In the gap running through the crowd, a long line of women stood on offer, one behind the other like sacrifices to a God. The king himself sat in an exquisitely crafted chair made from ancient teak wood, flanked by his royal priest on one side and a member of the court council on the other. You could not tell how old the Oba was from looking at him but his black skin shone and his head seemed too big for his body. The wrapper he wore was heavily embroidered with a frill overlaid by a waistband sash with tassels. He had royal iwu tattoos on both arms that Adesua was too far away to see in detail.
As the family tentatively moved to the front, the procession of dancers began to navigate through the room. People clapped along as they wiggled and shook body parts, drawing admirable glances and whoops of encouragement. By the time they had worked their way to the back, the councilman beside the king stood up and held his hand out for silence.
“You!” he said pointing to Adesua, “come forward and introduce yourself to the king.”
Adesua walked towards them “I am Adesua sir.”
“And where have you come from?” the councilman asked.
“Ishan.”
“Tell us what you have brought as a gift for the king and why you would make a good wife.”
“I brought a pot of nmebe soup and I would make a fine wife because one day I’m going to be the best hunter in all of Edo.”
The crowd burst into laughter and the other wives giggled. Adesua turned to see that Papa had his hands on his head and Mama was trying not to smile. After the laughter died, the councilman looked to the king. He was sitting forward in his chair and studying Adesua as if she were a rainbow piercing through the heart of the sky.
Condition Make Crayfish Bend
If during his time as king Oba Anuje had been an unwavering rock that even tidal waves bowed to, his son Odion was not. Anuje had sowed the first seeds of inadequacy in Odion when on picking him up as a newborn he had wrinkled his nose as if the child smelled rotten. When the baby curled its lips and let out a wail as most babies do when born, Anuje seemed to take it as a personal affront and declared, “This child is useless,” then handed the baby back to its perplexed mother.
Nobody in the palace knew why Anuje hated his son Odion. He had many children from various wives, some whom he loved, some he tolerated. But his reaction to his fourth son was as strange as an antelope mating with a hare. When Odion was a boy he did everything he could to gain his father’s approval. He won wrestling matches, attempted to squash any signs of rebellion from villagers who didn’t want to pay their annual tributes, he solved riddles Anuje liked to set to amuse himself. All to no avail, Odion was not even a crumb on his father’s plate. Through the years, he longed for his father’s approval.
Sometimes when Odion dozed at night, he imagined that a Mammy Water with her big tail wriggled into his head through his ear and like a broom sweeps dirt, swept away the faults his father saw, leaving behind multi-coloured scales that glittered like rare gems. Despite this, Odion continued to suffer under his father’s hand haunted by one dream; a human heart swelling, then shrinking on a copper plate engraved in a foreign language and his father eating the heart with his bare hands before releasing his bloody mouth to the kingdom’s sky. He never asked Anuje to whom that heart belonged.
Years later Odion, now a young man, stumbled on Anuje in one of his rooms, clutching at his throat and gesturing wildly for help. Aware in that moment of being the only person his father needed and the only one who could help him Odion stood rooted to the spot, basking in his father’s weakness. Something exchanged between father and son that was worse than death tapping you on the shoulder. Anuje had been poisoned. Fully aware his son had no intention to help; with his last breath he cursed him.
After Anuje returned to the ground, flesh to dust, Odion was left still chasing a ghost. And even as king he heard the mocking laughter of his father’s ghost sneaking through the gaps in the palace gates and laying claim to the Oba’s chair.
And so against the advice of the head councilman and private berating of his priest, Odion insisted on marrying Adesua. “Such insolence Oba! She is not fit for marriage and will embarrass the palace. Think of your reputation!” Odion could no more explain his choice of a new bride as he could the desire that drove him to be king. Seeing her for the first time reminded him of a stalk that refused to be bent by the wind and for reasons unknown to him he equated such strength of character to mean loyalty. Adesua bid goodbye to everything she knew. To days spent exploring and wondering where her adventurous feet would take her, to nights around a fire listening to her father’s stories while Mama threw in a word here and there. Goodbye to old friendships and maybe blossoming new ones.
