CHAPTER 14 – COUNCILLOR CHAOS AND CHICKEN PROPHECY
Returning home from Cape Town should have been simple. Simba had imagined stepping off the bus, waving to the village, and maybe eating roasted maize while his fame simmered quietly. He expected quiet admiration, a few nods of respect, and perhaps someone asking politely how to get muffins as motivational tools. Instead, he stepped into what could only be described as a scene from a political circus colliding with a wildlife documentary.
Flags flapped violently in the wind. Drums pounded like they had been wired to dynamite. Somewhere, a trumpet blared a note that probably hadn't existed in nature since the Stone Age. Villagers dashed around like they had discovered the fountain of youth, and a goat climbed onto a chair, braying as if announcing Simba's arrival. Children ran past carrying banners with messages like "Vote for Simba: He Manages Chickens and Dreams" and "Fake Life, Real Leadership". Even the elders looked unusually energetic, perhaps because they had spent the last week whispering that Pastor Wings' egg had revealed Simba's destiny.
Simba squinted at the chaos. "What's happening?" he asked Steve, who was balancing a muffin on his head like some sort of royal crown.
"Village elections," Steve said, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face. "Apparently, the people have decided you're their next councillor. Chicken prophecy and all that."
Simba choked on air and nearly fell over. "Me? Councillor? I can barely manage my own fake LinkedIn account, let alone run a village!"
Before he could make a tactical retreat, a man in a shiny suit barreled toward him, pushing a microphone under his nose. "Simba Gumbo! The Legendary Fake Life! Why are you running for councillor?"
Simba's brain short-circuited. "I'm… not," he stammered, waving his hands helplessly.
"The chicken prophecy says otherwise!" a woman shouted, waving a feather like it was the sword of destiny. "Pastor Wings laid an egg on the sacred baobab tree before you left for Cape Town! The elders have declared it a sign—you must lead us!"
Simba's eyes darted to the egg. Then to the crowd. Then back to the egg. It gleamed in the morning sun like a tiny golden orb of doom. Steve leaned close, whispering in a voice only Simba could hear, "You do realize this means speeches, meetings, and maybe even a suit that actually fits."
Simba groaned. "And I thought surviving Cape Town was chaotic…"
By midday, the entire village had mobilized into full election mode. Campaign posters were plastered on every wall, hut, goat pen, and tree branch. Some showed Simba shaking hands with the president, cleverly Photoshopped from a stock image he had downloaded in Cape Town. Others portrayed him piloting a drone over a field of goats—though in reality, it was Steve, crouched behind a bush, operating the remote control with intense concentration.
Natasha, never one to waste an opportunity, started baking "Simba Muffins" for supporters. Each muffin had a small flag stuck in it with motivational messages like: "Vote for Simba, the Chicken Whisperer" and "From Fake Life to Real Leadership." Villagers began lining up just to receive muffins, convinced that eating one would increase their own wisdom and luck.
Steve, meanwhile, created a campaign video that looked like a blockbuster trailer. It featured Simba juggling muffins, giving inspirational speeches, and saving a goat from a falling mango. The tagline read: "Simba Gumbo: Councillor, Visionary, Prophet of Poultry."
Simba, overwhelmed, tried to focus on the essentials. "Okay, step one—survive the campaign without tripping over Pastor Wings or offending a goat."
Step two was harder. Pastor Wings, apparently emboldened by fame, strutted across the village like a feathered general, interrupting meetings, laying eggs in strategic spots, and occasionally flapping so violently that Simba's campaign posters flew into the air like confetti.
Simba tried giving speeches, but every sentence he uttered seemed to take on a life of its own. He combined motivational clichés with stand-up comedy and bizarre village wisdom. "Remember, my people," he declared, arms wide, "even if life gives you muffins, don't forget to fly like a chicken!" The villagers erupted in laughter and applause. Some fainted from sheer inspiration. Others began chanting: "Simba! Simba! Chicken power!"
Election day arrived like a hurricane of chaos. The village square was packed with people, goats, chickens, and the occasional confused tourist who had wandered in from a nearby lodge. Simba stood on a crate for height advantage, trying to look presidential while Pastor Wings perched on his shoulder, squawking like an overzealous vice-councillor.
Campaign activities included:
A goat race that doubled as a voter registration exercise.
A muffin-throwing contest judged by Natasha.
Pastor Wings' impromptu prophecies, delivered in perfect chicken-speak.
Steve filming everything for TikTok, YouTube, and what he called "future historical documentation."
The crowd roared. They cheered for Simba juggling muffins while giving speeches. They cheered when Pastor Wings laid another egg mid-sermon. They even cheered for the goat that had managed to climb the campaign podium and chew one of the posters.
Despite the chaos, or maybe because of it, Simba won. By late afternoon, the villagers carried him on their shoulders, chanting his name. Steve cheered, tossing muffins into the air like confetti. Natasha baked a special "Victory Muffin Cake" with enough icing to glue the village together in celebration. Even Pastor Wings, perched triumphantly on the village bell tower, clucked in approval.
That night, Simba sat on his rooftop, surveying the village below. His phone buzzed incessantly—messages of congratulations, requests for favors, and some suspiciously asking for bribes. He sighed, took a deep breath, and whispered, "Maybe fake life wasn't so fake after all."
Steve leaned over, holding two muffins like trophies. "You survived your first week as councillor. That deserves a muffin!"
Simba bit into one thoughtfully. "Tomorrow… we fix the roads. Or maybe we just get more muffins. Probably muffins," he muttered.
And as the moon rose over Chiendambuya, the villagers celebrated their unlikely hero: a man whose fake life had somehow transformed into real leadership, powered by muffins, chaos, and one very prophetic chicken.
Because sometimes, all you need is one chicken, one lie, and a whole lot of crazy to change the world.
Chapter 15 is loading