by Odafe Atogun
‘An orphan girl died yesterday,’ the Chief continued. ‘She had gone with her brother to Ese’s house. The uncle punished them for going, and unfortunately the girl died. But the uncle cannot be held responsible for the girl’s death. Our laws protect him.’ He paused. ‘The incident would have ended like that whoever the orphan’s relative had been. But yesterday Ese visited me and said that she would like to turn her home into an orphanage and take in every orphan.
‘As you all know, I do not make laws. Our laws are made by the priests. And it is up to the people to accept or reject them. And as you all know, Ese is one of us. Mama told us of her coming long before she came, so she is Mama’s daughter and therefore entitled to enjoy every right as a citizen of our village. So, she will be given the opportunity to make her case before all of us. And it is up to you, the people, to support or oppose her.
‘In the event that she gets the majority of your support, then the priests will have to review the law in question, subject to my approval, of course. But if she fails to get majority support, then her request will be declined, and the law concerning orphans will remain as it is.
‘I must point out, even if she gets your support, and I recommend that the law be reviewed, the priests could still invoke the punishment of the gods, but she would be free to do as she pleases. And it would be up to the gods to either punish or exonerate her. So, by the power bestowed upon me, I call upon Ese to state her case.’
*
For a moment, all was still.
I kept my eyes fixed on Noah. It was all that I needed to sustain my courage. And then I spoke. ‘Your Majesty, I greet you. Great priests, I greet you. Good people of our village, I greet you too. I’m most grateful for the opportunity given to me to address this gathering.’ I paused. ‘I was afraid before I climbed this balcony. But I saw my son in the crowd smiling at me, and I became strong. I became strong because of my son. He is a happy boy. He reminds me that every child deserves to be happy. That is why I believe that the law which condemns orphans should be abolished.’
There were gasps of shock from the priests.
I continued. ‘Not only would I like to see the law abolished, I would like to convert my house into an orphanage. Since orphans are not shown the love they deserve by their relatives, I would like to take them in and care for them. I . . .’
The Chief raised a hand to stop me. ‘You have stated your case. The High Priest will come forward to respond, and then you will get the opportunity to complete your submission,’ he said and motioned in the direction of the priests.
The High Priest strode forward, tall and imposing. He did not bother to observe formalities. His chest pumping and his eyes flaming with fire, he spoke in a thunderous voice. ‘We must not bring the wrath of the gods upon ourselves by breaking the laws they gave us.’ He paused to survey the crowd. ‘None in this village has ever disobeyed the gods, and I’m sure none will dare to do so now. Let us not forget, the gods speak in many ways. They could bring down heavy rain to punish us. And they could send thunder and lightning to destroy us.’
Even as he spoke, the clouds suddenly darkened and a growl of thunder shook the sky. He continued. ‘It’s clear that the gods are speaking even now. If you choose to support Ese, be aware that great disaster will surely come upon this land. Don’t bring sickness and disease upon yourselves. Do not say I didn’t warn you.’ With these words, he stepped back and joined the other priests.
A much louder growl followed in the wake of his words. And then the people began to debate fiercely amongst themselves. I sensed that a great fear had come upon them. I looked on desperately, wondering if they would be bold enough to give me their support now. I could see Kewe and Soluso, heads together, talking in an agitated manner.
The Chief took over. He looked around the crowd, and then he asked, ‘Do you, the people, support Ese?’
There was no response. A lengthy and even louder growl shook the sky.
The Chief asked the question again. This time, only the isolated voices of Kewe, Soluso and Oyi could be heard. My heart began to pound painfully in my chest. The High Priest had succeeded in putting fear in the people. I had lost. I wondered what would happen to Bobo and the other orphans. I blamed myself for Ada’s death, and for condemning her brother to a life of suffering. Tears of frustration welled up in me. I became too sad to focus my eyes on Noah.
