African Stories. Our Heritage

Thursday, 2 January 2020

The Flaming stone (Episode 3)

Click here for Episode 2

“Go whip her, right now!” The warrior commanded his second. He gave the commander a look as if to say, “You must be mad! Why can’t you?”

But he dare not utter such word. He was the superior among the three. Over thirty warriors in the kingdom. Ewatomi had sent those with the least magic wealth, as the target was a common villager—now the warrior regarded Abeni as a witch. A very powerful one. The victim was still on the ground, his chest heaving. They both ran to him, calling incantation, touching his head with an antelope horn. Like the after-surge of ocean, the heaving began reducing to gentle waves, to a regular breathing. Abeni was watching in wonder, still cuddling her mother. The neigbours—those who had gathered around on hearing the uproar—stood far behind the warriors, murmuring to each other.

“she must be a witch?” remarked a middle-aged woman.

Somebody shrugged, “Who knows?”

“We never can tell,” said an old man, “it might be a coincidence. Possibly, the warrior is suffering from a certain disease.”

“Good for him. He should have died!” snarled another man, “He’s the same one that nearly beat my son to death.”

This time, the neighborhood had nearly become a market place, murmuring endlessly. The warriors began wondering what to tell Ewatomi. She’d ordered them to beat Abeni to pulp, so she would never near Akanbi again. At last, the warriors could revive their comrade, who was now staggering like a drunkard.

“We are coming back for you!” growled the leading warrior at Abeni. Hardly had they turned around when the crowd scattered, like heap of sand in a tempest.

****

It was a market day, at sunrise. Swarm of maidens, old women, each with a loaded basket on head, men leading goats, chatting and laughing on their way to the marketplace. Abeni and Fadekemi were discussing the incident of three days ago, each with an empty basket held in place beside them. Now pacing beneath a giant orange tree where the commotion of birds seemed to drown the passersby’s. Abeni could feel the breeze, cool and tender like swan feathers against her skin. The sun was a bit shy, almost hiding behind the lavender clouds. Today, people from the eight neigbouring villages would come to buy kernels and other goods. Oloyade was popular for growing excess palm kernels and it was the kernel season. The market was located near the village square. Fadekemi had been away for four days, to pay a visit to a cousin in the neigbouring village. She returned in the previous night. Abeni was telling Fadekemi how the experience had been the most mysterious in her life. She was afraid to sleep during that night, she said—neither did her parents nor her siblings. All were so paranoid. That the warriors might come back. Her father was confused as to why the warriors had come. Much more confused that one was victimized, inexplicably. Thinking aloud, he believed his personal deity, Shango, the god of thunder, must have protected his daughter. He thought they had come to capture Abeni to the palace, but not successful. Not even once did he think of Ewatomi as the masquerade behind the cloak. He thought the warriors were sent by the king. But Abeni knew. She knew it was Ewatomi. But how could she explain to her father, that after all his warnings, Ewatomi had caught her with Akanbi? How could she?

“What could you have done to deserve that? Did you refuse to salute any of the royal folks while passing by?” That was her father’s question.

“What was your response to that?” asked Fadekemi. “What do you expect me to say? I did nothing of such, of course.”

“Anyway, I’m still surprised about the fallen chicken,” she giggled, passing the basket to her right side, “and truly, shango must have protected you. Or what do you think?”

“I think so,” Abeni sighed, adjusting her bracelets, “hmn. You haven’t heard anything.”

“Hehe, I’m all ears.” Both friends began to walk in slower saunter. “Akanbi came to my place on the following morning, “she began, gently, “I never knew he had returned from hunting. That moment, my father was heading for the palace to plead with the king on my behalf, for the incident. I was at the verandah, pounding some kernels in a mortar. When Akanbi was seated, he offered him some bitter kola. He told Akanbi he wouldn’t be able to listen to any matter, that he was on his way to the palace. When Akanbi enquired the reason for that, my father explained how ka’abiyesi had sent his warriors to me and the outcome. Akanbi looked surprised. When he was about to look at me, I took my face away. Then he offered to follow my father to the palace, so they would plead together. Baba, I would like Abeni to come with us, he said. My father was afraid that I would be detained in the palace. I’m assuring you. Abeni would come back home, he added. Eventually, my father agreed...”

