by Odafe Atogun
‘If Loko and Luku were there, they would have supported me, and maybe the boys would have been able to play with us. But they were not there, and no one supported me.’
‘Don’t let it upset you,’ I consoled him. ‘Maybe one day they will be able to play with you.’
‘Mother, please, let’s build an orphanage for them in our backyard,’ Noah said, suddenly coming alive. ‘We have so much space there. If they live in the village, they will be able to play with us. Please, Mother.’
‘It’s not so easy. And we don’t have the money,’ I told him. ‘Be patient, one day things will change.’
*
The legend of Ese, the painting in the Shrine of Toya, travelled far and wide, and many handsome young men came to our village to admire it, and to see me in the flesh. They came every day of the week and were all entranced by my beauty. Now I had to contend with a distraction – that of suitors ready to go to the ends of the world to win my hand in marriage. But I did not find any man among them who I could love, for they all loved me for my beauty, as a possession, and not for my heart. They were no better than the Chief.
Seeing the endless number of young men who trooped to the shrine, the High Priest levied a gate fee, and the takings made our village richer than all the others in the region. The Chief became a regular visitor at the shrine too. He would sit there for hours admiring me in the painting. Each time he went, he shut out the young men who came from afar and had paid to view the painting. He was jealous and feared that one of the men would win my heart and end any chance he had of having me as his wife. His visits to the shrine created endless queues so that the young men who came sometimes had to wait for days to get the opportunity to view the painting.
Piqued by what they described as the utter insensitivity of the Chief, the men went on a protest that disrupted activity in the village for days. Thereafter, the Chief was forced to view the painting alongside everyone else. He was not happy about it, but the High Priest made it clear that the shrine could not afford to be embroiled in controversy.
And then one day, it was announced that the painting had been stolen.
*
Everyone knew that the Chief had stolen the painting, but no one could confront him. The young men stopped coming to the shrine. Our tourism industry completely collapsed, and this even affected business on Main Street. Many of the villagers were angry with the Chief. Chair-Lady wanted to organise a mass protest to demand the return of the stolen artwork. I told her that it was pointless, that the Chief would never own up to his crime.
The merchants said that they would bring Toya back to redo the painting, but all their efforts failed. He said that he never did the same painting twice, even if he was offered all the money in the world. And he said that the painting would show up one day, that every stolen painting was eventually found. Until then, we had to wait.
With our income from the shrine completely gone, Main Street became the focus for everyone. Occasionally new merchants showed up, bringing things that we had never seen or traded before. They brought silver cups, and they brought torches and transistor radios that used Tiger batteries. With the coming of these things, our village began to connect a little more with the world.
*
I started to notice that Noah kept his room tidier, that he carried out his chores without supervision, and was often eager to help out with some of mine. And then he started returning home from the playground in a quiet mood every evening, and I could not help wondering what was bothering him. I made up my mind to have a chat with him.
One day, he came home particularly late, and in a sombre mood. After he had taken a bath and eaten, we sat in the living room, with the lantern burning in the corner, and I fixed my eyes upon him.
‘Why are you looking at me like that, Mother?’ he asked and laughed.
‘Because you have been returning home in a quiet mood of late,’ I replied. ‘What is bothering you?’
He fell silent.
‘I asked you a question,’ I said to him gently.
He squeezed his face into a thoughtful frown, staring at me.
I raised my eyebrows to encourage him to say something, but he continued to look at me. ‘Say something,’ I urged him.
‘It’s because of the orphans,’ he said finally. ‘They have bought their own ball, but my friends still would not let them play with us.’
‘Come, sit here,’ I said, patting the bench on which I was seated. ‘Is that why you have been coming home in a quiet mood?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘When my friends refused to let them play with us, I told them what you told me, that one day things will change. This made them happy and they told me about themselves. They told me how they run their home, how they share the chores amongst themselves, and how everyone did his bit correctly.
‘They told me they have a farm, that they apportion the work according to each person’s ability. I asked how they learned to be so organised, and the eldest boy, Mofe, told me to go and see the ants, which, despite having no leader, gather a rich harvest. I didn’t understand what he meant, but I was inspired all the same, and I felt glad that they see each other as family.’
I held him close. It all made sense to me now. The orphans neglected by society had influenced my son positively. I knew I could no longer pretend that they were not a part of the village, and I made up my mind to encourage Noah to develop a friendship with them. It was a risk I was willing to take, if it meant that my son and the poor orphans would find happiness.
‘It’s sad no one wants to play with them, and it’s a good thing that you want to be their friend,’ I told him. ‘Next time, play with them. You don’t need your friends’ permission to do so. The orphans are your friends too.’ My eyes were fixed on the lantern; the flame lit me with hope.
Noah pressed himself against me. ‘Thank you, Mother,’ he mumbled.
I patted him on the back. ‘You have made me so proud and given me so much joy,’ I said to him. ‘Just be careful.’
