LAND OF CHAOS 2

                                                                         

   CHAPTER 2

Few days later, Ajao was haunted by the thought that had always grieved him and his entire clans.  For over eight market eight days which was equivalent to two moons, three of his relatives had been jailed by Adejobi, the king of Igida. He kept heaving a distressful sigh on the reclining bamboo chair at the verandah. The shade of the mango tree that bowed over him was glaring for the sunny afternoon. Ajao, although, still in his early sixties, had bushy grey hair and beards which gave him a sage look. His father, Kajola, who was in his late nineties had a white beard and bald head, but father and son were both dark-skinned. Kajola would stay indoors until the sun began to cast long shadows.

Two among Ajao’s captive relatives were middle-aged women, palm-oil makers. On that fateful day, King Adejobi was cruising around the village on the white royal horse with four guards. The moment he rode across where the two women were crushing palm-kernels with mortals and pestles, they were too absorbed in their works. The sound of their tools seemed to have deafened them. More so, they were standing with their backs facing the road. They would definitely see him if their position was otherwise. Any royal folk must be acknowledged with the word, “Dans’aki o” or “Sa’aki o,” two of which represented “Your highness.” Such salutation must be accompanied with a bow. 

So when Adejobi passed by, the women failed to salute him. Later on that day he sent  his warriors to arrest them. Before the warrior could jail them, they almost tortured them to their graves. 

The other captive was a farmer. Adejobi sent his warriors to him that he wanted to make use of his farmland to build a new house for one of his relatives. He had given the man three days to vacate the farmland. On the third day, after the man had harvested all his ripe and unripe crops, the warriors came to survey the land. The warriors reported to Adejobi that nobody was on the land, but it had been cleared of all crops. Adejobi asked them to arrest the man. He said he never asked him to harvest the crops. The farmer’s arguments  was to no avail. Adejobi asked his warriors to tie him to a tree and whip him until his body streamed with blood.

“Should I bring your food Baba?” Ayoka’s voice ran into Ajao’s thought.

“Yes,” he answered and coughed hoarsely, “firstly, you have to get me a calabash of palm wine from Arowosaye.” 

Ayoka curtsied as she collected two cowries and the gourd in which the palm wine would be sold. She hurried out of the compound. Ayoka, a slim fair girl of eighteen, was the daughter of Ajao’s late cousin, Layeni, who used to live in their family house in the next neighbourhood. She had been staying with Ajao a year after she lost her father through a snake-bite on his farm. Ayoka’s mother had died of depression a year after Layeni’s death. 

Just as Ayoka left the compound, Ajao’s best friend, Adesina, appeared from afar with his little pretty daughter called Kokumo. Adesina was Ajao’s childhood friend. As soon as Ajao saw him, he sat up from his reclining position; his bitterness was quickly masked with a smile. 

Ajao began calling out for Ayoka. He wanted to ask her to bring a bench for his guests. He had called her thrice before realizing he just sent her on an errand.

“Baba, she is not in!” Akin responded from the threshold.

Ajao observed the rate of his absent-mindedness since he had been weighed down by the thought of his imprisoned kinsmen.

 “You can bring a bench for our two precious visitors,” Ajao said to Akin.

Akin looked straight ahead and saw more than two visitors. In fact, the rest of the visitors were seven in number. They were tying white wrappers, and each of them had three perpendicular marks on their foreheads and chins. Four of them were fair-skinned, and the other three were dark in complexion, but they were all beautiful with their chubby bodies. They were following excitedly beside Kokumo like chicks from the same hen.

Akin almost corrected his father that they had nine visitors altogether. He quickly restrained himself once he observed that the other visitors were shadowless in spite of the harsh sun, and some of them seemed to walk above the ground.

According to Adeshina, Kokumo was an abiku—she was the fourth female child her mother had given birth to. The first daughter, Arike, died after two market days and the second, Omotoyosi, had lived but a year. 

When her mother gave birth to the third child, they became suspicious and Adeshina had consulted a medicine man who assured him he had provided a sacrifice to appease her spiritual friends. Three white goats and a big gourd of palm oil were used for the sacrifice. They had named her Kukoyi (death has spared this). The child lived for 6 years before she died off again like a quenched lamp.