“So Akanbi didn’t state his purpose for coming?”

“Oh, be patient. Just hear the rest,” Abeni smiled, “As I was saying, my father agreed. Getting to the palace, we met the royal highness. After we all saluted, it was Akanbi that spoke on our behalf. He narrated all that happened and pleaded with him to condone my misdeed. Ka’abiyesi looked lost, so was my father. My father must be expecting Ka’abiyesi to rebuke me, but he was calm on his throne. They eventually realized it was the princess. So she was summoned to the gathering. You can’t imagine the shock on her face on seeing me, especially with Akanbi and my father. Then she lied against me. She said I didn’t salute her while passing by. She claimed I was a witch, that I must be stoned to death in a market place. For the spell I cast on the warrior....”

"Ehn, ehn, this is not a minor issue,” Fadekemi burst out laughing, clapping hands.

“The chief priest was there,” Abeni continued, “Ka’abiyesi backed his daughter. And to prove the allegation, he ordered the priest to give me a witch-hunting concoction. At last, we returned to the palace. I was declared innocent...”

“So what was her reaction? I mean....Ewatomi,” she almost whispered. “She wouldn’t come out of the inner palace.”

“Good for her. She must be so shameful. I hope Akanbi eventually told your father his reason for coming.”

“Hmmn,” Abeni grunted, smiling, “I know what you’re thinking. He didn’t come to ask for my hand in marriage; although, that was my expectation. He only came to invite my father to play at the Ogun festival, which will be held in three days’ time. He wanted me to be among the dancers. He paid my father in advance. I didn’t have a chance to speak with him. He left us on our way home.”

“I can’t wait to see your performance again.... I wish I could dance like you.”

For a while, they bantered on who or who was a better dancer before jumping to another topic.

****

From the echoes of gunshots. From the beats of gangan and bata drums and the Ogun masquerades in parades, Oloyade was aware of the ongoing festival. Abeni was dressing up. The masquerades must have finished dancing, she thought. Soon, the maidens would get on stage to dance to bata drum. She was familiar with the rites over the past seasons. Every sixth moon the hunters would celebrate Ogun. As the god of iron, Ogun was revered by hunters— for the progress of the hunting occupation and the success of their tools such as gun, cutlass, spear, arrows and bows. Ayandele was already at the occasion with his ensembles. He’d told Abeni to come when the sun had retired to the southern region, at roughly seven feet shadows. It was almost time. The venue was two neighborhoods away. Yewande was standing at the verandah, waiting for her sister. She was a slender girl of eighteen seasons, the baby of the house. She liked following her sister to any occasion, unlike Romoke who was never interested in outings. They’re now on their way, both wearing beaded earrings and crown-like braids. Sheke, sheke, rattled their waist beads with each movement. Abeni was wearing five colourful bracelets, the red in the middle. As they paced further, the drum was growing louder. Turning to the bushy path leading to the next neighborhood, they met six maidens, one helping the other to adjust earrings or wrapper. They seemed to be heading for the festival. Abeni was familiar with them at the stream. One of them, Wuraola, was having grudge against her.

“I hope you’re not blind.” Yewande had asked them to give way only to get that rude response.

Abeni stood aside, gesticulating for Yewande to keep mute.

“Please, can we pass?” Abeni said in a calm voice.

“You can climb our heads over!” Somebody said, then hissed.

“Wait first, what are you talking to?” Wuraola was addressing her friends, turning around, as if searching for something.

“Would you leave the road!” Abeni said, her patience began to melt. She knew they were looking for trouble and she wasn’t ready to start one. Taking another path was no option. It was a long journey and the dance would begin any moment from now. Abeni was looking around if she could manage the tiny space. The bush was too thorny. It would hurt her skin. How ridiculous. She must take this path right now. She eyed her sister.

“Follow me,” Abeni spoke with her eyes.

click here for episode 4

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Tuesday, 31 December 2019

The Spiderweb

I shut the door behind me. Against my father's raging voice. To be honest, my father does not need a loudspeaker to address a hundred thousand congregation. The problem is not what I have done wrong, but his voice. It draws the whole neighbours to our compound each time he is scolding us - myself and my siblings. You would see the flock of pepeye coming to peck their mouths into the matter. If this sun crashed in our compound, I bet, they would still find their way here.

