by Odafe Atogun
When Noah woke up in the afternoon, only Chair-Lady and I were in the room, but a few well-wishers were outside. I was seated on the bed while Chair-Lady sat on a stool. Noah opened his eyes slowly and reached for my hand. I leaned over him to study his face.
‘Mother,’ he called out weakly to me.
‘Yes, my son, I’m here. How are you feeling?’
‘Mother, please promise me . . .’
‘I promise you,’ I said, even though I did not know what his request was.
‘Promise me you’ll wake me when I’m gone.’
My entire being began to tremble. I held his face in my hands. ‘No, you will not die, my son!’ I said tearfully. ‘No, you will not!’
Chair-Lady got up from her stool and stood over us, saying nothing.
‘Promise me,’ Noah went on. ‘Promise you will wake me up.’
‘Yes, I will wake you up, my son.’
He gave me a faint smile. Even with the blackness of his face, his smile came through sweetly and it broke my heart.
‘Thank you, Mother,’ he mumbled. ‘My friends, the orphans, please, can I see them? And Loko and Luku also?’
I looked up at Chair-Lady in despair.
She gave a soft sigh. ‘I will go and get them,’ she said and left.
When Chair-Lady returned with the orphans, a hush fell among the well-wishers outside. The boys were shocked to see the way Noah looked. They gathered around his bed anxiously. He smiled at them, and their faces lit up with a little bit of relief.
They asked how he was doing, and he told them that he was much better now that he had seen them.
‘What did they rub on your face?’ Bomboi asked.
‘It is medicine to make me well.’
‘Oh,’ the boy said.
They chatted animatedly for a while. And then Loko and Luku showed up. And when they saw Noah, they began to cry. And the orphans began to cry too.
Chair-Lady and I tried to console them, telling them that Noah would get well soon. But they only cried louder, causing the people outside to rush inside to see what was amiss. The mood became very sad. His friends would not stop crying, so Noah began to cry too.
I closed my eyes to hold back my tears.
A drizzle began outside, sending everyone hurrying to their homes. Only Chair-Lady and the boys remained. We could hear a rumble in the sky. We knew a heavy downpour would come soon.
*
By the time the herbalist returned, everyone had composed themselves. Noah was sleeping. The rest of us sat quietly in the room. The herbalist was soaked. I gave him a towel to dry himself, and then he examined Noah. He brought out some herbs from his bag and mixed them in a bowl. Then he rubbed the concoction all over Noah’s body. We watched intently. Noah continued to sleep. The herbalist began to chant incantations. His voice sounded like that of a spirit being, and it cast a spell of silence on all of us.
After a while, Noah opened his eyes slightly. I rushed to him and took his hand. ‘My son,’ I called.
‘The orphanage,’ he said. ‘Mother, we must build it for my friends and for the others.’
‘Yes, we will build it. Once you get well, we will begin to build it.’ In my mind, I swore that I would help him to build the orphanage once he got well.
‘And, Mother . . .’
‘Yes, my son.’
‘Don’t forget,’ he said. ‘No, I won’t forget.’
‘Wake me when I’m gone.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ I whispered fiercely.
‘Noah, you cannot go,’ Bomboi said tearfully. ‘We need you to play with us, please. You’re the only friend we have.’
The boys wept silently.
The herbalist shook his head. He turned his face to the wall, muttering quiet but fierce incantations.
That night, the rain poured in torrents, and a mighty wind tore through the village.
*
After two days of treatment, Noah’s condition got no better, and the herbalist said we must get help. ‘You have to go and seek the help of a certain herbalist called Mazamaza, who lives in a distant region,’ he told me. ‘No one can undertake the journey for you or with you. You must seek him out yourself. Only then can he give you an audience and agree to come with you to treat your son. He is a great herbalist, but he doesn’t stay in one place, so you must search for him all over. Go and return quickly. While you’re away, I will take care of your son. Ask the people you meet on your way. Someone may be able to lead you to Mazamaza. As I said, he moves around constantly.’
He suggested that I begin my search for Mazamaza in a certain village which was several hours away, and he gave me directions on how to get there. I carried a jar of water, some bean cake and money; and I set out before first light. I travelled fast. Soon I left my village behind. As I progressed, I met other pilgrims going to various destinations on one quest or another. Some of them had heard of Mazamaza, but none could tell me where to find him.
For a while, we travelled together, and then the roads led us in different directions and I met new pilgrims and we travelled together for a while. When we stopped to eat and rest, we told each other where we were headed and what it was we were seeking. Some said they were in search of wealth; others in search of love. One man said he did not know what he was searching for, but that when he found it he would know. I said I was on a quest to save my son’s life. They felt sorry for me; they prayed that I would find Mazamaza soon.
I met people who did not speak the same language as me, yet we were able to interact and understand one another. I learned that language allowed us to say the same things in different tongues, but communication allowed us to relate with one another as human beings. I learned many things from the people I met and I shared with them the little I knew. And as I travelled from one village to the other in search of Mazamaza, I experienced the gestures of hospitality often extended to strangers in distant lands, which makes a pilgrim’s journey to the unknown memorable.