 Before naming Kokumo, they had summoned a more powerful herbalist who prepared a concoction with vulture, eko and excess palm oil, and asked the mother to carry it to an intersection during the mid-night. The herbalist recommended the parent to name her Kokumo(this wouldn’t die) She started to experience dizziness when she was six; the herbalist then wore her amulet that would prevent her spiritual friends from taking her away. Meanwhile, Adesina had thought of marrying another wife if that would be the solution.  According to Ifa, he was not destined to marry more than one wife. If his first wife was still alive, he must not dare betroth another woman, otherwise he was going to face a terrible consequence.

Akin had once overheard Adeshina telling his father that Kokumo had become mentally retarded. Kokumo loved playing ‘Suwe’. It was a game that involved drawing a divided rectangular mark on the ground. Children would hop over the lines with little stone on the back of their hands. If the stone fell off in the process, the player would be disqualified. It was children’s game, mostly played by two players and above. Adeshina had told Ajao that his daughter would play alone and speak to herself.

Akin brought out the longest bench they had in the house.

“You should’ve brought out the smaller one,” Ajao said, “this one is meant for many visitors?”

“I think this would be suitable.” Akin said.

“Don’t return it in case another visitor arrives,” Ajao said to Akin who was aiming to return the bench for a smaller one. The benches were all arranged together at one end of the verandah.

Before sitting down, Adeshina recited Ajao’s lineage panegyric for what seemed like a lifetime, for that was a normal act among the Yoruba elders, especially during a visit. Kokumo fell to her knees before Ajao.

 Ajao patted Kokumo’s back and began abiku’s song of praise.

“Child, don’t put us to disgrace, 
 Child, accept our plea 

Mother’s tears is not a river

Let our hoe rest from planting infant tuber of yams

My child, do accept our plea…”

Kokumo smiled shyly, sitting innocently beside her father. Those words were not new to her. She had heard different versions of them from her mother and the villagers, but she thought her life didn’t belong to her. It belonged to her fate. 

“I have come to see you.” Adeshina started, “Kokumo’s sickness is getting out of hand day by day. I have become a laughing stock; some people address me as father of a lunatic. I have consulted almost all the herbalists; each of them would request for big gourd of palm oil and goats for sacrifice. Yet Kokumo never stopped her mysterious acts….”

Adesina continued pouring out his grievances. Ajao was touched by his friend’s predicament. But what could he do about what almost all herbalists had found difficult?  He knew that Adeshina had not purposely come to him for a remedy, but they would never hide anything from each other. Ajao cleared his throat to halt his endless complaint.

“De-shi-na,” Ajao called his name with emphasis, “as we all know, many words do not fill a basket on the farm. Let us strike at the point; what is the next step on this issue?”

Meanwhile, Akin had overheard his father’s friend. He had been straining his ears at one corner of the threshold. He felt so much for Adeshina. He noted the grief and anguish that weighed on his tone.

Akin came outside under the pretext of sharpening his axe by a huge stone, not far away from the mango tree. He observed the spirits around Kokumo. One sat on her laps comfortably. Some were floating above her as if there was an invisible seat in the air, and others were seated on the bench with their jaws burying in their palms. Adeshina was now speechless. He used to be a plump good-looking man. Now sorrow had sucked him dry to a gaunt old man with sunken cheeks. His long neck drooped, his eyes almost escaping from their sockets. And he was not very advanced in age. He was in his early late fifties. However, Ajao looked younger than him.

 Both friends were now in utmost silence, tilting their heads.      

                                 

“I don’t pity your father one bit,” one of the spirits broke the silence. 

“Me either,” responded another.

“I only pity your mother,” remarked the one on her laps, “she is suffering over the evil she had no hand in.”

Akin heard their discussion loud and clear, but the two men couldn’t hear nor see them.

A wise thought came into Akin’s mind. He wanted to speak with the spirits to inquire the reason why they had been pestering the man and his wife. 

“Kokumo!  Won’t you come and play with me?” Akin said, smiling from where he was sharpening his axe.