"Baba Folashade. Leave this girl. I thought we have talked to her. She said she will scrub it off!"

That's my mother's voice from inside. She's been holding my father from flinging me at the wall. A thunderstorm that he is. Huge in aspect with stubborn muscles.

I didn't know how Granny saw the drawing at my upper arm. A spiderweb which I had asked my classmate to draw for me. She drew the same for herself but I thought I, Aponbepore, would rock it better. It was Granny that gave me the name Aponbepore, a girl whose skin rivals a palm oil. I like that.

But I didn't like how Granny told my father, "You don't look after these your children. Didn't you see the mark on Folashade's skin. Alantakun of all things, eh! She is calling bad luck upon her head."

I was coming from the kitchen to serve his food on the dinning when I heard them and I had paused.

"Maami" my father said, "you mean Folashade has drawn something on her body..." He was trying to call me but Granny asked him to be patient.

I saw Granny showing or rather reminding my father about the traditional tattoos on her arms and legs.

"These marks you are seeing" she was touching the fading marks, spiralling patterns, on her both arms "during our own youthful days, there was nothing like the kind of marks seen on children of nowadays and our men were attracted to us. Now they have abused everything. You see the gombo marks on your father's face. That's what fetched him his work easily. The company manager had the same marks. He's also from Ogbomosho."

I remember asking Granny why Grandpa had those marks. Granny said, according to her own grandfather, marks were drawn on faces or bodies during slave trade so that parents could identify their enslaved children when they finally met.

Now Granny said that spider, especially, is a bad omen. Getting entangled in its web in dream or real life is a bad luck that takes a very powerful herbalist or cleric to cleanse. Drawing it on the body poses more ill luck.

My mouth was agape. But spider web, to me, is a beautiful work of art. I started falling in love with it when I saw the spiderman movie. Such beautiful creature is now a villain to us. Granny had not finished with my father.

"I asked you to put our ancestral marks on these children's bodies to prevent them from bad luck, you refused. You said we are now in a civilized world. The ones they are drawing on themselves is now what?"

"But..but Maami the world has gone far from all that."

"The Same thing I told you about Yemi when he arrived from America with the same marks, with earrings and nose ring. You said it's because of his job as a modern day musician. He even plaited his hair... when he is not a Sango worshipper. How can he ever reason like a real man? How can his head be correct? A true son of Yoruba soil does not emulate a woman. "

Uncle Yemi is my father's cousin. I can't forget the day he introduced his wife to Granny. It was then I realized I was dark-skinned. Uncle Yemi's wife looked like the snow I saw in American movies. Granny later invited uncle Yemi, told him to look for a decent lady, not that Asewo. Uncle Yemi argued that she's not a prostitute. Granny said a lady could not be so light-skinned and be faithful to her husband. "When she is not Oyinbo," Granny asserted. I think uncle Yemi's wife must have bleached her skin to be this light. She was almost like Afin, like Funke, an albino friend of mine in my present class, JSS3.

Funke was always sitting at the front of the class. She told me she couldn't see the board from the back. Sometimes I lent my notebook to her. Her first few weeks in school, all my classmates always avoided her, forbade her, like a curse. And when they realized she's very bright like her skin they started associating with her.

Funke once told me a story about her family. A story that left a mist of sadness on my skin, that pushed out the ocean in my tear gland.

It was a story of how her father treated her. How he took her siblings out for picnic or to amusement park without her. "You, don't leave this house till we come back," She quoted her father's warning. That's acceptable for her skin. But he would go ahead to call her useless, good-for-nothing child. He called her white cat. This had caused fights between her both parents. He never payed her school fees nor cater for her needs. Said there wouldn't be any use for her education. Said people of her kind were never employed in companies. Thanks to her mother for sponsoring her academy.

I was telling Granny about it one day.

"But Funke was very gifted in bead-making o," I said, "When I noticed she didn't come to school for days I went to her house, I learnt that she had killed herself with a rat poison."

Granny grabbed her head in both hands, "Ohh, gbele-gbele oo!" she exclaimed in a language that portrayed shock and pains.

Granny said people of her kind were regarded as idols in the past. Unique beings. She said she must have committed suicide due to depression. I couldn't help but hurl curses on her father. Granny did too. These killing of oneself happened in our neighbourhood on two different occasions.