I met people who showed me the way, who gave me shelter, and who sustained my hope. I met some who volunteered to travel some way with me, but I told them that I had to seek out Mazamaza alone as a precondition for him agreeing to treat my son. And I met some who told me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world and fell hopelessly in love with me, but I told them that love had to do with the heart and not the looks of a person.
All through these journeys, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of my son – even when I slept and my tired mind became numb to life itself – and I kept praying that when I got back to my village I would find him alive and well.
*
And then one afternoon, several days after I had left home, I arrived in a village where a carnival was going on. Everyone was dressed in colourful attire, and those who were not drumming were dancing, and those who were not dancing were singing. There was an assortment of food on display by the roadside for anyone who cared for some. I asked one elderly man if he knew Mazamaza, and he replied that Mazamaza was right there in the village and that the celebration was in his honour for he had raised someone from the dead.
My heart began to beat uncontrollably and I gripped the man by the hand, forcing him to a halt.
‘Please take me to him,’ I begged. ‘I have travelled for many days and been to many villages in search of him.’
The man studied my face. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman and you look very tired. I can see that you have travelled for many days. Why do you seek Mazamaza?’
‘I wish him to come with me to my village and heal my son. He is sick to the point of death. Take me to Mazamaza, please!’
‘It cannot be immediately,’ the man said. ‘There is a celebration going on.’
‘My son is dying. I need to see him straightaway, please.’
And then the man shrugged and told me to follow him.
*
Mazamaza was not a man; he was a young boy of about sixteen. I was startled by this discovery.
‘I’m looking for a man, a herbalist called Mazamaza,’ I said.
‘I am he,’ he replied.
For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. ‘I have come to see you,’ I managed to say. ‘I’m from a distant village and I have travelled for many days searching for you.’
‘What is it you want of me?’
‘My son is sick and close to death. They say you are the one who can save him from dying.’
He was silent for several moments, his eyes fixed into the distance, as if reading signs in the air. Finally, he focused on me. ‘Go back to your village,’ he said. ‘One day your son will live again.’
‘Please come with me and make him well,’ I said in a tearful voice.
‘I said go back to your village. One day your son will live again. You have come a long way. Hurry back to your village. If you’re able to travel fast, you will meet proof that will save you from experiencing a lengthy riddle. Whatever, your son will live again.’
I was confused. ‘Please come with me to my village. The herbalist treating my son said I should come back with you.’
‘Just go. All will be well.’
‘Do as he says,’ the elderly man said to me gently. ‘Go, all will be well. He is not just a herbalist, he is a spiritualist too. Hurry, go back home.’
The elderly man gave me some food and water. He showed me the road to take, and I set off back to my village.
TEN
The journey back was quicker. It took me two days. In total, I had been away for ten days. I entered the village as night fell. The noise of people wailing in loud voices came to me, and I wondered why. I was tired and famished, yet I hurried my steps, eager to see my son. The village appeared to be deserted. I took a short cut through Main Street, and as I approached my house, I realised that the entire village had gathered there. The wails became louder when they saw me.
My heart melted inside me. I threw away the jar of water I was carrying, and I ran through the crowd into my house. The living room was packed, but I did not notice anyone. I ran into Noah’s bedroom. He was not there. I checked my bedroom and then the spare bedroom, but could not find him. I went back into the living room.
‘Where is my son?’ I asked no one in particular. I got no response, except that the voices of those crying grew louder.
I looked around. Faces began to register in my mind. I saw Pa Umoh and his wife. I saw Duka, and I saw Chair-Lady, among many others. But I did not see the elderly herbalist who had promised to take care of my son.
‘Where is my son?’ I asked, focusing on Chair-Lady.
To my surprise, she began to cry. I knew then something had gone wrong. I grabbed her hand. ‘Where is my son?’ I asked tearfully, but she would not give me an answer.
‘Let me explain,’ a voice said behind me.
I released Chair-Lady and spun round. To my surprise, I discovered that the Chief had come into the living room, and it was him who had addressed me. ‘Let me explain,’ he repeated.
There was quiet in the room now. Only the sound of my harsh breathing could be heard. ‘Where is my son?’ I addressed the Chief.
‘Let me explain,’ he said again.
‘Explain what?’ I screamed at him.
Everyone began to move away, leaving the Chief and me in the centre of the room. I fixed my eyes upon him, waiting for him to speak. He adjusted the beads around his neck, awkwardly. He used the horsetail he was holding to fan himself a bit. And then he spoke. ‘If only you had arrived an hour earlier you would have seen proof.’
‘Seen what proof? Stop talking to me in riddles and answer my question. Where is my son?’
‘He was buried about an hour ago,’ he said quietly. ‘If you had come a little earlier you would have seen him before we buried him. We didn’t know you would return today. He died this morning. You know it’s our tradition to bury the dead on the same day . . . so I instructed that he should be buried.’
The whole world was spinning wildly around me. All the people in the room began to spin too. I could not hear anything. And soon I could not see anything. A soundless noise started to ring in my ears, and then I fell down with a heavy thud, and all that I had ever known became black.