For a moment all was quiet. The Chief was about to speak again when a car suddenly appeared in a cloud of dust in the distance. As far as I knew, it was the first time a car had come to the village. The sound of the approaching vehicle caused the crowd to turn round, and shouts of surprise rose into the air. Even the priests had started to talk in excited voices amongst themselves. I turned to look at the Chief. His face was placid as he watched the approaching vehicle. With the proceedings now disrupted, he raised his voice: ‘We will wait to see who the visitor is before we continue with this meeting.’ He signalled to some of his guards standing on the front row, instructing them to go and welcome the visitor and bring him to the balcony.
*
In the commotion that had ensued, I could no longer see Noah, Oyi and the others from where I stood on the balcony. The dust was thicker than ever and they had been swallowed up by the confusion. My heart began to beat with fear. I thought of going to look for Noah, but with the Chief and the priests still on the balcony, I could not leave. I prayed that Oyi would hold on tightly to him.
The car had parked by now. Before long, the guards brought the visitor to the balcony. He was a tall, slim man in his early sixties. He wore a benign smile and he carried himself with dignity. He bowed briefly to greet the Chief. Then he looked around and nodded to everyone.
The crowd pushed forward, eager to get a closer view of the visitor, to know who he was. Where he had parked his car, several kids had gathered. Some guards struggled to disperse them.
The dark clouds had started to clear now, and a lengthy growl in the sky finally died down, indicating that the rain had blown away. The Chief called for silence. ‘We have a visitor in our midst,’ he said. ‘First, we will welcome him and ask him to introduce himself, and then we will continue with our meeting. He turned to the visitor. ‘On behalf of the entire village, I welcome you. I hope you have come in peace.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ the man replied. ‘I’m from the city and I come in peace.’ He spoke in a quiet and cultured voice.
‘May I ask you to speak as loud as possible for the benefit of the people?’ the Chief said politely. ‘What brings you to our village?’
‘I’m a son of this soil,’ the man replied. ‘I have come back to my roots.’
Loud cries of disbelief went up in the air. The priests gathered their heads together, whispering anxiously.
‘You mean you’re a son of this village?’ the Chief asked in a toneless voice. ‘Please explain.’
‘My name is Professor Andu Abibe,’ he said, ‘the Professor, as they would call me in the city. I’m a retired lecturer. As I said, I come from this village, but I doubt if any among you would remember me. I left when I was barely ten. In fact, I ran away, as an orphan, because I was subjected to unthinkable torture. I went first to the town, and then to the city, where I met a good man who took me in and gave me education. I came to know him as a father. He had a good wife, who accepted me as her son.
‘Although they have both passed away, their blessed memories continue to live with me. I lived and gained an education in the city, and I have even travelled to the white man’s land a few times. I have seen the ends of the world. But now I have come back to my roots to share the love and knowledge I have learned on my journeys. This is the summary of my story.’
The crowd had become silent while he spoke. Even the priests had stopped whispering amongst themselves as they listened, raptly. The dust had settled, and a lengthy silence passed after he finished speaking. I regarded the man with fascination. I wanted to go before him and welcome him and ask someone to
fetch him water to drink. But I was simply transfixed. All I could hear were his words, as they continued to echo in my ears.
*
Finally, the crowd stirred, and excited voices filled the air once again. It was beyond belief that an orphan who had run away from the village had become a prosperous lecturer in the city and returned with a car. And he said that he had even travelled to the white man’s land! I just stared at the man in astonishment. ‘You’re welcome back to your roots,’ I heard the Chief saying to him. ‘A meeting was taking place when you arrived. Since you’re a son of our soil, you have the right to be a part of this meeting. So we shall continue.’ He turned to me. ‘Ese, the people have not shown you much support so far. Now you must step forward and conclude your argument.’