One was Prof Dee. He always had with him a book and pen, writing numbers, from vehicle plate numbers to house numbers. Some men had tried snatching his book. They blamed themselves they did. He hurled stones at them, chased and pounced on one of them like a mad dog. We learnt that Prof Dee was a graduate, but couldn't secure a job for years and began indulging in smoking, drinking and hard drugs. He always sat alone, looking like a dummy. After a while, he began to speak to himself on the street, laughing at nothing in particular. But, before then, they said he had been a gambler, a lotto addict. This must be the reason he wrote numbers. Many a time his family had captured him but he would always escape. One day, he was speaking to the wall, arguing with a non-existent being. He butt the wall nonstop, like a crazy he-goat, until his head shattered. He collapsed at the spot. Dead.

There used to be a girl, Dammy, about nine years old, three compounds away. Dammy was as quiet and calm as a neglected pool. But this pool was better left neglected, or else she became a turbulent ocean. When her peers came to her, she bit them or tore their cloths with an unbelievable force in her arms. She ran like a mechanical thing when angry. Occasionally she screamed herself out and ruffled her hair, and when calm again, she began breathing heavily. People said she's possessed, that she inherited the witchcraft from her mother. Her father refused to let her mother take her away after a quarrel that led to depart. He said she's a prostitute and could initiate her daughter. One day Dammy had broken a mirror and pierced herself in the heart.

After her death, we learnt from a doctor that Dammy had been suffering from a mental illness. That her condition must have gone worse because of her mother's absence. Worst because she wasn't given a medical attention. The family had, although, taken her to different churches for deliverance. The doctor said it was their ignorance and superstitious belief that killed her.

That brings back to mind the case of my spiderweb. I don't know if to call Granny's belief as superstitious too. But I think, surely, Granny knows quite a lot of things about life.

Sunday, 29 December 2019

The Flaming Stone (Episode 2)

Click here for Episode 1

A scream erupted from nowhere. Akanbi was jolted like a stoned lizard, glancing around to detect the source of the voice.

Ewatomi, too, was alarmed, thinking it was one of her maids
.
“Oh-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h”

The voice was cutting across the plantation, this time, with a loud sob. Only then did Akanbi realize it was coming from the left hand side.

Akanbi made towards the location, fast like a frenzied cobra. Ewatomi was following behind, also confused.

There she lay, writhing in pains amidst the shrubs, sobbing in silence.

Shocked to realize it was Abeni, he flinched to a halt before crouching to part the trap.

Abeni broke into tears once freed, her weight on the left hand, right leg outstretched. Chain of bloody cuts lay boldly above her ankle. Gasping and weeping, she stared resentfully at Ewatomi who was behind Akanbi, ablaze in silent fury.

Akanbi had set the trap for the bush meats. He praised the gods within him. It wasn’t the largest trap. Otherwise, the wound would be more terrible. He hurried into the inner bush, plucked three different leaves, and mashed them together until the resin had stained his fingers.

Meanwhile, Ewatomi was scowling at her, cursing under her breath, “Stupid girl. I don’t know what she’s looking for,” she paused, glancing left and right, “So you think you can snatch Akanbi from me? Your trouble has just started....”

Ewatomi muted at the sound of approaching feet.
Akanbi rushed to the leg, rubbed the secretion on the wound, before tying a frond rope. He stood her up. She felt stinging sensation, but less aches.

“You need to take a rest.” Akanbi was pointing at a thatched-roof tent afar off.

“No, I’m going home.” she moaned.

Limping away, she fell abruptly, rescued by his hands in one sweeping motion, half way down.

Ewatomi stood still, stomach churning in rage, right arm across breasts, the other supported her jaw.

Finally agreed to rest, Akanbi began to lead her gently, like a blind beggar. His arm across her back, soothing her skin like early morning dew. Yet she was moaning and wriggling as if by his touch the pain was growing. “Sorry, you will be alright.” He said.

They soon arrived at the shed. The place was his zone of comfort, where he sometimes roasted yams and bush meat. In the middle, two black crocks lying beside a fireplace. Flanked by long bamboo benches.