Her village rejoiced, their daughter had been chosen. If Adesua, a beautiful young woman, but one who walked purposefully rather than swung her hips to catch a young man’s eye and preferred playing with animals to learning recipes, could become queen, then there was hope for all their daughters! But there was a muted uproar, too. Within the palace walls vicious whispers circulated amongst courtiers, noblemen and women like a plague amidst its victims. Preparations were made to celebrate the king’s new bride under what struck Adesua as false jollity. Some people smiled but were not really happy. Others seemed to welcome her with open arms but their embraces left her cold.
In the days before the wedding Adesua paced the palace floors with a lump in her throat no amount of spit swallowing would push down. She wished her Papa and Mama had never brought her to the ceremony but wishing could not erase what had already come to pass. In the palace walls something dark hatched in the stomachs of hungry creatures growing small, ambitious tentacles, whispering to body organs at night. Adesua prayed and pleaded with the Gods, feeling like a small stone catapulted into a dense forest.
During the night before the wedding, after pre-celebrations had slowed to a close and the trees sunburnt leaves still trembled with the last notes of music, Oba Odion wound his way through the back routes of the palace. Benin was beautifully shrouded in a feverish orange glow, as if the lines of the buildings would shift beneath his touch and the copper birds on the turreted roofs had returned from secret journeys, pressing their newly inherited irises against a darkening skyline and lining the rooftops with small spoils visible only in a certain light.
Clutching an empty green bottle of palm wine, Oba Odion stumbled along, an almost comical figure. His large belly stuck out, he followed its rumblings, occasionally looking down, patting it affectionately. He could smell the palm wine on his own breath, could feel the looseness and lightness of his tongue, as though it would shoot out and keep the rooftop birds company, or trace a coming dawn with saliva before being swallowed by its pale mist.
Oba Odion raised the bottle to his lips, thinking of the new road to Benin he’d instructed his workers to start building. Not only would it lead to more trade for Benin but it meant labour for some of the people of the kingdom, who repeatedly came to the palace begging for scraps. Who knew what that road would bring to Benin’s gates? Arching his neck, he spoke to the bottle. “Go and tell the world about Oba Odion! Tell them the wonders I can do!” He flung the bottle. It landed in a gnarly patch of shrubbery, neck jutting out, and ready to catch tiny silvery cracks winding their way towards it.
When the Oba arrived at Omotole’s quarters she was naked, and voluptuous. He knelt before her in the warm dark room, reached for her waiting body. He traced the line of sweat snaking between her breasts greedily with the remnants of the wine from the mouth of the green bottle. He did not tell her about seeing her spread-eagled on that new road and that the copper palace rooftop birds had passed through her womb in a blurry blue light that rendered a person temporarily blind. Instead he stuck his face deep into the folds of Omotole’s bountiful breasts and told his mind to quiet down. Meanwhile Adesua the new bride paced her quarters, unaware of the slow erosion eating through the virgin movements her silhouette shared or that bits of the red trail had found its
way into the Oba’s thrown bottle.
On her wedding day Adesua was struck by two things: that life would never be the same again and secondly, it would always be divided into sections: life before and life after the wedding. The day itself rolled in as if reluctant and with the pace of a snail. The palace roused with a gentle hum that turned into a buzz of activity on discovering Oba Odion had gone missing. Adesua heard the news through her personal servant, a young woman with tribal markings on her arms who stammered slightly. She bore a cut above her left eye and her small frame belied a sturdy strength of character.
Her name was Etabi and it was she who burst through the wide door of Adesua’s living quarters as if a flame had been set on her backside. “Mistress! Mistress! The Oba is nowhere to be seen,” she said, out of breath having run all the way from the servants building. There she had heard it from one of the noblemen’s servants, who in turn had eavesdropped on his master’s conversation with one of the councilmen and took it as his duty to spread it to any equally lowly person within the palace grounds.