I looked at the Chief and then at the Professor. I faced the crowd. I could see Noah now, standing beside Oyi. I could see Kewe and Soluso. I thought of Ada, Bobo and the other orphans. I took a deep breath, and then I began to build my case all over again, for the benefit of the Professor, and the people too, considering that a man who was once an orphan had come to share a story of hope with us.
By the time I finished speaking, not a sound could be heard. It was as if the people were afraid even to breathe. I turned to look at the Chief. His jaw was set. And then he spoke.
‘Again, I ask you, the people,’ he said,
‘do you support Ese?’
There was no response.
‘Are you against Ese?’
Still no response.
He tried again. ‘Ese has presented her case. Are you in support of her?’
A solitary voice said, ‘Yes.’ And immediately, there was a deafening roar of ‘Yes!’
The Chief asked a second time to be sure. The support from the crowd was louder than before. He turned to the priests. ‘You may now speak,’ he said.
The High Priest stepped forward. He spoke in a very loud voice filled with anger. ‘All our laws were given to us by the gods,’ he began. ‘And they also set the punishments to be pronounced on law-breakers.’ He paused. ‘We all know that the punishment for breaking the laws of the gods is blindness, madness and then death. It would be pure foolishness for anyone to bring these terrible punishments on themselves. Since Ese has chosen to oppose the gods, I have no option but to pronounce judgement on her.
‘If she goes ahead with her plans, now that you, the people, have given her your support, and that the Chief may ask for a review of the law in question, I pronounce, in the name of the gods of our land, that within seven days she will go blind, run mad and die!’ He held his broom firmly in the air as he spoke, and his words came out with chilling potency. ‘These are the words of the gods, not of man, and they shall come to pass.’ For a moment, he trembled hypnotically from head to toe, and then he stepped back and joined his fellow priests.
The crowd broke out in loud voices, as if a great confusion had come upon them, or as if they were about to witness something they had never witnessed before. It was the first time anyone had challenged the priests and the first time anyone had gone up against the gods.
*
The Chief turned to me. ‘Ese, the High Priest has spoken. Do you want to go ahead? Are you ready for the consequences that may come?’
I looked from the Chief to the Professor and then to the crowd. The Professor smiled at me encouragingly. In the crowd, Noah fixed his eyes upon me in anticipation. ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ I said, ‘I’m prepared to go ahead.’
‘In that case, I proclaim that you may take every orphan into your home. And I hereby abolish the law that condemns them.’
The crowd roared. The dust in the air thickened. The Chief raised his hand and asked for silence. It took several minutes for quiet to prevail. When he had gained their attention, he announced, ‘You may now go back to your homes.’
The crowd began to disperse amidst a babble of talk. The Chief turned to the Professor and welcomed him warmly again. And then he took me aside and bent down to whisper in my ear. ‘I told you I would conspire with you, remember?’ He did not wait to get a response from me. He continued: ‘I arranged for the Professor to come from the city. I met him when I lived there. He told me his story, that he was from our village and that he would love to return to his roots one day. Yesterday I sent an urgent message to him that it was time for him to come back.’
I was too stunned to say a word.
He turned abruptly away from me. The priests were waiting to consult him.
SEVENTEEN
That very day, enforcers from the palace went to collect the three orphans from the homes of their relatives. The household staff, Noah and I welcomed them with great rejoicing, but they looked cold and frightened. Bobo would not stop weeping, and he kept repeating the words, ‘my sister’. I held him to me, consoling him, telling him that his sister had gone to a better place, that he was safe now. But he looked at me with tears in his eyes and asked if he could join his sister where she had gone. I could not answer his question. I just held him to me, whispering quiet words into his hair, holding back my own tears with all the willpower I could muster.
While Noah took Bobo to his room, I introduced myself to Oma and Kenuli, the older orphans, both of whom the staff had been fawning over. I hugged them and told them that they were in their new home now. They looked at each other, uncertainty in their eyes. And then Oma gave a quiet hiss and shrugged, as if resigned to whatever may come. She wiped her tired face with her palm, sighed and folded her arms across her chest. She looked very thin, with scars all over her body, and she wore an anxious look, as if she was going to burst into tears any minute. ‘Why are we here?’ she asked, as if expecting me to load them with punishments and assignments.
