Facebook status, Tweeting their breakfast menu, emailing themselves, typing their own names into Google, watching repeats of rubbish shows, catching up with the news or just staring stoically at a blank screen trying to look like Jean-Paul Sartre.
I proceeded to my usual café, The Souk, which was a twenty-four-hour Moroccan café dedicated to escapism. Brown and gold leather ottomans and low wooden tables were dotted throughout in which people reclined, listening to Middle Eastern music, reading a book or simply catching up with friends.
It was quite a bright and balmy morning , so I ordered a mint tea and went to sit in a cosy nook in the outdoor seating area. But no sooner had I taken a sip than I noticed an enormous Bedouin tent I had never seen before right in the middle of the courtyard. There was a massive sign on the front that read:
The Oracle .
And underneath it was written:
Fortune Teller and Spiritual Healer – Free .
I had never been to see a fortune teller before. But, to be honest, I’ve never been one for superstition. Although, it would make for an interesting experience nonetheless. Plus it was free.
So once I had finished my mint tea I thought, why not , and strolled over to the tent.
As I stood at the entrance, I suddenly felt a swarm of butterflies fill my stomach. I don’t know why. Maybe because it seemed so dark and eerie when I looked through the cracks in the curtain, reminding me of things that go bump in the night.
Inside I noticed a weathered old wooden table on which stood a lantern and a discoloured monkey skull.
‘ Hello,’ said a gravelly voice.
I jumped and my heart skipped a beat. Where was the voice coming from? I looked around, trying to gauge the direction of the sound. Something prodded me on the shoulder. I swivelled around to find a short, stout woman dressed in a colourful floral muumuu and a matching turban behind me. She reminded me of a teapot.
‘ May I help you?’ said the woman in a thick Caribbean accent, smiling broadly.
‘ Oh, you scared me half to death!’ I clenched my fist, then placed it on my heart. The woman let out a deep laugh. I looked around the tent, noticing various glass bottles, wall-hangings, trinkets, candles and incense. ‘What is this place? Who are you?’
‘ Welcome to the House of Mojo. I am Mojo, mistress of the ancient arts of precognition and augury,’ Mojo announced mysteriously. ‘Diva of divination.’
I didn ’t have a clue what any of those words meant, so I just stared at her blankly. ‘But outside it says you’re a–’
‘ Fortune teller, spiritual healer and voodoo priestess,’ she interrupted.
‘ Voodoo?’ I panicked, suddenly feeling uneasy. ‘You mean like Satanism, zombies and voodoo dolls?’
Mojo laughed, waving a chubby finger. ‘I think someone’s been watching a few too many horror movies.’
‘ So what’s with the monkey skull, then?’
‘ It’s a juju.’
‘ A juju? What’s a juju?’ I asked, feeling slightly on edge.
‘ It is a blessed object used for protection from evil and negativity. A talisman. Now, come. Take a seat,’ said Mojo, gesturing towards the chair.
I stared at the monkey head for a moment, walked over cautiously and sat down. Once Mojo was seated, she took out a small, black bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Splayed across the table were tiny little bones.
‘Are… are those human bones?’ I felt a sudden chill run down my spine.
‘ No, of course not.’ There was a slight pause. ‘They’re monkey bones. Now, let us continue.’
‘ Monkey? Did you kill a monkey?’
‘ No. These objects have been passed down from my Haitian ancestors,’ she said proudly, throwing me a stern look. ‘Now, shall we?’ Mojo moved the creepy bones around with her index finger.
‘ So, uh, what are you doing?’
‘ Hoodoo.’
I looked at her , none the wiser.
‘ Bone reading,’ she explained, pouting like a fish before resuming her bone
I proceeded to my usual café, The Souk, which was a twenty-four-hour Moroccan café dedicated to escapism. Brown and gold leather ottomans and low wooden tables were dotted throughout in which people reclined, listening to Middle Eastern music, reading a book or simply catching up with friends.
It was quite a bright and balmy morning , so I ordered a mint tea and went to sit in a cosy nook in the outdoor seating area. But no sooner had I taken a sip than I noticed an enormous Bedouin tent I had never seen before right in the middle of the courtyard. There was a massive sign on the front that read:
The Oracle .
And underneath it was written:
Fortune Teller and Spiritual Healer – Free .
I had never been to see a fortune teller before. But, to be honest, I’ve never been one for superstition. Although, it would make for an interesting experience nonetheless. Plus it was free.
So once I had finished my mint tea I thought, why not , and strolled over to the tent.
As I stood at the entrance, I suddenly felt a swarm of butterflies fill my stomach. I don’t know why. Maybe because it seemed so dark and eerie when I looked through the cracks in the curtain, reminding me of things that go bump in the night.
Inside I noticed a weathered old wooden table on which stood a lantern and a discoloured monkey skull.
‘ Hello,’ said a gravelly voice.
I jumped and my heart skipped a beat. Where was the voice coming from? I looked around, trying to gauge the direction of the sound. Something prodded me on the shoulder. I swivelled around to find a short, stout woman dressed in a colourful floral muumuu and a matching turban behind me. She reminded me of a teapot.
‘ May I help you?’ said the woman in a thick Caribbean accent, smiling broadly.
‘ Oh, you scared me half to death!’ I clenched my fist, then placed it on my heart. The woman let out a deep laugh. I looked around the tent, noticing various glass bottles, wall-hangings, trinkets, candles and incense. ‘What is this place? Who are you?’
‘ Welcome to the House of Mojo. I am Mojo, mistress of the ancient arts of precognition and augury,’ Mojo announced mysteriously. ‘Diva of divination.’
I didn ’t have a clue what any of those words meant, so I just stared at her blankly. ‘But outside it says you’re a–’
‘ Fortune teller, spiritual healer and voodoo priestess,’ she interrupted.
‘ Voodoo?’ I panicked, suddenly feeling uneasy. ‘You mean like Satanism, zombies and voodoo dolls?’
Mojo laughed, waving a chubby finger. ‘I think someone’s been watching a few too many horror movies.’
‘ So what’s with the monkey skull, then?’
‘ It’s a juju.’
‘ A juju? What’s a juju?’ I asked, feeling slightly on edge.
‘ It is a blessed object used for protection from evil and negativity. A talisman. Now, come. Take a seat,’ said Mojo, gesturing towards the chair.
I stared at the monkey head for a moment, walked over cautiously and sat down. Once Mojo was seated, she took out a small, black bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Splayed across the table were tiny little bones.
‘Are… are those human bones?’ I felt a sudden chill run down my spine.
‘ No, of course not.’ There was a slight pause. ‘They’re monkey bones. Now, let us continue.’
‘ Monkey? Did you kill a monkey?’
‘ No. These objects have been passed down from my Haitian ancestors,’ she said proudly, throwing me a stern look. ‘Now, shall we?’ Mojo moved the creepy bones around with her index finger.
‘ So, uh, what are you doing?’
‘ Hoodoo.’
I looked at her , none the wiser.
‘ Bone reading,’ she explained, pouting like a fish before resuming her bone
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