This moment, Ewatomi was signaling to her maids, taking her leave without uttering a farewell.

***

Late in the night, Abeni lay on the mat, thoughtful, her mind muddled like overcrowded market. She could not tell her parents where she was truly trapped. Severally, her father had admonished that she shouldn’t defy the princess. But she couldn’t let go. Losing Akanbi seemed to be her greatest fear.

"Please come to my rescue, the gods of my ancestors,’ she thought. ‘What if we are banished from this land? I will end up losing.... No...never... may the gods forbid such!"

Earlier in the afternoon, when she finished resting at that shed, Akanbi bothered not asking if his request be granted, perhaps because of her condition. Fadekemi had appeared from the bush when the princess was gone. Fadekemi, likewise Abeni, was in Ewatomi's watch list. The day before, after delivering a message to Akanbi that Abeni would not accept him due to Ewatomi’s threat, she had stumbled across Ewatomi at Akanbi’s compound.

“Oh, so you’re also among them?” She’d said, “I will make sure you never go unhurt when next I see you here.”

Fadekemi had trembled in response, trying to give a false excuse (like saying an elderly man had sent her to deliver a message to him) but Ewatomi didn’t care to listen. Fadekemi could not put herself in further trouble. Besides, she was the sole child of her parents.

Abeni sighed, staring at her sleeping mother on a mud bed covered in raffia mat. Her siblings too. One was snoring, as loud as a croaking frog. The lamp was waving from the corner on a bamboo stool, shadows dancing across the brown wall to the tune of the wind from the small window. Yet Abeni could feel cold sweat running on her temple. Paranoid.

At daybreak, she roused to see Fadekemi, seated beside her. She’d felt a gentle tap on her thigh.

“How are you feeling now?” She asked.

Abeni yawned, rubbed her eyes, and caressed the wound. “It’s much better. Thank you.” She slurred

“Oh, praises to the gods,” she spread her palms upwards.
Abeni smiled

“This object,” she began, paused, peeking around to ensure nobody was approaching. She produced a knotted white fabric from inside her wrapper, “This is one of the reasons I came early. It’s a message from Akanbi. A few moments ago, he sent somebody to give it to me, with a warning. No one should reveal it except you. According to the messenger, the content is a bracelet. You start wearing it henceforth.”

“What for?” Abeni asked as she extended her hand, hesitant.

“The same question I asked the messenger. The purpose not identified. But why should you doubt anything from Akanbi?” Fadekemi smiled, “I think he’s truly in love with you. Just do as he said.”

Abeni tied the object to her wrapper.

"I will come and play with you at noontime. My pot is outside. I’m off to the stream,” she stood to her feet, wished Abeni could follow her. They almost never missed fetching water together over the seasons— ever since Abeni and her parents had settled in Oloyade about sixteen seasons ago. . Abeni’s father, Ayandele, was supposed to be the king in his fatherland, Elekuro village. He was the choice of the gods. Meanwhile, he was not related to the royal clan. And yet Ifa, the oracle, had declared him the king after the demise of the then king who was never survived by a male child.
“How could Ifa choose an ordinary drummer as the next king?” was the song of the villagers, especially the royal chiefs and corrupt elders. Anger and indignation had seized the royal family. Despite their wealth, none of them was chosen?

Ayandele had gone to consult a priest on hearing the joyful but dangerous news. The old man had shaken his head after his divination. “My son, there is a disastrous augury. Praise your personal god that you have come at the right time....For now, you need to leave the land before sunrise. Or else, you and your family may not see the next twilight. Here is a piece of advice. Drum it to your wife and children. They must not reveal their true identity. It’s dangerous.”

On their way, they had journeyed across bushes and mountains, they came across a gourd floating in mid-air, hovering over them. Ayandele was not so shocked, unlike his wife, Ayinke, who began trembling and wailing after she cuddled her three children. The sage had prophesied that Ayandele would come across something terrible. It was the work of his enemies. So he had given Ayandele a white powder. When he blew the powder, the gourd had vanished once, like smoke in the storm. Ayinke had cried out almost immediately. Her sight was gone. The little Abeni had burst into tears.

