by Odafe Atogun
Noah was made to work with very little rest. He weeded the land and planted and harvested every type of crop. I had taught him to be hard-working, but the work they gave him was far beyond him. And he could not give any excuse; he had to undertake all the work assigned to him.
‘On this farm, you’re not seven plus, you’re ten plus,’ Jaja would say to him. And so he made my son work like a mule.
The older boys – Loko and Luku, twelve and ten years of age, born of the same mother, the second of Jaja’s wives – were kind to Noah. They helped him out with his portion of farm-work, unknown to Jaja. And they made sure he got extra mangos and guavas, knowing that he must be famished and exhausted from working so hard.
Noah did not get along with Kela and Kolu – eight and nine – who were always trying to get him into trouble with Jaja on the farm and with their mother at home. Loko was the oldest of Jaja’s boys, and a carbon copy of his father, but his exact opposite by nature. He once said to Noah, ‘My biggest regret is looking so much like my father.’
‘But it doesn’t change the fact that you are a good person,’ Noah replied.
‘It’s the reason why I want to be a good person. I don’t want to be like him.’
Luku bore no resemblance to his father. He would say, ‘When I grow up, I will remain my father’s opposite in every way.’
But the younger boys adored their father, and they aspired to be like him.
Once, Loko had given Kela a heavy knock on the head for calling Noah an orphan. ‘He is not an orphan!’ Loko snapped at Kela. ‘Next time you call him an orphan you will see what I will do to you.’
Noah told Loko and Luku about the orphans he had encountered on the outskirts of the village. Loko said that they had met them a number of times. ‘I hope to build a home for orphans one day,’ Noah said.
‘It could get you into trouble with the Chief,’ Luku said uncertainly.
‘Somehow I will find a way to do it,’ Noah responded.
‘I hope you succeed,’ Loko said.
At night, when they were in bed, they spoke in whispers with Noah, asking him questions about Kpofe, and all that he had told him about the city.
‘Uncle Kpofe is a big man in the city,’ Noah told them.
‘Really?’ Luku said in amazement. ‘I’d love to be like him one day.’
‘He brought me a nice shirt from the city.’
‘Ah, so you’re now a city boy,’ Loko said in admiration.
‘Yes,’ Noah said proudly. ‘And one day I will join Uncle Kpofe in the city.’
‘Please don’t forget us when you get there.’
‘No, I won’t,’ Noah promised. ‘I’ll make sure you come to join me in the city, so you can protect me from the bigger boys there.’
Luku tightened his fist to show his muscles. ‘I’ll protect you,’ he said.
They lay in silence then, the moon pouring its light upon them through an open window, each dreaming about the distant city.
*
Noah’s story saddened me, especially the bit where Kela had called him an orphan. ‘You’re not an orphan,’ I had assured him. ‘You have me and will always have me.’
‘I know, Mother,’ he had responded happily.
We took short walks outside the compound now and then, with Jaja’s wives watching us like hawks. The Chief had warned me never to take Noah beyond that street. I knew that if I did, he would make sure that I was punished. He could even stop me from visiting my son, which would be devastating for both of us.
So when Noah begged me to take him home, I told him that the time had not come. I told him we would return before long, and then he could play with his friends again. And as I gave him these assurances, I prayed earnestly in my heart that the Chief would restore my rights soon.
*
The village was thrown into pandemonium early one morning, when a handful of town criers went round to announce that the Chief’s horse was sick to the point of death. Renowned herbalists were called, and they tried to cure the horse, but to no avail. Believing that his precious horse was going to die, the Chief also took ill. The priests invoked the gods, and the herbalists dispensed all manner of herbs known to them, but the Chief and his horse remained in a critical condition.
And then the Chief had a strange dream. In that dream, he saw a young child holding a device to which his heart and that of his horse were connected. The boy was sad, because he had been separated from his mother and all that he had ever known. He had no one to play with, and the device in his hand was all that he had. If he pressed the button on the device, the Chief and his horse would die. For a while, the boy fiddled dangerously with the device. And at the point when he was going to press the button, the Chief jumped awake.
All the wise men in the land were called upon to interpret the dream, and they all came up with the same interpretation. The Chief must repeal any extant law that separates mother and child, or else both he and his horse would die. The only such law that existed in the village was that which required widows to remarry or lose custody of their children.
Kpofe and I could not believe what was happening. It was as if the gods had finally chosen to take sides with us against the Chief. Or maybe it was the greater god that had taken control.
‘Will the Chief and his horse die?’ Noah asked, captivated by the buzz of excitement that had gripped the village.
Kpofe said with a laugh, ‘You tell us, are they going to die?’
Noah looked at him, puzzled. ‘I don’t know,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Then I think we should just wait and see.’ Kpofe laughed some more.
For days the Chief remained stubborn. But as his condition and that of his horse worsened, the priests warned him to act on the advice of the wise men. Eventually, the Chief repealed the law on his sickbed. The priests performed all the necessary rites and declared the law abolished. Now I was no longer compelled by law to remarry. And so I regained custody of my son at last!
