by Odafe Atogun
‘I’m glad I met you,’ he said once again, nodding his head. ‘You see, the gods the priests claim to serve are powerless.’
Soluso caught his breath sharply.
The Professor continued. ‘The gods they claim to worship are a creation of their evil minds, which they use to put fear in people in order to control them. Such gods do not exist. And the laws they make are the wicked lies of a very ignorant people. I was an orphan, they labelled me an evil child with their laws, but here I am today. I met a good man and his good wife who cared for me and gave me a future. And because of the love they showed me I have been able to see the ends of the world. There’s a god up in heaven to whom all power belongs. He is not a god you can access through tradition or religion, but through love. And it’s that love that is lacking in the hearts of the priests and all who uphold their laws.
‘Fear not. No evil shall befall you. The curse pronounced on you by the priests shall come to nought. They have given you seven days to live. You will live far beyond that time, and everyone will come to see how powerless their gods are. What this village needs is good education for the children, for they are the custodians of the future. I will work with you to provide education not only for the children in your care, but for all children. And one day, the evil traditions of this and other villages will be wiped out.’
*
I wondered if I was in a dream, if all of this was really happening. For a while, I feared that I might wake up to find it all a cruel joke. But the Professor’s voice affirmed the authenticity of things and the great possibilities of the future.
‘Tell us about yourself,’ I said, ‘about your family in the city.’ As I asked this question, my mind went to Kpofe, and for a moment I prayed that he was okay, that things had got better for him.
‘There’s nothing to tell about me, nothing to tell about you or any of us who are grown enough to be called adults,’ the Professor said. ‘All there is to tell is about the children of our society to whom we owe a sacred duty. And the duty we owe them means that we must guide them correctly and provide them with a good education that will open their minds to the greatest possibilities. So there’s really nothing to tell about me. And I already know all that I need to know about you – that you’re a very kind and courageous woman. These are the qualities you need to make a difference in society.’
Soluso and I were subdued by the profoundness of his words. I wished I could just sit there and listen to him for ever. I knew Soluso felt the same way.
When they had finished taking their baths, the children came to join us. I felt glad to see that they were all in much better moods. They were warmly clothed to protect them from the night’s chill. I felt glad to see the way they walked towards us, together, like loving siblings.
‘Come and sit beside me,’ the Professor said, motioning them over. He got them to sit two on either side of him. He asked them their names and chatted with them. He told jokes that made them laugh. It felt wonderful to see them laugh. Kenuli spoke quietly. Oma laughed the most, as if she had suddenly found invaluable happiness. And then Bobo asked, ‘Has my sister really gone to a better place?’
The Professor already knew his story. ‘Yes, your sister has gone to a better place,’ he said. ‘And if you behave well, you will go there, too, one day. Okay?’
The boy nodded.
‘Before you go to bed, let me tell you this,’ the Professor said in a quiet voice. ‘I was once an orphan in this village. And then I travelled to the city and I met a good man and his good wife who took me in and cared for me. The love they showed me made me who I am today. I have come to share that love with you. One day you, too, will share it with others and you will be very happy.’
‘I know the secret of happiness,’ Noah said eagerly.
‘You know?’ the Professor asked.
‘Yes, Mother told me the secret of happiness.’
‘And what is it?’
‘The secret of happiness is that we must be happy at all times, even if the whole world is sad.’
‘Beautiful!’ the Professor exclaimed. ‘And that’s what each of you must always do. You must always be happy at all times, even if the whole world is sad. Okay?’ He bent down to look at their faces.
They nodded.
‘Good. Now it’s time for you to go to bed.’
*
Kewe and Chamuke arrived shortly after the children had gone to their rooms. They were delighted to meet the Professor, who welcomed them warmly. Sitting round the two lanterns, we chatted late into the night. The Professor did not tell us anything more about himself, but he spoke about his plans to give education to the children of the village.
‘It’s a good thing that you’re starting off with an orphanage,’ he said. ‘It provides me with the platform to bring them education. Gradually, we could attract other children and build a proper school for the entire village.’
‘I like your plan,’ I said. ‘This house is very big, and we could convert a part of it into a school.’
‘One room would do, if you would be kind enough to allow me to use it as a classroom.’
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘I went to the town the other day with Oyi, and we saw children in uniform coming from school. And I thought that it was possible for us to have a school in the village too. It is amazing that you have come to make that dream a reality.’