“Go and play with Akinlabi,” Adeshina urged her, and then directed his speech to Akin. “You know she can’t come here without playing with you.”

The spirit on Kokumo’s laps sprang to her feet. Kokumo wore a blissful smile as she walked elegantly to Akin. She sat gently on a small trunk lying beside him. Akin pretended as if he didn’t see the spirits that huddled around her.

“How’re you?” Akin asked in a low tone.

“I’m fine,” Kokumo responded shyly, her eyes narrowing invitingly.

“If you’re fine, why do you always talk to yourself instead of talking to your friends in the neighbourhood? Don’t you have a friend at all?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, fondling with her wrapper, “I don’t like playing with any one.”

“So you prefer speaking to yourself?”

“Yes.” she nodded.

“Don’t you think it’s a bad trait?”

She was speechless, staring on the ground.

“Why can’t you give a reply?” One of the spirit asked, “You can just hiss and walk out on him.”  

“That would be so rude for her age,” cautioned another, “she can simply excuse herself from him.” 

“If he doesn’t stop questioning you, we should teach him a lesson,” said yet another.

 Akin thought of how he would speak to the spirits without arousing the suspicion of his father and Adesina. He then asked Kokumo to help him with a calabash from the firewood yard. Akin went after her almost immediately.

“Now, tell me. Why are you tormenting your parents?” 

“I’m not tormenting them.”

“Why can’t you tell your friends to let you be,” Akin said, pointing fingers at them.

The spirits stared at one another in wonderment; Kokumo’s mouth flipped open in surprise.

“Where did you get your own power?” The spirits chorused insolently.

“From the god of my ancestors, Shango.” Akin said firmly, unruffled by their manners.

One of the spirits above him sighed and nodded her head, “So, what do you want from us?”

“I want you to have mercy on Kokumo’s parents” 

“We are merciless children!” chorused the spirits, except Kokumo, “the only remedy is for the woman to leave her husband, so that she can bear her own child.”

“What about the man?” Akin asked.

 One of them sighed and said, “He is reaping the devilish seed his father had planted.” 

Akin was surprised seeing small children whose age couldn’t have exceeded ten to twelve years acting and talking like wise old women. 

“I wish you could make that clear to me.” He said.

Many years ago, one of the spirits began, there lived a good-hearted priest in this village who never misinterpreted  ifa’s revelations for unnecessary sacrificial offers. One fateful day, his middle-aged wife, three children, and a son-in-law became the victims of a stormy river from a boat-sail to a journey. His granddaughter, Ojuolape, was the only survivor in the fatal incident. Despite the misfortune, the priest was faithful. He said foul words to neither his personal gods nor Eledumare, the god of creation. He had been pleased with his surviving granddaughter as a compensation.

Adeshina’s father, Akanbi, became Ojuolape’s boyfriend. Ojuolape was eighteen while Akanbi was in his late twenties. Akanbi made a vow to Ojuolape that he would be her future husband if she could let him break her virginity. Meanwhile, Ojuolape had promised her grandfather that she would make up for all his losses by getting betrothed to a man that would take care of him. Akanbi’s father was a prosperous farmer.

There was a day Ojuolape was with Akanbi along his father’s farm. She persuaded him to be patient till their wedding night. 

“A fiancé does not crane his neck to peek at his wife’s nakedness in the bathroom,” Ojuolape had said to him, “You are my future husband; you don’t need to be in a haste to taste what might later become tasteless to you.”

“Never would you become tasteless to me, Oju’ola!” retorted Akanbi, “If I can have you, no other woman on earth will attract me. It is only death that can strip off the skin of a goat; nothing can separate both of us other than death.”

Ojuolape remained adamant, but Akanbi said many other persuasive words that made her succumb. He made her believe that she would never be humiliated as a deflowered maiden during their wedding night.

According to the tradition, during the wedding night, a piece of white fabric would be spread over the bed on which the couple would make love, while the groom’s relatives would be waiting outside. If the white cloth hadn’t been stained with crimson, the bride would be humiliated and sent back to her parent in the morning. So, they would present to the bride aroko, an iconic sign, which might take a form of a half-chewed chewing stick or, the worst of all, a baseless basket that would be worn around her to show that her thing was no longer a narrow path. The groom’s parents would accompany the bride to her home to get back their bride-price items. No humiliation was greater than this.

