Through the small window, a moon as dull as a dozing lamp shines
hopelessly through the room. Dancing across the earthen walls are giant shadows
that seem to obey the wind-battering flame from the lamp behind the
three children eating on the raffia mat.
“Ajadi, your share is too big!” Lolade, an eight year-old
girl, yells at her elder brother.
“Lolade, is your own fish not bigger than mine, too?” snaps
Asake, the youngest child, holding out a
small portion of catfish. Lying in their middle is a plate of egusi soup and a leftover
of fufu wrapped in a leaf.
Meanwhile, on a small
stool behind them , Mojisola, a five year-old girl, is awaiting her mother who
had gone to buy foodstuff at oja ale,
the village night market. Her right hand rests beneath her jaw as she watches
the commotion between her step brother and sisters. Mojisola’s mother, Abeni, is the first wife
whose two children are handicapped - her
first child is deaf and dumb and the second one is an imbecile who dribbles
like a snail. Her husband, Aremu, had married the second wife having thought there
was no longer a good seed in her first wife, but Mojisola had proved him wrong
after the second wife already had two children.
Mojisola has been frowning in resentment at her step brothers and sisters ever since she
has sat there behind them. She dislikes the children because of their wicked mother,
Feyisara.
Yesterday , a creepy voice bounced from every side of her
mother’s room like the bark of thunder.
“Mo-ji-so-la!”
“Who is calling me?” she whined from the mat where she had
been taking a nap. “That is not Mama’s voice,” she thought aloud. That was the third
time she would hear the call.
With that, a spot on the wall started vibrating for some
moments until it began cracking, and in another moment, rippling vigorously
like a pool of water thrown by a piece of rock – the
ripples transformed into a cloud of whirling dust. Mojisola lay still on the mat, shutting her eyes
in fear. Rising to her feet was no longer an option as her back had already
stuck to the earth, and words froze in her mouth in all attempts to scream. In
a twist of a rattlesnake, the dust formed a gaping human mouth. Eventually the mouth melted down into a rectangular frame
from which a fade graffiti of a maiden, half human, half fish, unfolded as if from an ancient scroll.
The motionless image suddenly opened its mouth, “Don’t be
afraid, my daughter!”
Mojisola felt her heart butting against her chests as she
slowly opened her eyes. The bluish radiation from the creature’s eyes caused her to shield her eyes with her palms
like she usually did before squinting at the sun. Those eyes, to her, were two
separate suns.
“I am not your daughter!” Mojisola whimpered, not believing her
voice would escape from her throat this time.
“No mortal would ever hear you speak until I leave here, my
daughter,” a thunderous grin erupted from the creature’s throat, “I sent you to Abeni’s womb in order to take a
revenge. Now open your eyes, omoge omi – the maiden of the river.”
Reluctantly, Mojisola obeyed and
was surprised having a clear vision of a crowned beautiful queen, wiggling her clammy
tail in a flowing water that had appeared on the wall. Her eyes no longer
appeared as a sun – they were calm and attractive to behold like a full moon,
wreathes of green plants tied around her breasts. At the background of the
greenish river was a sun ray that was casting on Mojisola’s frightening figure
on the mat.
Mojisola thought she was dreaming or hallucinating until the
river goddess caused the water to spill over her like a gush from the valley.
She felt her body drench to the bone in the cold water, and she started
shivering like one suffering from iba. She was wondering, at that instant, if anyone would come into the room to save her
from this beautiful beast. To her utmost surprise, no one was coming. Her mother had gone to the
market and all other children were abroad, playing at the village square. There
was only an ear-striking silence.
This must be Yemoja, the queen of the river, Mojisola thought. Her mother would tell her and her cvfriends
the tale of tortoise and that of Yemoja. She never believed the creature was
real until then.
Yemoja revealed to
her that Feyisara had already cast a spell on her, which was expected to make
her a handicap seven days ’ time. Mojisola’s mouth flipped open in disbelief.
She was the same person who inflicted disabilities on Mojisola’s two brothers through
Akinrogun, a very powerful herbalist who recently turned to an iroko tree during
his death. Feyisara did all that in
order to win Aremu’s heart and off course she did. Akinrogun had hidden the children’s destinies
at the foot of a devilish rock in Aginju iberu, the forest of doom. Feyisara was happy when Akinrogun joined his ancestors,
for she knows no one on earth could ever heal the children. In Mojisola’s case,
she had visited another herbalist in the neigbouring village.
