• Age: Old as the hills and young at heart. More precisely - as old as his toes and a bit older than his teeth.¹⁾
• Size: Smallish. Not that he's small, it's just that the world is big.
• Appearance: Short and wiry. His skin almost the colour of Mopane wood, if a little darker.
• Personality: Mostly charming and polite. Given to occasional profanity under the influence of incredulity.
• Character Traits:
• - Wordy. Likes words and usually has too many around to fit in any given space.
• - Has discovered alcoholic beverages on the Island and likes them. A lot.
• - Will mix 'cocktails' without even being given an excuse to.
• - Suffers fools gladly, as long as they're buying drinks.²⁾

Here is Makwia. But how did he get here? Hmm, well that's a whole different set of pages.. Oh! I see what you mean, here on the Island? Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary with that part of the story. One moment he wasn't here at all, just enjoying the insane wind rush that can only be experienced by being thrown out of a jet plane. The next moment he most certainly was here, his naked buttocks being addressed by a strange woman who was trying to convince him that he's a plonker. Was he Confused? Certainly. Bemused? Probably. Amused? Not yet.

After finding his feet ³⁾ and, more importantly, something to cover his buttocks with, he determined to find out who he was, where he was and whether there was any tea to be found.

Armed with this three part quest, he set forth⁴⁾ from the first outpost he found himself in. Stopping to talk to no one, ignoring all entreaties to socialise he walked out the gates into the jungle and felt immediately at home. It was at this point that he uttered his first words after coming to the island, in response to a guard's, “Have a nice day!” Makiwa had turned and just before disappearing into the jungle fixed the guard with an even stare, “Thank you. But I have other plans.”

Having been accosted by creatures various, monsters multitudinous and perverted people aplenty, he found himself on a boat. Whilst listening to others that came and went on the boat coupled with some tentative questions, part of the quest was solved. The where. Improbable Island.

In the coming days he would visit⁵⁾ the boat often, mostly meeting others in the same predicament as he but also others who had been on the Island for some time. He began slowly to emerge from his almost silent shell, striking up disjointed conversations. He even attempted to befriend that woman, The Watcher. In hindsight he could have chosen a more erudite opening gambit than,“Hello, I'm a plonker.”

He has since learned that it wouldn't have mattered what he'd said. She is not a friend, despite her tricky words. She is pernicious, sneaky, not to be trusted.

Jungle life suited him, as it turned out. He busied himself studying the local fauna and flora, interrupted often by weird and wonderful creatures which, he found to his surprise, he was getting better and better at despatching. At this time he began spending more time exploring outposts and slightly less time on the boat of fail. He discovered that endlessly despatching monsters actually served a purpose.

While spending a pleasant afternoon in a museum in New Home he discovered much else. Things were becoming clearer and much more confusing⁶⁾.

Having then decided to hang reason and logic out to dry on the washing line of sanity, he spent the next few days exposing his buttocks to every camera that he came across and shouting “Full Moon!” before running off giggling into the dense bush. He secretly hoped that She was watching⁷⁾ and that he was at least, mildly irritating her.

He had heard tales of The Drive. He had heard the name Horatio. He had heard there might be tea. At an improbability factor of more than he could calculate on all his fingers and toes, he arrived just on time for a nice little chat with Horatio. And, oh yes, there was tea!

His elation at having completed a second part of his self imposed quest was short lived, however. Upon awakening he found himself right back where he started only, things had changed. Now covered from head to foot in smooth silky fur, two pointy ears and and a tail with a mind of it's own he surmised, quite rightly as it happened, that this was not who he was.

The days following the first encounter with Horatio began to swirl and blur together. He is overtaken with a blood lust in the mistaken belief that if he kills enough, has enough tea time rendezvous with The Drive, he'll make it off the island. He'll go back to, to, wherever the hell he was before here.

The days whizzing by begin to slow now. Makiwa is seen often on the failboat, dunking the end of his tail into a cup of cocoa to extinguish it. Oh, yes, that tail with a mind of it's own. Seemingly always smouldering, about to catch fire or actually ablaze.

The days slow down some more as we see Makiwa joining a clan and leaving shortly afterwards, bored with lack of interaction, or any action to speak of. One thing, it seemed, had stopped leading to another.⁸⁾

Now the days have slowed to a pace where they can be inspected in a little more detail. This is good because there are poignant moments here that are relevant, or at least mildly interesting. The first of these being the joining of another clan. The exact details of how he came to join this clan escapes the chronicler's memory. If Makiwa were asked he would shrug his shoulders and say it's irrelevant, which of course it is. The clan he joined welcomed him with open arms, hearts and minds, swallowed him whole and gave him a reason to be. The clan halls are an Airship that constantly circles the island. It has a mini bar. The clan is SAVOR. He is home.

So to the final part of the personal quest: Who is he? He still doesn't know. He may never know.

Still, two out of three ain't bad - right?

Joker - Witch Doctor Makiwa Witch Doctor Portrait Witch Doctor Poster

Midget - Knee High Makiwa Knee High Makiwa Portrait

Human (again) - Machiavellian Makiwa Machiavellian Makiwa Portrait

Robot - Mechanical Makiwa Mechanical Makiwa Portrait

Zombie - Moribund Makiwa Moribund Makiwa Portrait