‘I saw it as a wild dream that day you mentioned it,’ Oyi said.
‘Everything starts with a dream,’ the Professor said.
‘I agree,’ Oyi said.
Finally, the Professor rose to his feet. ‘I have to return to the palace,’ he said. ‘The Chief was kind enough to provide me lodgings. I must get back before it’s too late.’
We all rose. I wished he did not have to go.
*
I took the decision to shut the shop temporarily to give me the chance to attend to the children and to finalise plans for the school with the Professor. He came every day; his presence was uplifting for everyone. The children liked to gather around him. They liked his jokes because they made them laugh.
Bobo was gradually getting over his sister’s death. But you could tell that he thought about her now and then. Kenuli was becoming chattier, but his eyes remained wide, betraying the fear he had lived with most of his life. I hoped that time would heal his wound, that the wideness of his eyes would become one of joy and delight. Oma was like a child who, having suddenly discovered happiness, could no longer remain silent or still. She pranced around the house, and she talked and laughed more than everyone. It was a great credit to Noah, who was always sharing the secret of happiness with them, so that in spite of all the pain and sadness they had been through, they were able to exude a happiness that thrilled the rest of us.
Seven days after the meeting at the palace, I had not gone blind or run mad. And I was still alive. On the eighth day, most of the villagers gathered in front of my house to find out what had become of me. The fact that the shop remained closed had heightened their curiosity. But when they saw me coming and going, walking without a cane to guide me, still fully clothed and not stark raving mad, they talked with great excitement amongst themselves.
On the twelfth day I went with the children to the palace to greet the Chief. A large crowd followed us as we went. The Chief had been notified of our coming. He came out to welcome us, smiling, triumphant, holding his royal staff high up in the air.
‘Ese, I can see that you’re well and alive,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘And that your children are doing well too.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ I replied.
The crowd behind us gave a jubilant shout that shook the world.
The next day, the priests gathered their families and left the village quietly, paving the way for a new dawn.
*
One evening, a week later, my heart led me to the Gate. I sat on Mama’s rock, alone, thinking of all that had happened in so short a time. I wondered which village the priests an
d their families had moved to. I felt certain that they would never again be able to sow lies.
I waited. I did not know what I was waiting for. But I did not have long to wait. My eyes were fixed on the rock on which I was seated. When I looked up, I saw him coming from afar. He had a bag across his shoulder. Even before I could make out his face, I knew it was him. Kpofe. My heart began to beat with joy, and I mouthed a thank-you to Bisco.
I got to my feet and we ran towards each other. And when we embraced, I thought my heart would burst from my chest. We gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ I said.
He smiled. He looked very well, and as colourful as usual. I felt grateful that the city had not beaten him.
‘When Bisco told me he had found you, I knew I had to come,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit down, we need to talk. And please don’t say anything until I finish.’
I led him to Mama’s rock, and we sat down side by side. He dropped his bag and took my hand. ‘You have survived the worst, and I’m very glad for you,’ he said. ‘I went to the village after you ran away and I was told all that had happened.
You must put the past behind you. And that’s why I have come. As I said, you have survived the worst. Do not be afraid to face the future.’
He paused, then continued. ‘Bisco told me you live in this village with your son now.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘Ese, I must tell you something. It is true that Noah died when you went in search of Mazamaza. And he was buried before you got back. The boy who now lives with you is not Noah.’
‘But he is Noah,’ I said in alarm. ‘You will see for yourself. He is Noah, except that he no longer has the birthmark on his back.’
He smiled gently. ‘He is a gift given to you to replace the son you lost, because you have shown so much faith, because you believed so fiercely that your son did not die. I cannot lie to you, Ese. I was told what happened in the village. Noah is dead.’
For a long moment we were silent. I thought about the missing birthmark, and I nodded my head in understanding. Tears welled in my eyes. Kpofe pulled me to him and wiped my tears. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘The boy is indeed your son now, your gift. Only you and I know this. You have a future ahead of you, and I have come to share it with you. Please don’t cry.’
I smiled at him. Then I looked out along the road. It had brought me my last gift. All the years I had spent searching for love had brought me to this spot, the end of the road, where I would find it.
I had reached my destination, my destiny, my place, yet, still, an eternity remained ahead. One filled with love, faith and freedom.
Epilogue
Many suns passed and moons came and went.