Yemoja then offered her left hand to Mojisola, willing her
to collect it. Yet, her heart was drumming fast as her hand inched closer and
closer. As soon as their hands met, a bluish radiation stood on Mojisola’s body
and, like that, the cold in her body was gone. Her heart became as solid as a grinding
stone. The water around her crawled quickly into the earth like a frightened snake.
“Now you are fortified, my daughter,” said Yemoja, as she
released Mojisola’s hand, “In three nights’ time, you have to journey to Aginju
iberu in order to break the two eggs which represent your brother’s destinies. When
you are about to go, slap the earth three times with your left hand and call OLOKUN
at each slap. With that, a replica of
you will stay at home while you find yourself in the heart of the forest.
Defend yourself against any obstacles with
your inner power and through your left palm you shall locate your destination.”
Having said that, she gradually fades into the wall and disappeared completely.
Mojisola breathes
with determination as Yemoja’s voice echoes through her head. Now she can hear
her mother’s voice at the verandah. She walks over to the thatched roof kitchen
to meet her. Standing quietly behind her mother, she shakes her head pitifully.
With a woven hand-fan Abeni keeps blowing air under the pot of soup while rubbing
her eyes painfully from the smoke. Mojisola
believes the firewood is wet for the rainy season. She widens her eyes which
then emit a blue aura that causes yellow flames to crawl out from under the firewood
like infant serpents. In a moment, the wood explode with wild flames, making
the slender sticks to crackle relentlessly.
“Well done, Mama.”
A smile creeps across
Abeni’s cheeks as she turns around to see her little daughter.
“Where are your brothers?” Abeni asks, and before Mojisola
could give a response a shrill cry murders the silence of the night.
The noise is coming from her husband’s room. It is Feyisara
again. This time she is dragging one of Abeni’s son on the ground while cursing
and hissing like an infuriated cobra. Mojisola
doesn’t know the cause of the commotion this time, but she believes it’s something
deceptive as usual. Countless times Feyisara had beaten Mojisola under false
accusations.
“So, you are here, and this your snail child went to open my
husband’s meal!”
Abeni feels rage
whirling in her head at Feyisara’s mischief. It is almost an everyday fit for
both of them. Abeni doesn’t care to know the reason why she must draw her child
on the ground like a sack of refuse. She charges at her to escape her son from
her grip. Mojisola roots to the spot innocently. Aremu must be at his friend’s
place two neighborhoods away. Feyisara only regards the presence of her
husband. Then like swarm of ants, the villagers gather at the scene with lamps
in their hands and, at once, the darkness depart to give way to patches of pale
orange glow. They eventually succeed in
separating the two angry fowls. But Feyisara doesn’t stop throwing curses on
Abeni and her children. At last Aremu arrives at the scene. Somebody had gone
to call him immediately the noise broke out. As usual, he expresses his
gratitude to the neigbours and politely asks them to leave for their respective
homes. Later in the night, Aremu reproaches the two women equally as much as he
knows that Feyisara is the pest. He had regretted marrying her, long time ago,
but didn’t show it.
****
The little Mojisola rises from the mat beside her mother,
and with the door still closed, she disappears and appears back at the corridor
and again flits to the backyard in humming bird’s pace. This very night the
moon had refused to grace the night, making it impossible to figure out any
shape in the sky. Some of the villagers set bonfire in their compound to subdue
the cold and the blinding darkness. The only sound that seems to shake the
still air is the distant hoot of owls. She barely slaps the earth the third
time when a gust of over-shadowed wind grazes past her skin; her replica tears out
of her body and fades away. Her own figure becomes pale before diminishing with a flash.
****
Once she reappears in the wilderness she feels her body
increase gradually until she finally transforms into a maiden of nineteen. She
sees nothing but masses of shapeless darkness – except for the occasional
flashes from the dead blue sky. The red flames that suddenly erupts at either side
of her position startles her a bit. That is when she becomes aware of her whereabouts.
The fires are burning on the wet undergrowth along her way. She is standing on a narrow pathway under a canopy
of ancient trees. From the distance thunder continues to roar like a frustrated
lion, fingers of wild lightning slapping on the vicinity at each sound of
thunderclap.
Pita…pata…pita…pata…pata – hailstones approaching from the
distance, counting with Mojisola’s heartbeat, for she is unable to move her
feet; neither can she invoke her inner force. The flames on the shrubs
disappear again, giving way to clumping blackness. She tries to verify her
destination in her palm. Nothing, but blankness.
“What brought you into this sacred land, young goddess?” a menacing
voice echoes through her ears from behind.
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