Akanbi assured Ojuolape that he would stain the white cloth with a red pigment for her. With that, her mind was at rest and they made love in the bush.

 Two months after, Ojuolape informed Akanbi about her pregnancy and besought him to hasten the wedding before the pregnancy became obvious.

Akanbi became angry, claiming that another man must have slept with her after him. Ojuolape regretted her action and wept earnestly. Meanwhile, Akanbi had promised marriage to another woman, the daughter of a particular chief. In order to retain the lady, Akanbi later gave Ojuolape a poisoned soup and pounded yam under the pretext of being caring over the pregnancy. Ojuolape died in pains immediately she arrived home.

The priest got to know the murderer by staring prophetically at Ojuolape’s left palm. 

“Eledumare o!”  The priest had yelled angrily into the sky, blinking his eyes to suppress his tears. “Wicked human has taken the life of my only hope…I don’t want to send the thunder of shango or seek the wrath of Ogun. I don’t want to put judgment in my own hands! I want this young man and his offspring to experience sorrow and misery that surpass mine. I am done on earth!” With that, the priest also drank a poison.

Akin heaved a sigh, his eyes threatening tears over the old man’s fate.

“Akanbi and his wife died in a fire outbreak,” said another spirit, “Adeshina is the only child of Akanbi, and he will never bear any child till his death.”

“We are the most ruthless abiku,” said one of them, “because we can never live.  Some abiku children might still live after many sacrifices. We are the retribution of Eledumare, and we have come to inflict pains and misery on Adeshina. Kokumo is going with us on the next market day.”

At that moment Adeshina called Kokumo. Akin held her right hand and accompanied her to her father.

“We are going home,” said Adeshina, “she is coming to play with you again after the next market day. Or you are going to marry Akin?” 

 She smiled broadly and nodded her head childishly in agreement.

“She is already my wife.” Akin teased back.

They all burst into laughter. Meanwhile, Akin’s heart was heavy with sadness. What a poor man! he thought. He is suffering over his father’s misdeed.

Akin wished he could plead with the spirits to let Kokumo live. But who could ever question the wrath of Eledumare?

****

During the night,  Mopelola and Ayoka were busy preparing egusi soup at the fireplace, while Akin just finished pounding yam. The fireplace, three pieces of stone, was situated at one end of the verandah. Amidst the stones, the dry stick crackled loudly as tongues of greedy flames licked the bottom of the earthen pot. 

“Your friends are around!” Ayoka called Akin who was still washing the mortar and pestle by the threshold. When he was through he went to join them, close to the mango tree. One of them, Ojo, was attired in a flora-patterned batik shorts and left the rest of his body bare, except for his cap. The two others were attired in a long robe called  dashiki, with tie-dyed shorts. 

 Ojo stayed few houses way and others, Ogunwale and Bolaji, had come from near the village square.

“You are welcome,” Akin said to them after offering them a wooden bench at the verandah. Akin sat on a small bamboo stool beside them. The kitchen stretched about ten feet away from them. 

Ojo cleared his throat and started, “I have come to look for you in the afternoon; you were not….” 

“Just go straight to the point.” Bolaji cut in, “Must you tell him you’ve been here before?”

“Let him talk,” retorted Ogunwale.

“As I was saying,” Ojo continued, unperturbed, “I’ve come for the fresh rose I kept with you.”

“A rose?” Akin queried, confused, “You didn’t keep any rose with me, and be…besides even if you keep one with me, it would have withered away.”

 “My own rose never withers, but getting more beautiful,” Ojo said, pointing his finger towards Ayoka who was busy kindling fire beneath the pot of soup.

Akin smiled and shook his head,  “You are never serious, Ojo.” 

 “Yes,” Ojo retorted humorously, “I am a butterfly, and she would always be my rose.”

They all burst out laughing.

“That’s not funny,” Bolaji said, “I’m the one who can take care of Ayoka. Can’t you see my great physique?”