‘I will be careful, Mother.’
I could sense a happy smile spreading across his face.
After a moment of silence, he said, ‘Mother, could you tell me about the ants that have no leader but gather a rich harvest?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and I told him about how ants live in a colony that has inspired the human race for thousands of years. I explained how an ant colony is made up of a queen, workers, soldiers and so on, each with a specific duty that they undertake unsupervised – a model that humans have long been aspiring to achieve.
His eyes grew with interest as I spoke.
EIGHT
Suddenly, the season changed and the first rains came.
An angry storm tore through our village for three days, destroying entire swaths of farmland. It swept most of the crops away, leaving us with nothing to sell. And it swept away all the stalls on Main Street. When the merchants came on the next market-day, they met a commercial centre in total ruin. Unable to undertake any trade, they returned to their lands greatly disappointed.
The wise men predicted that it was a season that would bring a terrible famine. They also predicted that commercial activity would be disrupted for a long time. As would be expected, the merchants did not bother to come back after what they had seen, and the village’s economy slid into a recession worse than that we had seen before.
Farmers were advised to store as many crops as possible in preparation for the great famine to come. We no longer bothered to go to Main Street because we had little or nothing to sell and all our stalls had been destroyed. Anyone who wanted to buy or sell sought out those who wanted to do the same by visiting their homes – this became the mode of trading in the village.
After the first three days of heavy rain, the sun came out, but the scale of devastation we had suffered left a blanket of gloom over the village. The priests consulted the gods to find out the cause of such rains. Days later, the High Priest relayed a disheartening message. He sa
id that the gods were angry with the villagers, that more terrible rains would come. But he did not say what the gods were angry about.
We all gazed into the sky hopelessly.
*
The children in the village were not bothered about the implication of so much rain. They prayed for it to stop only so that they could go out to play, not because they feared that the crops would be washed away. So when the rain stopped after three days, and the sun came out, they rushed out into the streets with their balls and played in mud and pools of water.
The orphans came from the outskirts too. They came without their ball; it had burst. So Noah suggested that they all play together with his. They were overjoyed. They ran about with Noah on a small pitch away from the other children, and Noah was surprised how well they played.
It was easy to tell how close the boys were, even as they competed fiercely for the ball. Mofe, who at ten years of age was the oldest among them, treated the others with brotherly affection. When he got the ball, he made sure that he passed it around evenly. Igalo, who was a year younger, was very competitive, but he knew when to pull back from a tackle that could hurt any of the others. Tega, who was eight, and Bomboi, seven, loved the fact that the older boys often let them score goals, even when they were not playing so well. On the pitch, they competed in harmony, and off it, they were one big family. Noah was glad to see that they were happy, far happier than the orphans who still lived with their wicked relatives.
‘My cousins, Loko and Luku, said they have met you,’ Noah told them at half-time.
‘Oh, yes, we have met. But we haven’t seen them in a long time,’ Mofe said.
‘It’s because they always had to go to their father’s farm. But now that no one is going to the farm again because of the flood, we should see them soon. When I lived with them I used to go with them to the farm.’
Noah told them why he was forcefully taken to live in Jaja’s house, and of his sad experiences there. His story evoked memories for them, and each narrated the circumstances that had made them run away from their own relatives. Their stories were painful. Even worse, none of them had any recollection of their parents. Each had lost both parents when they were still too young to remember them or even to know how it had happened. They grew up not knowing what it meant to be loved, and they were constantly reminded that they were evil children, that they were responsible for their parents’ deaths.
‘The life we live now is far better than it was with our relatives,’ Mofe said. ‘Then, we had no family because we were not treated as such. But now, we have each other, we are each other’s family.’
‘I’m happy to hear that,’ Noah said.
‘And we are happy to have you as a friend.’
Noah reminded them: ‘My mother said that one day things will change. I believe her, I believe that one day things will change.’
‘Maybe that day is now,’ Mofe said, smiling.
News spread through the village that Noah had become friends with the orphans. It reached the palace, but, strangely, the Chief took no action. Some began to worry that something was wrong with the Chief, and they would gather in clusters to talk about it, but only in whispers, knowing full well that the Chief remained very powerful, no matter his condition, and could punish them in any number of horrible ways.
*
The village was greeted with grave news when the High Priest suddenly took ill. Many herbalists attended to him, but none could save him. On his deathbed, he said that a young man, whose half-obscured face was captured in the stolen painting, would return one day to be Chief. Until then, he said, our village would not know prosperity. And then he passed away, leaving nothing but worry and confusion behind.
The whole village wailed, not so much for the loss of the High Priest but because of the terrible prophesy he had made. We gathered on Main Street – all the stalls were gone now – to discuss our predicament. But the old Chief was not concerned. He remained in his palace, refusing to come out, or to receive any visitors, not even the priests who had gone to see him hoping to discuss the appointment of a new High Priest.