***

Three days later Abeni had recovered the ever-glowing leg, but with a faded bruise. And she had started wearing the red bracelet. It was made of a circled rod, shrouded in red fabric. Most times, she wore the bracelet with several colourful ones in order to disguise it. Akanbi had gone hunting in a remote forest for the past two days. Whenever Abeni fiddled with the bracelet, a smile would sail across her cheeks. For having a gift from such a man of valour.
Now the sun was already retracting into the dusk clouds. Abeni was at the fireplace, gathering some hays and firewood in between the triple stones. She struck fire from two little stones. The flames, like infant serpents, crawled across the hays, then stick to stick, before leaping to the bottom of the water-filled pot. Her mother was seated at the threshold of their hut, a two-roomed, staring at the sky that only existed in her imagination. Her father would soon be back from a palmwine joint where he played three days weekly. And her siblings were in the market selling palm oil.
Abeni was about to enter her mother’s room, when a voice as loud as gunshot struck at her from behind.

“I said come back here!” The warrior repeated.

Three royal warriors standing a bit far away, bare-torsoed, in batik shorts and charm-embedded necklets. Their eyes red and their chests rippled as much as their muscles.

As if the earth was shifting beneath her, Abeni’s feet began quaking in terror.

“Abeni! Who is that? Who is that?” Her mother began wailing, groping around, grabbing the air.

Abeni ran to assist her mother who was about stumbling over a stone. Then, one of the men, fast like a catapulted stone, lounged towards them, a whip in his grip.

Abeni started screaming, clinging to her mother.
The warrior whip ascended in a dash.

And when it was descending on her body, his hand froze. A strike of lightning, only visible to other warriors, stood from Abeni’s hand. And like a cobweb it entangled their comrade. He began to whirl round and round the compound like tornado.

Then slumped to the ground.

Click here for Episode 3

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Friday, 27 December 2019

The flaming stone (Episode 1)

Chattering and laughing, they flocked along the red-dusted road, each with empty water-pot, all clad in nothing but tie-dye clothing around their breasts and waist regions. Dry leaves crunched beneath their bare feet. Far above, squirrels seen hopping from tree to tree, bush to bush; likewise birds, singing and tweeting. The sun appeared far away, beyond the furthest forest, sinking into the orange-stained clouds and spreading a blanket of twilight, an illumination of sepia lighting, on the earth.

“Have you heard the latest news?” asked one of the maidens after a fit of laughter.

“You and your news, parrot mouth, we’re all ears,” someone mocked eyeing the four others, as if to say ‘let’s hear another lie’

“I can’t just imagine this,” she clapped twice, “eh, eh, Akanbi proposed to Abeni of all people, when the princess is still struggling to have him.”

“Abeni,” said another, puzzled, “which Abeni are you talking about?”

“Stay there, the one that wanted to fight me at the stream on the last market day.”

“You mean that...that saucy thing?” somebody exclaimed.

“You can’t be serious, are you?” queried yet another, “When was that, when did Akanbi propose to her?”

“According to Fadekemi, her best friend, it was this same yesterday.”

“Strange things are really happening in this village.”

“But men are naturally blind, you know,” said the first speaker, “I’m going to deal with that Abeni.”

“Not only you.”

****

Cupping her palm around the palm-oil lamp, Abeni slammed the bamboo door. Her body shivered, as did the golden flame, as cold wind swept across the compound.

The darkness was eminent. Olodumare, the supreme god, seemed to have dethroned the moon from the sky tonight, the people thought, for in the afternoon the earth was drunk to stupor.

It was the first rain of the season—the fifth moon— so the children had gathered at the village square, singing merrily, frolicking, jumping excitedly like toads in a swamp, to welcome to the long-awaited bliss. When Osumare, the god of rainbow, had crowned the sky with his many adorable colours, some elders had saluted, “Homage to you, the god of my ancestors!”

The wind was now blowing ice-cold. Abeni lowered herself, gently, on a stone, leaned forward, still pampering the lamp, elbows on thighs.

“Oh, Akanbi mi...” she whispered to the heaven, shaking head, her emerald eyes glint in the dim light.

Akanbi was the young hunter who as a teenager had slain a tiger with magic and spear. And he had refined the wild-skin to a loincloth, the teeth a necklace, which he further made his hunting garb. He was revered by every hunter in Oloyade and far, far beyond. To his credit, he was charming and he was the dream of every maiden. Abeni on the other hand was the daughter of Ayandele, a popular drummer.