Noah grew into a strong man. At twenty-three, he had acquired an education, travelled to the towns and the city, and seen a bit of the world. And then one evening at dinner, he cleared his throat and announced to us, ‘I’m going to visit the village of Mother’s stories.’
‘Go, my son, come back and tell us about your journey,’ I said to him with a smile.
He took off the following morning, in a car similar to the one that the Professor had driven from the city all those years ago. When he came back a few days later he had an incredible story to tell.
The journey that had taken me one month on foot took him only a few hours. The world had changed, civilisation had advanced, and distance had been bridged.
He arrived on the outskirts of the village as a heavy downpour began. He saw an abandoned building, and he decided to take shelter there until the rain stopped, because visibility had become poor and the road treacherous. He was surprised to find a couple of young boys in the building, lying on the floor of the living room.
He apologised for intruding and asked if the building was their home. They explained to him that they had no home; that it was a place of temporary shelter for them until they were able to leave the village and go to a place where no one knew them. They told him they were orphans, and, suddenly, he remembered the building from the stories I had told him.
He spoke with the children and, with their permission, took a walk through the rooms to see what the place looked like. It was just as he had always imagined it, just as I had described.
In a room filled with old boxes and piles of junk, which the boys explained they never used, he lingered.
As he walked through the room, his foot kicked against a board protruding from under a pile of rubbish and he almost fell. He pulled out the offending piece of board to put it away safely, but to his surprise he discovered that it was not a board at all, but a painting of many colours. He removed years of dust with his hands.
He did not need to look too closely before realising that it was Ese, the painting about which I had told him so much. He held it up to the light by a window. He was amazed to see me standing in the middle of a market, exactly as I had told him. In the background, he saw the indistinct face of a handsome young man. For a few moments, he just stared at the face. And then it suddenly occurred to him that it was his own face staring back. He began to tremble with wonder.
He gathered from the boys that there had been a great famine in the land for years. When the rain stopped, he told them to wait for him, that he would be back soon. He left his car behind to show them that he would honour his word. He carried the painting under one arm and completed the journey to the village on foot.
The people had been waiting for him for so long. They gathered around him to admire the painting, and they told him about the prophecy made by a High Priest a long time ago. They said he was the Chief that would lead them into an era of prosperity, and they begged him to dwell amongst them.
But he told them that he must settle something first. So he came back to tell me what had happened, and that he felt in his bones that becoming their Chief was what he was meant to do.
I helped him to pack. A few days later, I drove with him in his car to the Gate. ‘Go and pursue your destiny, my son,’ I said, leaning across to hug him. Then I climbed out of the car and set my eyes upon the road that would lead my son to his destiny.
For a long time after he had driven out of my sight, I continued to look down the road, with a smile on my face.
Acknowledgements
After finishing my first book, I had a Skype conference with my then editor Louisa Joyner and my agent Toby Mundy to discuss book two. I put forward three ideas, and Louisa suggested that I work on this particular story as against the one I favoured. I have not stopped admiring her for her prescience since. Alas Louisa moved on and handed me to my new editor, Joanna Dingley. This is how I came to be so fortunate to be guided by two elegantly creative editors. A big thank-you to Louisa Joyner and to Joanna Dingley. You are great blessings to my writing.
A few chapters into the writing of this book, plagued by doubts, I turned to the man who showed me the way in the beginning. He offered me invaluable suggestions and encouragement. Trevor Dolby, a big thank-you.
To my agent Toby Mundy, who helped me to discover what he calls ‘the song in my voice’, I can never express my gratitude enough. Your contribution to the writing of this book and to shaping my career is invaluable.
I say a big thank-you to ‘The Big Man’ Jamie Byng and all the good folks at Canongate; to my German publisher Ulrike Ostermeyer and all on the Ark; to everyone at Random House US; to all at Yurt Kitap Yayin, for refusing to be intimidated by barrel and boot; to all at Frassinelli; to my dynamic Nigerian publisher, Lola Shoneyin; to Clare Christian, who has been there from the beginning; to my brilliant copy-editor Alison Rae; and to all who helped in numerous ways. To the Creator, who wrote this story through me, I owe my deepest gratitude.
‘A heartfelt and imaginative story told with sincerity and compassion’ Petina Gappah
‘A beautifully interwoven novel about magic and loss and the incomprehensible threads that connect our lives’ Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love
‘A novel of heart, brain, and muscle – the competing pulls of
history and love are evoked here with a rare honesty and great skill’ Kamila Shamsie
