Summary

Marla Bishop recounts her transformative experience of smoking a cannabis joint gifted by Fela Kuti, which led to an intense high that caused her to rethink her use of the substance.

Abstract

Marla Bishop, a relationship coach and writer, shares a personal story from her youth in 1978 when the renowned musician Fela Kuti visited her family home in Kaduna and gifted her mother a cannabis joint. Intrigued, Bishop later smoked the joint when her parents were away, only to experience an overwhelming psychedelic reaction that left her in a zombie-like state. The experience was so intense that she heard a whooshing sound, saw psychedelic colors, and lost touch with reality, mistaking her hometown for Kent and attempting to converse with mango trees. After the incident, she gave up cannabis and never returned to it, despite its allure. The narrative concludes with Bishop's reflections on the event and her current endeavors, including writing for various Medium publications and working on a novel about her mother's life.

Opinions

Bishop describes her experience with Fela Kuti's gifted cannabis as a profound and life-altering event.
She expresses a sense of humor and wonder regarding her hallucinatory state, such as when she tried to communicate with mango trees.
The author implies that the potency of the cannabis was beyond her expectations, leading to an adverse reaction that deterred her from future use.
Bishop's story suggests a cautionary perspective on drug use, emphasizing the unpredictable nature of its effects.
The article conveys a sense of nostalgia and personal growth, as Bishop looks back on her youthful experimentation with a clear understanding of its impact on her life choices.

I Smoked A Joint Rolled By Fela Kuti

It turned me into a zombie and I never smoked cannabis again

I was in school in England circa 1978 when the late, great Fela Anikulapo Kuti visited our family home in Kaduna. He had come to see for himself whether the most beautiful woman in northern Nigeria lived there, as he’d been told. Meeting my mother and satisfying himself that the rumours were true, he gifted her what he gave to everyone who impressed him; a cannabis joint.

The way my younger brother related the story, mum laughed, thanked Fela, and placed the joint in the recess above our front door. Where it remained until I returned home for Christmas holidays a few weeks later.

My brother was only twelve at the time, or no doubt he would have smoked it himself. Curious, I took it down from its hidey-hole and decided I would try it the next time my parents were out.

That day soon came, As soon as my parents and two brothers left on a long-standing engagement, I took the joint outside and lit up.

Scents and sounds intensified and psychedelic colours pulsated in my consciousness as I perceived all life in every moment.

I had tried cannabis before and had been smoking cigarettes a couple of years, so inhaled deeply, sure I could handle whatever came my way.

I was wrong, I heard a whooshing sound as I exhaled, and I think I dropped the joint. I’m talking one pull people, and I was transported to another planet.

I was dating a cute local lad, Andy, at the time. He also went to school in England and we met the occasional weekend at his family’s holiday home in Kent, but this day was the first time we were to see one another in several weeks.

This day. I’d forgotten I’d invited him over as my folks would be out. So when he rolled up on his bicycle and found me lying in the dry season grass on my back in my front yard, I guess he was a little puzzled.

I heard my name being called from afar and brought my consciousness back from the blue sky and the clouds with whom I had been communing. I sat up with difficulty and stared at Andy for a long time. Finally, I asked, “Are we in Kent?”

He looked at me oddly. Perhaps he thought I was being satirical. “Not the last time I looked.”

He helped me to my feet and I went to fetch him a cold drink.

But when I got to the kitchen I couldn’t remember what I’d gone there for. I went out again and wandered about our backyard, noticing for the first time how the veins stood out whitely on the green leaves of the lime trees.

The mango trees were laden and calling my name, I reached out a hand and watched, fascinated, as my arm elongated before my eyes, stretching to the top of the mango tree where it plucked the fattest, ripest mango there.

I took a bite and was smiling at the yellow strands waving to me from inside the firm, orange-skinned fruit when Andy came to find me.

“What are you doing?” he wanted to know.

I tried but couldn’t say. Instead, I said.“I’m sorry, I have to lie down.”

I found I was unable to take off my clothes, as my body parts no longer matched the images I was seeing, which were whirling before my unblinking eyes like fast-shutter speed photography.

I gave up and lay down fully clothed.

Scents and sounds intensified and psychedelic colours pulsated in my consciousness as I perceived all life in every moment. I lay still as a corpse, enraptured until I drifted into sleep.

And there my family found me when they returned later that afternoon. If they thought it strange that I was sleeping in the middle of the day they didn’t comment.

Photo: my mother in her thirties / ©Wilfred Bishop

I searched the yard the next day for the remains of the joint, but I guess it must’ve burnt itself out.

So now you know why I don’t do sinsemilla anymore.

Marla Bishop is a relationship coach and writer: On medium.com she writes for several publications and is the creator of Lilith and an editor for The Bad Influence, The Get Fit Gang, and The Narrative. She’s currently writing a novel about her mother’s life. You can follow her here.