Kpofe was very happy for us, but he felt sad that he must return to the city. We wept and begged him to stay, but we knew that he had to go, that his life was in the city now. So we took solace in the blessings his visit had brought us.
SEVEN
Kpofe was far away in the city now. We carried on quietly with our life in the village; and for many days I refused to let Noah out of my sight. When he was not on the farm with me, I sat in front of the house to watch him play with his friends, warning him not to go beyond our street. The kids gave him a rousing welcome. They showed him many things and told him of all that had happened while he was away. And they asked him many questions too, about life in his uncle Jaja’s house.
As time passed, I relaxed my watch over him, and he began to venture a little further with the other kids. On some nights, after we had eaten, he would recount stories of his adventures to me, with the lantern burning brightly in a corner. He said he had hooked up with Loko and Luku. Their relationship was thriving, but because the boys often went to a distant farm with their father, they seldom saw each other. Whenever they did, they had so much to talk about, and the boys wanted to know if he had any news from Kpofe.
Early one morning, several months after Kpofe had gone back to the city, the village woke up to the news that the Chief and his horse had regained their health. A feast that would last for a week commenced at the palace. And many went to eat and drink, and to dance to live music played by famous musicians.
On the second day of the feast, Chair-Lady led a colourful procession of female dancers through the village, singing songs of adoration to the gods, and praising the Chief, too, referring to him as the Chief of Chiefs. I watched from a window, and I could see Noah and several children screaming and jumping with delight in the street as the procession passed. The excitement was palpable; there was so much dust in the air, the like of which had never been experienced, even on Main Street. More and more women joined the procession; soon, it became an endless train of rapturous celebrants,
made almost invisible by dust.
In spite of the way I felt about the Chief, I smiled and laughed to myself. I watched the train until it was out of sight. And, with the dust gradually settling, I realised that Noah and all the kids had followed the procession.
I was happy that Noah was enjoying himself again. I felt certain that he would not go too far. I shrugged and went to the backyard to do some work. And as I worked, the distant voices of happy singers reminded me that the old Chief and his horse were alive. But thankfully, they were no longer a threat to my son and me. A faint smile touched my lips as I remembered Kpofe. I wondered what he was doing in the city at that moment. I thought of Eliza, the woman with whom he had found love. Somehow I sensed that she must be a good woman. I felt very happy for Kpofe.
I had just finished preparing dinner when Noah returned, covered with dust from head to toe. I could not help laughing when I saw him. He laughed too, and asked why I was laughing.
‘What happened to you? You’re covered with dust.’
He frowned and rubbed his palm over his head and face. ‘Oh!’ he cried, staring at his palm. ‘Everybody was singing and dancing, there was so much dust in the air.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Yes, it was! You should have seen it when some male drummers joined in. Everyone went wild.’
‘I can imagine,’ I said with interest. ‘Dinner is ready. Go and take a bath, then come and let’s eat.’
‘Okay, Mother,’ he replied and went into the bathroom, returning a little later.
He ate quietly. I could tell that he had something on his mind.
‘What’s bothering you?’ I asked, after I had done the dishes and we were relaxing in the living room.
‘I saw them again today,’ he said.
I sat up. ‘You saw who?’
‘The orphans,’ he said, looking away from me.
‘Don’t tell me you went to the outskirts again.’ I spoke in a measured voice, certain that he wouldn’t have flouted my instruction.
‘No, I didn’t. I saw them in the crowd. They came to collect remnants of food outside the palace. They chatted with me and asked when I would visit them again.’
‘And what did you tell them?’
‘I told them that I could not visit them because you have warned me not to go that far again. They were sad, and then they walked away from me.’
‘You did the right thing by telling them the truth,’ I said after a brief silence.
‘Mother, why can’t we invite them to visit us from time to time?’
‘We can’t,’ I said sharply.
‘Why not?’
‘Because we could get into trouble with the Chief if he found out.’
‘He’s a wicked Chief. I wish he had died!’ he snapped.
‘Don’t talk like that!’ I scolded him.
He got up and stalked off to his room.
For a while I just sat there, thinking about the plight of the orphans and wondering if I could take the risk of inviting them without getting into trouble with the Chief.
Later, I went to check on Noah in his room. He was fast asleep.
*
For days, after the celebration had ended, the smell of dust lingered in the air. The village looked drained from all the excitement that had passed and it fell back to the tedium of sluggish commerce. Now the days were much longer, the sun burned harsher, and the heat seemed to stretch the nights. I worked more on the farm and Noah went out more.
And then one day, it suddenly occurred to me that my son was growing up and becoming more independent – he was almost eight now. For a while, this realisation both gladdened and saddened me. And then I accepted that it was a good thing. I thought that it was time for me to go back to Main Street. Although I had not heard from Chair-Lady since she last visited me, I had no doubt that she would welcome me with open arms. I discussed my intention with Noah. He was excited about it, and he encouraged me to go back. But for days I could not summon the courage to reach out to Chair-Lady.
