The whole village waited outside the hut that night.
The Shammahs with their jingling cowries attached to their brown tunics, hummed a tune that rose and fell.

The little children craned their heads forward, straining their eyes in order to get the first look at the miracle: each one hopefully become the first to raise her voice and break the good news to the anxious.

Baba Agba chewed his kola in an agitating way even as his hands involuntarily raised his cane and tapped in on the floor incessantly until a touch from his daughter doused his raging thoughts.

Mama Agba fared no better.
Her wiry fingers shook with so much fervor that the alligator pepper which she intend to chew fell down more than thrice.
She squinted her eyes at the sky, vaguely searching for the constellation of the stars that predicted goodluck or badluck,
As she had been an excellent student in the astrology classes which 'iyawo eebo' had taken the villagers in the hut situated close to the Village square.
Though she was a veteran who had witnessed numerous events, this one was special.


The entire village square was as silent as a graveyard that night.
Much more than a graveyard I must say,
For one's ears could still pick up nimbling sounds that came from the ten acre patch of land which had been designated 'ile-iku'.

Sounds which some would say, originates from the ghosts, clad in white overalls, who had come out of their graves to set up their market stalls in preparation for the midnight market.
A market in which the 'ase-ibi seka' (evil) living beings came to buy from.
A market which Asake saw in session, while returning from the stream after a love rendezvous with Alade, and ran mad immediately.
A market which the stall owners shouted, "E wa ra oja Iku o, e wa ra oja lati awon eni ti won ti de odi keji"

Some other people said that the graveyard sounds originated from mice and bats who had gone to eat the raffia covered occupants of the graves as there was a terrible famine in the land.
One which had driven most of the vibrant men and women away from the village in droves; sacks filled with little belongings slung across their backs, forlorn looks at their homes, and hopeful promises to their parents uttered from parched throats and stomachs filled with dry shrubs.

A famine which had turned the one fertile farmlands into wastelands which no animal dared to live or scurry into.

A famine which had immediately caused the cows and other flock to die quickly in large numbers; their decaying flesh filling the air with a foul stench that eventually corrupted the water sources and caused the fishes to die from bloating.

The whole village had performed every action in order to make right their misdeed and appease the heavens.

Wailed for seven straight days at the tomb of the last king.

Walked around the village village stark naked in broad daylight with ashes smeared on their bodies and their voices raised in high pitched cries.

Clasped their hands together and implored the ancestors to forgive any oversight which arose as a result of their carelessness.

Knelt down and jointly chanted incantations as the priests slaughtered the last seven chickens in the village which had been forcefully collected from Adunke, a market woman who had come from the neighboring village to sell her goods.

They had done all these, yet, things remained the same.

Eku ko ke bi eku, beeni eiye ko ke bi eiye.
Their sacrifice, like a little sickly child refusing to digest the pap which her mother forces into her mouth, refused to yield positive response.

Their cries, like a school child who tries to dubiously get money for 'che' 'mis' and 'try' textbooks from a parent who has ascertained the non-existence of the books, yielded no response from the heavenly hosts.

Their gnashing of teeth was ignored by those in the skies like a determined mother ignores the high pitched cry of a sickly child who does not wish to go to the hospital due to the belief of the head strong doctor that injections would drive away every sickness.

Then, on a bright afternoon as the aged men gathered around tables in the raffia thatched tarven where palm wine followed like Belaire and Crystal liquids are sprayed around on wristwatches, and on the floor in the birthday celebration of a young hustler whose format just yielded a positive response in form of a bank alert through Western union.

On that bright afternoon as the old women in the village sat on higher stools and the female children sat on small stools, heads tilted backwards and hair being fashioned into 'Suku' 'pineapple' and other styles that were popular among the 'sisi oge's' from the other villages.
All with the intent of making the children look beautiful in the pose of death and in their first meeting with their makers.
For the little fire of hope, which burned in their hearts, had been extinguished by the failure of the latest sacrifice to woo the goodwill of the gods.

On that bright afternoon, a young maiden, whose beauty was concealed under a bag of bones, received an unusual visitor on her trip to the stream.

She had been walking with friends; gourds in hand, 'osuka' slung on shoulders (cloth used for placing heavy load on the head); conversation centered on the latest friend who had kissed the cold lips of death, the declining throng of suitors and the unavailability of any candidate to ascend the throne due to the unspoken fear that the gods would demand the head of the head of the king.

While they spoke in hushed tones in apparent fear that the wind would scurry to the ancestors with the details of their gossip like a child who catches his elder brother secretly frolicking with a girl and runs to tell their mother with the hope of receiving commendation and possibly getting to watch the thrashing which would be dished out hot, an apparition suddenly appeared and walked towards the maiden.

Her friend, Bisi, who could conveniently throw down any hefty male on any given day, immediately took off like a wind; flinging away her gourd and iro in the process.

Taye and Dehinde, the other two members of the party, screamed out loud and fainted on the spot; Dehinde feigning hers due to the fact that it had worked out for her in more than one occasion.

Just like the time she was walking towards the village square one evening and seeing Yemoja’s child coming out from the river.

Just like the time when opposing warriors had come into the village, cutlass brandishing, at a time when the village engaged their neighbors in a war which spanned for four days.

Just like the time she faced Bisi in a fight and had realized that feigning a faint would be the only option that would enable her retreat without losing face in the community.

The maiden did not run like her friends.
Her heart infused with inhuman courage, she kept standing, watching the celestial being walk towards her and wondering what manner of creature it was.

Was it part of the 'ebora-inu-igbo' (spirit of the jungle) who loved to show up and frighten humans.
Was it an offspring of 'Agbako' who loved to carry around a thousand cudgels with an overbearing hunger to drink human blood and use the skull of its enemies to prepare eba.
Was the creature that 'ebora sunkun-sunkun' who carried mat on its head and wail incessantly; a gnome which people sometimes chose to call 'bush baby'.

The maiden hoped that it was the last,
For she would be able to hijack it's mat and run away:
An action which would definately bring good fortunes to herself for the rest of her life until the gnome came calling for its property.

"Arabirin"
The creature, which was neither a gnome nor Agbako, yelled out.
His voice sounding like the bass emanating from twenty thousand bass guitars being blasted through hundred thousand speakers.

A voice that sent immediate shrills down the spine of the maiden who immediately fell on her knees and bowed her head.

"Arabirin. Edumare n ki e oo" (Woman. God sends His greetings to you)
He said again.
To be continued in later posts
#Bashorun

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