Four days back, Ayandele had been invited as a musician at the egungun festival hosted by Balogun, the royal warlord. Ayandele sang and drummed with his band of seven, while Abeni danced along with five other maidens. Akanbi was seated among his hunter comrades when he saw Abeni. He could not resist this beauty. He could not resist her pretty face and shapely figure—her skin was much as gleaming and coloured as a fresh palmwine gourd. Graceful as river ripples swayed her slim waist, her ample bums and her blossomed breasts, to the beat of the drums. Akanbi had sent for her immediately after the event.

Walking towards Akanbi, her heart rivalled the rumble of thunder, her body shaking in fear and reverence for this hero. Together they strolled towards a nearby cashew tree; she tilted her head, covered her face—as though Akanbi’s eyes were a sun. Tall as she was, she was a dwarf beside him. His masculinity was profound, from his well-built figure; mountains of chests, wide shoulders. At last, he expressed how beautiful she looked and how well she had danced. She smiled like a baby, like a girl of five seasons, covering her face again. And she was nearly twenty-three.

Walking towards Akanbi, her heart rivalled the rumble of thunder....

Akanbi had buried his intention, until three days ago. Abeni received a male visitor who presented a leaf to her, a folded banana leaf, stating Akanbi as the sender. She revealed the item only to clutch her chest, “A cock feather!” she had gasped, her eyes ablaze, lips trembling. It was aroko, an iconic sign, meaning, “I love/adore you.”

Abeni was now worried, utterly confused. Princess Ewatomi had come on the previous day, with three hunky warriors, to warn her, “If you ever accept his proposal, you will be severely dealt with. That, I promise you. If I want to share a man with someone—not even you, this wretched thing. A beggar's daughter!”
Abeni and her parents were no descendants of Oloyade village. Any attempt to disobey the princess might lead to their banishment.
She took a deep breath, eyes glistened, face tearful.

***

The smell of damp plants and soaked soil wafted in the air. Palpable enough that one could get intoxicated from it. Within the eight market days, Akanbi had decided to commit three days to farming since it was now a raining season. Most of the villagers had returned to farming with a fully-fledged zeal. Akanbi was planting the eighth tubers of yam when he heard footsteps. Taking a backward glance, he saw the princess and her three maids far behind.

He stood upright.

She ambled close to him, the maids standing far away, under a cocoa tree. As usual, she sucked lustful breaths around him.
She was glittering all over. From the attire, a blue aso-oke wrapper, tied from her full breasts to her kneecaps. From her complexion that seemed to match the sun. From her beaded earrings, beaded necklace, bracelet and shuku braid, graced by a pretty face—she was the wildest dream of every man.

Except Akanbi!

Akanbi's heart was a shrine and Abeni was the only idol worshiped inside it. Ever since their first meeting his eyes had retired a good slumber. Abeni hadn’t sent any sign of agreement all these while.
He stood still, arms crossed.

She paused, rubbing her left palm on his upper-arm. To him, the touch was nothing.

“I don’t like the way you’re treating me,” she whimpered, head down, “You went ahead to propose that useless thing called Abeni. That beggar. You are disgracing me. And I don’t like it,” She revealed her face, frustrated, voice tearful, “Am I not beautiful enough? For days, I have not been able to feed nor sleep. Can you, for once, just pay me an attention?”

He kept silent, unruffled.

“Princess Ewa,” He said, stone-voiced, “I learnt you stormed Abeni’s compound two days ago, to insult her parents. You warned Abeni never to accept me....What have I done to deserve such? Don’t I have a free will in my own fatherland?”

Noticing the fierceness in his voice, the redness in his eyes, she said, “Please, forgive me."

His eyes fixating on the cocoa plantation far ahead.

She went down on her knees, and just in time Akanbi reached for her, his hands around her waist.

She seized the opportunity to savor some sensations that travelled around her spines, wishing the hands could abide there forever. Or move to her ample bosoms. To squeeze those two mounds of hers. To stroke those peaked nuts and mouth them and splay her thighs...

Her body shivered from this wanton imagination.