I was surprised when Duka visited me one afternoon, bringing me some fish. He smiled and begged me to accept them. I took the fish and invited him to take a seat. As I studied his youthful face, I thought he looked much darker in complexion and a little leaner.
‘How is Noah?’ he asked.
‘He’s very well. He has gone out to play.’
‘I’m glad that he’s doing well.’ He paused.
I stayed silent.
‘You’re a very strong woman,’ he continued. ‘The Chief turned the whole village against you, but you prevailed in the end. You’re truly a strong woman. I’m glad that you stayed true to your heart. By so doing, you have succeeded in changing a bad law.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.
‘That afternoon you called out to me for help,’ he said and looked away, ‘I should have done something to help, but I didn’t have the courage. You know the consequences of disobeying the Chief.’
‘Of course I do. Please don’t blame yourself.’ I gave him a kind smile.
We chatted for a while, and then he rose up to go. ‘Let me know whenever you need more fish,’ he said.
‘Thank you for coming,’ I said. ‘I really appreciate the fish.’
He nodded and left.
*
I saw Duka’s visit as an omen. So I went to see Chair-Lady, and I told her that I was ready to return to Main Street. At first she could not believe it. And then, realising that I was serious, she screamed in delight and hugged me. And, leading me by the hand into the street, she announced to the world: ‘Ese is coming back!’
She sang and danced through the village, holding my hand, compelling me to dance along with her. Other women joined us. Children scampered all over the place, screaming with delight, even though they did not quite understand what was going on. Some boys took to acrobatics, drawing wild applause and shouts of approval. The fanfare raised an incredible amount of dust. By the time the whole excitement died down, everyone was thoroughly exhausted.
I bought back my stall from the woman to whom I had sold it, and Chair-Lady instructed the farmers to ensure that I got a regular supply of vegetables. A message was taken to the merchants that I had returned. A few markets later, they showed up. Once more, they commiserated with me over the loss of my husband. I thanked them for their show of love, and I expressed my delight that they had come back to our market.
The merchants came with a young man called Toya. They said he was an artist, and he wore his shirt with the sleeves rolled up. As everyone milled about the market, buying and selling, Toya found a quiet spot and painted on a large board. When he finished, he presented the painting to the merchants and they showed it to all of us. Toya had taken artistic liberties, placing me in the centre of the painting while the market buzzed around me. There I was, tall and slim and beautiful; not light, brown or light-brown, a bemused expression on my face. I was used to seeing myself in a small mirror, but never had I seen myself as a whole, the way I was in Toya’s painting, which he titled Ese.
Deep in the background, I noticed the indistinct face of a handsome man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Tanto, gazing with a faint smile, as if observing the rest of the scene. I wondered how Toya had managed to picture Tanto’s face. I was overcome by memories, and for a few moments I felt sad.
Everyone admired Toya’s work and wondered at my beauty; and all agreed that Toya was a god in human form. Never had we seen anyone who could bring people to life. Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice the handsome young man in the background, and I saw no need to point him out to them. I was the heart of the painting, and so the focus of all their attention.
The High Priest carved a special spot in the village shrine – naming it the Shrine of Toya – where anyone seeking artistic inspiration could go to meditate. And with my consent, the painting was kept there. Toya blessed the shrine with his presence and left with the merchants when the market closed for the day. All of us had contribute
d money to pay Toya for his work.
Market after market, Main Street was a hive of activity again, and the dust in the air was more than before. Our economy slowly picked up, putting us back on the map. The merchants were happy, everyone was happy. But my family, my in-laws and the old Chief remained cold towards me.
*
Noah went with me to Main Street on market-days. He gave me a hand with bits and pieces before running off to play. He came back whenever he was hungry, and soon after eating, he took off again. I had got him a ball from a young merchant called Bisco, who often boasted of his journeys to the big city. Football became a passion for Noah and his friends. Soon, a few other children got balls of their own, and football became a popular sport in our village. They played it without rules. The dust they raised on the playground was more than that of Main Street.
My neighbours became friendly towards me again. Chair-Lady was now a regular visitor to my house, and some of our traders’ union meetings took place in my compound.
‘I’d like to groom you as my successor,’ Chair-Lady told me.
‘I’m sure that when you take over, Main Street will become more prosperous than ever.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said with modesty.
‘I can begin to plan my retirement,’ she said and laughed.
‘No, no, not so soon,’ I told her. ‘You still have many more years at the helm yet.’
‘We shall see.’
*
Prior to each market-day, I would spend so much time negotiating and coordinating deliveries from the farmers. I was busier than ever before, but thankfully, it did not affect Noah. Instead, it gave him the opportunity to do his own thing with his friends. He was becoming a legend on the football field. Bisco had introduced some rules to them. Now they played on a field with a goalpost at each end. Noah told me he was a striker, that he was a menace to many defenders. On the few occasions that I went to watch him play, I was astounded by his mastery of the game.
One evening, he came home sad. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that the orphans who lived on the outskirts had wanted to play football with them but his friends would not allow them. He had pleaded on their behalf, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. And so the orphans left.