and he tumbled forward.
“Sir!” cried the receptionist, dropping her files to steady him.
“Don’t touch me!” Tribalism snarled, pulling back. “You unkempt Tantu—don’t contaminate me!”
Before she could respond, he crashed onto the landing.
The Company Driver
The company driver rushed over. “Are you alright? Let me take you to the hospital.”
Tribalism groaned. “You’re driving? No, I can’t trust you people with my life. I’ll wait for someone from my own kind.”
The Driver’s jaw dropped. “Sir, please let me help you.”
“No! Your people can’t drive properly. My brother will be here soon.”
The driver returned to his seat.
Minutes turn to hours, and still, there was no sign of Tribalism’s brother.
“Fine, you can take me, ” Tribalism grumbled. “But don’t expect me to thank you.”
At the hospital
At the hospital, Tribalism rejected the help of every nurse and doctor.
“Where are my people?” he demanded. “I’ll only trust Dr Favouritism or Dr Nepotism. We come from the same town.”
But his people were nowhere to be found. Dr Favouritism was attending to his nephew, and Dr Nepotism was busy securing a job at the hospital for his daughter-in-law.
Tribalism meets Death
As Tribalism lay in bed, his breaths shallow and ragged, a shadow loomed over him.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
“I am Dr Death,” came the cold reply. “You’ve rejected every hand that reached out to help. Now, it’s too late.”
Suddenly, the door burst open. Tribalism’s brother rushed in. “Brother, I’m here! Our people will take good care of you. Come—let’s go.”
But it was no use. Tribalism’s strength was gone, his body broken, his spirit drained.
As Death leaned in, Tribalism whispered, “You don’t understand. None of them were my people. None of them were like…me”
Tribalism's last breath
Death shook his head and with a voice as cold as the void, said, “You thought yourself superior. But in the end, beneath the prejudice you relished and the pride you wore like armour, you were nothing more than flesh and bone. No different from those you looked down upon. For all your perceived superiority, you never once grasped that simple truth.“
Tribalism faltered, his breath shallow, his eyes wide with realization.
“And now,” Death murmured, “you’re out of time.”
With one final gasp, Tribalism slipped into the cold embrace of death, leaving behind a world he had divided and a life he had squandered.
What’s next in Peter’s Box? ¡Hasta luego amigos!
