I cannot recall where I was when the news reached me, but I vividly remembered running off with great haste towards the house at the village outskirts, speedily overtaking others who on account of age could not hope to match my speed.

Pursued by haste I stopped not to think on the moment. It was when I crested the little hill overlooking the shack, which gained more picturesque from the stream running next to and the hills beyond, that I began to have deeper appreciation for the sudden news.

By now, my breath came heavily and oily sweat crept down my fore head to sting my eyes and ran in greasy rivulets down my back. I have no idea what poise I might have struck but I do feel that it was a very absurd one, with my tawny hair plastered tight to my body.

For the first time in a long while I failed to appreciate the view from the hilltop, a view that used to hold me captive on more leisurely trips before, as my admiration was lost to the urgency that ruled that moment. Still though, I did not forget to salute the tall sentry trees that bestrode the road that ran across the valley towards lands that, to my young mind, were adventures in waiting.

Could it be true? Did he do it? Why did he do it?

Questions ran across my mind with the silent speed of an eyelids flutter, calling deeper thoughts into being from my inner recess. I felt then that answers could only come with the eye seeing the questioned face-to-face or eye-to-eye as one might have it.

I therefore took off with greater speed than I had employed earlier towards the source of a single shrill wail that had began to seep from the valley bottom a few seconds before.

A relative must have reached the scene and could not help breaking the taboo in such situations, I thought to myself. But, I doubted if anyone will remember convention in this instance. Perhaps not, not with the personality of the person involved.

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I got there as they were cutting him loose. I thought they would have delayed the act until they can get strangers to do it, but as of yet, no stranger was present. I wondered if more traditions were being broken today.

Initially, nothing appeared out of the ordinary, though a sense of grief hung like a shroud upon the atmosphere, which I adjudged to be on account of the loud wailing from the direction of the out-house.

I would have followed them into the house had not a harsh voice inquired whose young keep was poking dirty noses where it was not wanted. I was miffed to say the least, not for being called a dirt-nosed brat or a busy body but because the tone made me out to be invisible or of no import.

Knowing the voice as well, if not a little better than, its trouble making old hag owner, I forced my legs to disobey my heart’s desire and shuffled towards the sorrowful din.

My curiosity paid off as I almost ran smack into a large gathering of clearly worried neighbors. They were clustered under the shadowy branches of the large Udara tree that ruled that part of the compound, around the wailing relative, whose face was effectively hidden from view by a combination of rheumatoid thighs and tall bitter leaf plants.

I tried to draw into myself as much as I can, with the sole hope of escaping notice long enough to catch the general gist. I was clearly wishing for wings. Soon some of the women began to wrinkle their noses at me, voices got lower and lower that I could only catch a whispered word or two, just barely.

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