On hearing this good news Adesua had to stop herself from jumping up and down. She smiled and it was wrapped in sunshine and nearly threw her arms around the servant as they went through the motions of dressing her for the day. Throughout she hoped this meant her predicament would change. She fantasised that the reality of having her as a new wife had troubled Oba Odion so much it had given him stomach ache and he was crumpled in a heap somewhere. Or that he was in a secret meeting with one of his advisers who was doing such a good job of persuading him to send her back home, that by the following day, she would be back in her village trying to outrun her shadow and making stupid bets with some of the elders. By the time she was fully dressed, Etabi fuelled by both instinct and excitement said “Mistress, this is the happiest I’ve seen you in days.”
This happiness was fleeting because a few hours later, the king finally arrived for his wedding. Caught up in the excitement that ensued as for the whole palace, the moment they had all so long anticipated was finally here, they prepared to produce the most impressive wedding any of them had ever witnessed, for their Oba Odion. Adesua waited anxiously as Odion approached her. He was unsteady on his feet and rocked slightly from side to side and for the entire ceremony appeared as if impatient for it to be finished. His breath was wine-soaked and intoxicated words tripped off his tongue. Adesua felt her nails digging into her palms; it reminded her she was alive because throughout the wedding, it was as though she was not there but rather in the crowd of guests somewhere, watching a frightened young woman being dragged into what looked like a steep grave. She watched the unfamiliar faces surrounding them. She resented the pitiful glances that came so frequently. It was hard to miss Papa’s nervous shuffle and Mama’s wringing hands.
The celebrations went on for a while, till the sun and moon swapped greetings as the moon took charge of overseeing the proceedings. It shone over the courtiers who speculated on the Oba’s whereabouts earlier in the day, and the tailors and craftsmen who marvelled at the coolness of the new bride whom they had all hoped would crumble a little to make the spectacle even more amusing.
Darkness wasn’t just outside, it waited for Adesua in the king’s chamber.
Under the force of his clammy body and his insistent tongue in her mouth, Adesua’s innocence was taken.
She’d finally become a wife in the truest sense of the word.
After the deed was done the Oba relaxed on Adesua’s chest, his own rising and falling in the satisfying comfort of a deep slumber while his snores slid off her cold shoulders and escaped through the ceiling into the night. With all her might Adesua shoved him off her grateful body and listened as he rolled over and fell to the floor. He did not get up and the only move she made was to turn her long frame to the opposite side. Meanwhile a tiny spider crawled onto her heart. It sat comfortably and arranged its slightly crooked legs. It sipped a little blood.
The next morning Adesua woke to an empty bedchamber. To the smell of stale sweat clinging to the air as if they were lovers too. The sound of unfamiliar voices loitering in the palace grounds gave her no comfort, instead it was a reminder that today was the beginning of a new life. She longed for her Mama and Papa and for the yesterday she once knew that was now napping in her village. She felt a throbbing at the juncture of her thighs and an ache that ran through to her stomach before pausing in her chest. She touched the inside of her left thigh and felt dried blood. She rubbed it hard, then harder, as if to wipe away the night before.
Oba Odion’s face swam in the waters of her head, his full bottom lip dropped down and arms stretched out of his mouth like branches with open palms. She sat up and shook the vision away with the vigour of an angry father shaking a stubborn child. She counted her toes as if she didn’t know how many she had. She stroked her smallest toe; it leaned against the other toe like an anxious sibling vying for support. She studied her feet, soft front hard back. Soft front hard back, she spoke the word out like a chant. These were the feet that had carried her through the yolk of childhood and into the bowels of adulthood, along a road that appeared to have no ending. And into a clearing of thorns disguised as eager smiles and forced jubilation. It had brought her here; where betrayal slapped you awake and waited patiently while you dressed. The voices outside grew louder. But outside could have been inside and inside outside because she was thinking of her feet, soft front hard back. She wanted to cut them off.