Bolaji took to his feet, flaunting his threadbare agbada. Bolaji was tall, fair-skinned, and looked somewhat effeminate. Ojo was dark, tall and muscular while Ogunwale was huge and dark in complexion with a bushy moustache.

“It’s obvious you can take care of her,” teased Ogunwale.

“Please, let’s be serious,” Akin said, emphasizing his statement with his out-stretched hands, “This rose is not ready for pollination. Don’t just bother yourselves about her. What’s the latest in the village?”

“Nothing much.” Ogunwale exhaled heavily.

“Don’t mind him,” Ojo said. “He lost his uncle two days ago.”

“Which of his uncles?” Akin asked.

“His cousin; uncle Alani,” replied Bolaji.

“No! That…that can’t be true,” Akin said, “But I saw him hale and hearty few days ago.”

Ogunwale tilted his head and said, “His death is a tragedy in our household. May the wrath of Ogun be upon the murderer!”

“Ase!”(Amen) Bolaji and Ojo said simultaneously.

“How did it happen?” asked Akin.

Ogunwale explained how his uncle had visited his girlfriend, Adetoun, at Oke’awo, a neigbouring village. It was said that Alani wanted to have intercourse with her under a cocoa tree within the bush. As soon as he climbed over her, he started writhing in pains like an earthworm attacked by a salt. White foam had spewed from his mouth and he had died in the process.

“Why sleeping with her in the bush in the first place?” Akin was puzzled. 

“Uncle Alani had once confided to me,” Ogunwale mused, “that Adetoun hadn’t allowed him to sleep with her in the room, except in the bush. He swore that he would never do it. I believe Adetoun had enchanted him into doing it.”

“I guess she is a reincarnate of a goat or dog.” Bolaji commented.

“Keep shut, Bolaji,” taunted Akin, “almost every lad in this village does that, especially you!”

 “Their villagers said my uncle is the fourth person that had died on her.” Ogunwale added.

“I still believe that the girl is a witch.” Ojo pointed out.

“I have thought the same thing,” Ogunwale said, “but I was less convinced about that when her neigbours said Adetoun had fallen down from her mother’s back in the market when she was a baby. Seven men must die on her before she finally gets married.”

According to their belief, if a child fell down from her mother’s back, either being protected with a sling or not, the mother must quickly strip herself completely, otherwise the misfortune of seven men death would befall her daughter.

 “I think she purposely sacrificed uncle Alani as one of her victims, “Ogunwale continued, “anyway, the villagers had reported to their King. He had warned her not to sleep with any more man, or else her head would become a sacrifice at Ogun’s shrine.”

A mournful silence swept across them. The death of Alani really sent a wave of sorrow upon Akin. Alani was just in his early thirties. Akin and Ogunwale had been a bosom friend since childhood days. Each time Akin needed something from his friend, Ogunwale would inform his uncle about it. Alani would give them money for whatsoever they wanted and offer them separate money to get themselves snacks such as akara. When Akin wanted to learn hunting, Alani had made him the first slingshot with which he had learnt how to hunt for small birds.

“Oh, Adetoun shall not go scot-free!” Akin said, biting his lower lip.

At that moment, Ayoka and Mopelola were rounding up with the meal in the kitchen. Ayoka was removing the firewood from the fireplace, sprinkling them with water.

“I think it is not the maiden’s fault,” said Ojo, “her mother is the devilish tree that has made her fruit a forbidden one.”

The hoot of an owl pierced into the night from a nearby tree. They all flinched at the unusual loudness with which the owl had cried. Suddenly, Akin heard a high-pitched voice, like the bark of a gun.

  

 Akin, beware!

 Alani’s death was not caused by what your friends told you!

 

 It was the handiwork of the terrestrial power!

He wondered if the voice had come from the owl or another invisible being. He craned his neck to look around. With his supernatural eyes, he could see anything in the darkness. He saw the huge owl perching on a tall guava tree at the neigbouring compound. He sighed and bowed his head. His friends wondered why he reacted that way, for they didn’t hear any voice nor see the bird. 

“We have to avenge for uncle Alani’s death!” He said firmly as he revealed his face, “we shall journey to Ojo’awo village on the next market day.”