*
I fell through many worlds, deep, deep, down deep. And I encountered strangeness as I went. I heard loud voices that were silent, and I saw shapes of things that did not exist. I saw a place where people were celebrating, but there was no sound of drums, no singing and no dancing. And I saw that everything was not, and that the world was without form, and void. And when I finally came to a stop, it was night, and I was fast asleep in my bed.
In the morning, I stretched and yawned and groped on the bed for my son. My eyes were still closed. I could not feel him. I felt certain that he had passed the night in my bed. I opened my eyes and looked. He was not there. I told myself that he must have woken up early and would be somewhere in the house.
‘Noah, where are you?’ I called out.
Silence greeted me, but I could sense a presence in the house. He must be in the backyard, I thought, on the farm, maybe.
I climbed out of bed. And as I walked towards the door, Chair-Lady came into my bedroom. I was surprised to see her at that time of morning, and in my bedroom for that matter. I frowned. ‘Good morning,’ I greeted her. ‘Why have you come so early?’
‘You are awake?’ She spoke quietly, as if surprised that I was awake.
‘I’m just waking up and going in search of my son,’ I said. ‘Have you seen him? Why have you come so early?’
‘Come,’ she said, leading me into the living room. I was surprised to see some of my neighbours seated there.
I greeted everyone. ‘Is anything the matter?’ I asked.
Silence greeted my question and they exchanged puzzled looks amongst themselves.
‘Is anything the matter?’ I asked again. ‘I hope all is well?’
No one responded.
‘Ese . . .’ Chair-Lady said, ‘you’ve been out since yesterday.’
‘Passed out? How can that be? What happened?’ I asked, turning to her.
She sighed. ‘Sit down.’
I took my seat, my eyes focused intently on her face. And then everything suddenly came to me.
*
I shot out of my seat, gripped by a great fear. I looked around the room. ‘My son! My son! Oh, my son!’ I panted. My entire being began to tremble. ‘Where is my son?’ I screamed. ‘Chair-Lady, please, where is my son?’
She grabbed me and pushed me back into my seat. Others came to join her to hold me down. ‘Relax, Ese, please relax,’ Chair-Lady said.
I looked up at her face, begging her with my eyes to tell me the truth.
‘She now remembers,’ somebody said.
‘Noah . . . Noah,’ was all I could say as I gasped for breath.
‘Noah is dead, and he has been buried,’ Chair-Lady said gently.
I knew she was lying. I knew that they had all taken sides with the Chief against me. This was all a lie designed to break me down for refusing to marry the Chief. The Chief must have given them a great amount of money to tell me a lie. I could not believe that Chair-Lady, of all people, would betray me so cruelly. I was racked with agony. So this was the Chief’s way of getting back at me – hiding my son somewhere and telling me that he was dead. I raised my voice in a loud cry. Several hands pinned me to my seat. I struggled to break free, but my effort was in vain. I screamed again, pushing this way and that way. Some of the people holding me fell to the ground.
‘Chair-Lady, why did you join forces with the Chief to do a wicked thing like this to me? Why would you hide my son and tell me he is dead? Why? Why?’ I lamented.
‘She does not believe that her son is dead,’ someone whispered, the way people whisper when they are trying to hide a wicked lie. And then I knew that, indeed, the Chief had bribed them to tell me that my son was dead.
‘My son is not dead. I know he is not dead. Please just take
me to him. Take me to him and I will marry the Chief, if that’s what you want. Take me to my son, please, I beg you all. I promise I will marry the Chief.’ I felt suddenly drained of all energy. I looked up silently at the faces of the people holding me down. And I was surprised to see that Duka and Pa Umoh and his wife were among them. And then I saw my parents and Tanto’s parents, and I knew that, indeed, the whole village had sold out. ‘How much did the Chief pay you to do this to me?’ I asked, directing my question to my parents and in-laws. ‘Tell me, how much did he pay you?’ I shook my head hopelessly.
‘She does not believe,’ another person said, as if warning the rest of them that their lie was not working.
Of course their lie was not working. I knew that the Chief was behind this cruel plot, and I knew it was because I refused to marry him. I shook my head slowly; I could not find words to express my disappointment at their behaviour.
‘Maybe if we take her to her son’s grave she would believe,’ someone said.
‘I think that’s the best thing to do,’ another said.
‘Okay, let’s take her there,’ Chair-Lady said.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I protested.
They lifted me up on my feet.
‘I said I’m not going anywhere!’ I repeated. ‘Enough of your wicked lies! My son is not in a grave. You have hidden him somewhere, and you must bring him out.’
They tried to get me to walk out of the living room, but I resisted with all my strength. They tried and tried, but I would not move. Finally they lifted me on their heads, took me out of the room, and headed to the graveyard. I struggled and screamed at the top of my voice, demanding that they put me down. None of them said a word until we got to the graveyard. Finally, they set me down. ‘That’s your son’s grave,’ Chair-Lady said, pointing to a fresh mound of earth.
My sorrow turned into anger. I stopped crying, and I shouted at them, ‘My son is not in there.’
‘He is in there,’ Chair-Lady said. ‘He was buried there yesterday.’
‘Then dig him out and let’s see,’ I challenged her.