Akanbi swiftly released her when she was upright because a princess should not kneel before any man, especially without wedlock. Nonetheless, Akanbi was never rated as “any” man. His royal majesty, King Adepitu, held Akanbi in high esteem for his heroic deed.

“Are you still angry with me?” she said, staring at his absent countenance.

Face upturned, he shook his head slowly, his mind wandering away.

Ewatomi, being the only princess, was equally an Idol to her father, even before his enthronement. And he would indulge her with anything. A male child was, however, rated higher than the female in the royal family. Ewatomi had wanted Akanbi before his fame had cast far and wide like the radiance of the moon, but started showing it ever since he became a hero.

Seven moons ago the King had summoned Akanbi to the palace, that Ewatomi had been feverish since Akanbi said he wasn’t interested in her. Led by the king, Akanbi reached where she was lying, as a matter of fact. There and then he was obliged to say: “My Princess, I’m ready to become your man,” even though he begrudged the word he uttered.

No sooner had he said it than Ewatomi asked for food. She’d been vomiting and rejecting meals for four days. That Same day, Adepitu beseeched Akanbi by the gods of his ancestors during a private chat. That he didn’t care if Ewatomi would be the second wife in Akanbi's household after his desired woman.

"So many royal men have come to ask for her hand in marriage,” Adepitu had said, mournfully, “including the son of my best friend, Prince Adewuye of Ajakaye village. Sometimes, she would insult her suitors. You’re the only song she sings like a lonely canary. If not for your timely intervention, I doubt if she would ever survive the sickness.”

Akanbi bent his head before the king who was on his throne. After a moment of silence, he sighed and said, “Who am I to refuse your words, my lord? I never meant to say I wasn’t interested. It was because of her insolence.”

He had lied, for he couldn’t declare to a king that he rejected his princess. If betrothing Ewatomi would be the antidote of her existence, Akanbi had thought. Then he must oblige the royal highness.

King Adepitu chuckled, “You should be the blacksmith, my son. A man and woman are like smiting rods to each other. You see, women can change their men for better, and vice versa.”

Meanwhile, King Adepitu knew Akanbi was not really interested in Ewatomi. And he was not happy to impose his daughter on any man. Like a dead tree after a long term rain, he thought, perhaps Akanbi's barren heart would bloom after a long association with Ewatomi. But to date, Akanbi didn’t find himself feeling anything for Ewatomi. Should he now betray the royal highness? What sort of dilemma had he brought upon himself?

“You haven’t said anything,” She broke into his thought.

“I have condoned that,” He said in a hard voice, “But never should you intimidate Abeni again!”

“Alright, I promise,” she said.

Abeni and her friend, Fadekemi, meanwhile, were on their way to Akanbi's farm. Both were pacing along the narrow path leading to Akanbi’s farmland. Abeni had sent Fadekemi to him on the previous day, that she could not grant his request because of Ewatomi. But earlier in this morning, Akanbi had sent for her— to meet him on his farmland, with an assurance that nothing would ever befall her.
She knew Akanbi with his magical power. Some villagers said his father, the late chief priest, had buried seven demonic gourds in his belly. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have slaughtered the sacred animal which, to them, was regarded as the mightiest god of the wilderness. Since the foundation of the land, there were many Ode Aperin or the elephant hunters, but Akanbi had broken the record as the first Ode Apekun. The tiger hunter.

Nonetheless, Abeni was afraid that the princess had spies for her. What if she was murdered silently and buried in the bush? Oh, how she would leave her blind mother, her two female siblings, her father.

She held her chest tightly. Like her heart was being pounded in mortar. Her body was streaming with sweats, even with the tender breeze and how much the sun had calmed her glare on earth. She and her friend were dressed in the casual breast and waist region batik wrapper. purple and yellow respectively.

She sighed.

Unlike her, Fadekemi was moving in a relaxed pace. Since it was a secret visit they decided not to say a word to each other.
In a while, they started approaching the farmland. On Seeing the royal maids, Abeni froze in fear. Fadekemi had started retreating
Abeni could see the princess standing arms akimbo, while Akanbi crossed his arms.

One, two, three, she took backward steps through the shrubs. She turned sharply, breaking into a race. She had taken five steps further when her foot was shot with thunderous blow.
It was her right foot, bitten by an iron trap with serrated teeth.

She screamed.

Click here for Episode 2

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