To avoid leaving a vacuum which could worsen the plight of our village, the priests entered a conclave and they elected a new High Priest to direct our spiritual affairs. But the new High Priest was overwhelmed, given that he could not see the Chief to discuss critical issues. After trying for several days to see the Chief with no result, he gave up.
Not long after, bandits in black came to the village late one night. They ransacked the palace and stole all the old Chief’s prized possessions.
Early the following morning, there was a great commotion in the palace. The priests and many villagers rushed there and pushed their way into the Chief’s inner chamber. To the surprise of all, they found the Chief wailing and rolling on the floor, saying that he had lost the most precious thing in his life. But he would not say what it was.
Afterwards, he became a very bitter man, even worse than he was before. He accused his wives of being witches. He chased them around the palace, flogging them with a horsewhip in drunken rages. He threatened to sell off his children because they were useless and said that he would set the entire village ablaze one day.
*
Now we lived in a constant state of fear, not knowing what would come. The old Chief would not come out of his palace or receive any visitors. He spent his time lamenting his loss. The priests were helpless. They had critical decisions to take, but they could not do so without the Chief’s consent. By our tradition, the throne could only become vacant if the Chief died or he abdicated. So, even though the Chief was not performing his duties, there was nothing we could do, other than to pray that he would come to his senses.
Somehow, we knew that the stolen painting was connected to our woes and the Chief’s strange condition. Some thought the painting had driven the Chief mad. Even the staff of the palace, who were supposed to be blindly loyal to the Chief, were growing concerned and had begun to whisper that he was mentally ill. Considering the seriousness of the situation, Chair-Lady paid me a visit and told me that we must act to save our village.
‘What can we do when even the priests are not able to do anything?’ I said dejectedly.
‘The priests may not be able to do anything, but we must take matters into our own hands.’
‘What do you suggest?’
She looked round the living room. ‘Where is your son?’
‘He is somewhere in the house.’
‘Find him and send him out to play. We need to be able to talk in private.’
I went in search of Noah. I found him in his room, lying on his bed. I had taught him not to eavesdrop on people’s conversation, and he had been very obedient. I told him to go out and play, then I went back to join Chair-Lady in the living room.
‘First, we have to find the stolen painting,’ she said quietly. ‘It is the root of all our problems and those of the Chief.’
I remained silent for a few moments. I wanted to ask her if she was sure of what she was saying, but I knew that it was true. ‘How do we find it?’
‘We have to solicit the cooperation of a key insider at the palace.’
‘Don’t forget that they are trained to be loyal to the Chief. We could be betrayed, and you know what that means. The Chief could charge us with treason and have us executed. You know that he remains a very powerful man.’ There was uncertainty in my voice.
‘I know the right person to approach,’ Chair-Lady said confidently. ‘The truth is, even the palace staff are very worried about everything, so they will cooperate with us. As it stands, we have no Chief. If our neighbours rose up against us in war, we would be doomed. Don’t forget, there is very little the priests can do without the Chief’s direction. So we must act to save our village.’ Her voice was firm.
‘So what do you suggest we do?’
‘I will pay one of the palace staff to search for the painting and retrieve it,’ she said. ‘I believe that the painting
is the solution.’
An uneasy silence followed her words, and for several moments we remained quiet.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked at last, fear in my voice.
‘Don’t worry, I will take care of it,’ she reassured me.
Days later, Chair-Lady recruited a senior guard at the palace to search for the painting, promising him a handsome reward. He searched for weeks, but never found it. He reported back to Chair-Lady that the painting was definitely not in the palace, and it seemed that it must have been stolen by the bandits, for we all felt certain that it was the Chief who had taken it from the shrine. It was the reason why the Chief had been so heartbroken. We, too, felt terribly sad. We had no idea where the bandits had taken the painting or how to recover it.
‘We just have to wait for the painting to show up,’ I said to Chair-Lady.
‘For how long?’ she asked hopelessly.
‘Toya said it would be found eventually. The High Priest also prophesied it before he died.’ I sighed. ‘We just have to wait.’
Chair-Lady stayed silent.
*
And then the rains came again, heavier than before, and washed away all that was left of our farms. We all gazed up to the sky, somehow hoping that a sign would present itself to us, a sign of when the deluge might end.
This time the rain fell for seven whole days. No one could go out. Noah became increasingly agitated. He wanted to know why the rain was falling so hard. He asked if all the water in heaven was being drained. He said so much rain could only mean that soon there would be no water left in heaven, and then all of the earth would be washed away and heaven would be no more. I told him that the rain would soon stop and that heaven and earth could never cease to be.
Luckily, our harvest remained safe in our barn – we were one of the lucky few. Whenever I was in the kitchen cooking, Noah worried endlessly about the orphans, saying that we should find a way to take food to them. But we were cooped up in the house – I promised him that once the rain stopped, we would take some food to them.