‘This is your new home now,’ I said, pulling her to me. ‘You will live here with me from now on and I will take good care of you, Kenuli and Bobo.’ I pulled Kenuli to me with one hand. ‘My son Noah will be your brother. All of us will live happily together for ever.’
‘Who are you?’ she asked, hesitantly.
‘Call me Auntie Ese. I’m auntie to both of you now, and to Bobo too,’ I said. And I introduced them to the staff who had been lingering in the corner of the room. The orphans merely looked around at everyone suspiciously, saying nothing.
Kenuli appeared taciturn. His eyes were wide. I suspected that he had developed this expression over time, as a result of all the hardship he had endured. He looked very strong, like a boy who had conditioned himself to suffering, who expected nothing in life but suffering. I reached out and touched his face gently, allowing my palm to linger upon his cheek. ‘I’m your auntie now,’ I told him. ‘You don’t have to be afraid anymore.’ He heaved a couple of anxious breaths, like one who had been crying for a long time as a result of a painful injustice that he had suffered. I placed my palm on his chest.
Oyi walked in with steaming dishes of food on a wooden tray.
‘And this is Auntie Oyi,’ I said to them. ‘She’s one of the good people who will be looking after you from now on.’ And, with excitement in my voice, I announced, ‘And now it’s time to eat! Afterwards, you will take a bath and I will show you to your rooms.’
They exchanged looks. I led them to the dining table while Oyi went to get Noah and Bobo. Noah had managed to pacify Bobo. He no longer had tears in his eyes, but he wore an expectant look, as if waiting for something bad to happen or to wake up from a dream.
More trays of food were brought in by the staff and we all sat at the table. As we were about to eat, a knock came on the gate. Soluso went to see who it was. Soon he returned with the Professor.
We all scrambled to our feet to greet him. He smiled benignly at us. His presence seemed to fill the room with calm. ‘I see you’re about to eat,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Please join us.’ I felt so glad that he had come.
Quickly, Oyi and I created a space for him at the table.
‘Thank you for sharing your food with me,’ he said as he t
ook his seat. ‘I will have just a little as I have already eaten.’
We all fixed our eyes on him. In our tradition, the eldest person at the table helped themselves first, and then the others followed.
Instead of washing his hands in the bowl of water that had been provided for him, he bowed his head and spread out his hands. We watched him. We did not know what he was doing. He said to Soluso, who was to his right, ‘Take my hand.’ Soluso took his hand. And he said to Noah, who was to his left, ‘Take my hand.’ Noah copied Soluso. He looked round at the rest of us. ‘Take the hand of the person to your left and to your right.’
We obeyed silently.
‘Let’s bow our heads and say the grace,’ he said.
We imitated him, looking up at him curiously with our eyes open.
‘We thank you, Lord, for the food that we’re about to share. Bless this food, oh Lord. Amen!’
And then he began to eat. The rest of us followed suit.
*
After we had finished eating we sat out in the yard, with two lanterns burning. Oyi and some of the other staff had gone to draw bathing water for the children. I sat with the Professor and Soluso. Up in the sky the stars were out, in their brilliant millions, and the chirp of insects punctuated the stillness of the night.
‘Thank you for coming to visit us,’ I said to the Professor.
‘I’m glad that I came, and I’m glad that I met a strong woman like you.’ He sat up and stretched his legs. We stayed in silence for a few moments. And then he asked, ‘Are you worried about the curse the priest pronounced on you?’
I thought about his question. I shook my head. ‘I don’t really care,’ I said. ‘I believe that I will be making a big difference if I care for these poor children for just one day. And that’s all that matters to me. I do not care what happens to me after that.’