Once again Oba Odion went to his hiding place, between the soft folds of flesh of his Omotole. Whenever he laid his head to rest on her generous breasts, the howl of wild beasts could not drag him away. He forgot about rebellious villagers who needed to be made examples of and the nagging doubts of members of his council with selfish interests. He forgot about the invisible rope that hung around his neck daily.
Omotole was the daughter of a nobleman who had travelled to Benin in search of fortune and prosperity. He did not find prosperity but found fortune in the form of a bow-legged, light skinned beauty who thought after she spoke and was never really made for motherhood. She bore him five children and each time she gave birth a little part of her seemed to die. Omotole was her last born and the Oba believed she schemed her way out of her mother’s womb. What she lacked in looks she more than made up for with her wily ways.
It was Omotole who had devised the plan to snare more villages outside Benin to increase the kingdom and Omotole who whispered the idea of a fresh bride to confuse the greedy noblemen who resided in the royal court. If Oba Odion had his wish, he would have dismissed some of the council and appointed Omotole as one of his official advisers. But a woman could not be given such a coveted position and a king could not be openly seen to do such things. Omotole was dutifully rewarded for her contribution; the Oba was affectionate and of all the eight brides, she resided in the most comfortable quarters in the Queens’ palace, but to her, there was still more to be done and she knew that for her the Oba possessed an easily bent ear.
“Ah, tongues will be wagging that you have wickedly abandoned your new bride.” She said, tucking her legs between the Oba’s. They lay on a large leather mat that cushioned their bodies and their plans.
“Then let them wag, the girl should be grateful. Does she know how many young women would like to be the wife of a king?”
Omotole laughed coldly. “You should at least wait a few days before leaving her like that Odion, it is cruel and believe it or not, I sympathise a little.”
“Silence!” Oba Odion stood abruptly and tightened the dropping cloth around his waist.
“I thought this was what you wanted?” He reminded her.
“Yes but you must at least play the dutiful husband for sometime, let things settle eh?”
“Who is the king of Benin, you or me?”
She moved towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You are king, Oba of Benin and strong in your ways and will.”
As she settled her ample frame into his, Oba Odion p
arsed a single thought and it was this: that he envied simple men, with their simple ways and trivial problems. Yet again that night he abandoned his new wife and stayed in Omotole’s quarters. While they slept, the spirit of his father, Oba Anuje chuckled outside Omotole’s door. And knocked. Twice.
Wahala Don Wear Shoe
The fall of a great kingdom did not always start with war. Sometimes, it took a vicious wish shrouded by the hot breath of a bitter woman, or rebellious words broken out of the mouths of ambitious councillors desirous to form their own army, perhaps even the good intentions of a craftsman, locked in an arm wrestle with the voice of a king’s slain rival.
Ere was such a craftsman who had toiled in the service of Oba Odion for many years. He worked leather, clay, wood and brass. There was nothing his touch could not mould or caress into life and there was no royal emblem that Ere had not had a hand in since Oba Odion fought his way to rule over Benin. These included the crown, ritual swords, the throne, showpieces and art brass pieces he had created, to celebrate Benin and the power the Oba possessed. Oba Odion also had a wealth of weavers, carvers and potters who threw their backs into his biddings without the slightest hesitation. Ere did as he was told, how could he not? But despite being hailed as one of the finest craftsmen in the land, he was just a fleck of spit in the Oba’s river until surprising circumstances delivered a new assignment.
Two weeks after the Oba married Adesua a golden nugget dropped into his lap and propped his back straighter. Some of his soldiers had captured Ogiso, a rival of Oba Odion who had been plotting the end of the Oba’s reign and steadily gathering supporters in villages like Ego and others dotting the back end of Benin. Once upon a time Oba Odion and Ogiso had been boyhood friends. They had chased the same girls, run through the dirt tracks of unidentifiable animals and collapsed against each other many times under the influence of much food and drink at Igewhi festivals, the memories of which, as they grew older, weakened in their grips like a slippery rope. It pulled and they let go.
Butterfly Fish Page 5