Did he see the bird’s human face? I wondered.
“Nuju?”
I turned and faced him. “Nothing happened. I was just surprised that the bird got away by flapping one wing. What about you? Why didn’t you shoot? You had enough time.”
Dotan raised his hands up, palms facing me. “Take it easy. It was gone before I was ready, then it disappeared.” He paused for a moment. “Do we take the squirrel to Alaba? I don’t feel like eating anything from the forest today.”
I didn’t answer, my thoughts were everywhere; magic, the bird, the harvest. What did the bird mean by what it said? A shiver ran down my spine… a talking bird.
We got onto the main road and joined the group of people heading into Nuso. Some had carts laden with goods like clothes, spices, beads, and other finished products. They’ll sell them and purchase vegetables, fish, animal hides, and skins to trade.
The village was now awake, and people went about their business. Chickens, goats, and sheep roamed the streets and surrounding areas, searching for food.
Dotan was right. I didn’t feel like eating our kill, either. I should take it to Alaba and ask him about the bird.
Alaba, the butcher, was a good friend of our late father. He always bought our kills. His wife had died a few years ago during childbirth and left him with two sons. I trusted him. He might have answers, but I wouldn’t ask him in Dotan’s presence. Once Dotan got together with his friends and their tongues wagged—they were worse than girls—I’d come back later with the squirrel for the butcher.
“Let’s take it home,” I said. I reached out and touched a tree for good luck. “Maybe tomorrow we might shoot more animals and have more bush meat for Alaba.”
“On harvest day? Count me out,” said Dotan. “Tomorrow could be my last day at Nuso. I take it upon myself to make tonight and tomorrow morning memorable.” Dotan lifted his head and looked into the distance. “There will be tales by moonlight tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll sleep in until it’s time for the harvest.”
I couldn’t argue with that. We headed for home.
“Let’s cut across the Ayodeles’ backyard,” Dotan said and turned off before I could answer.
“No, I’ll keep to the road.”
“I’ll see you at home then,” said Dotan.
I stood on the road for a second and watched him. He trudged past Mama Ayodele, who was busy pounding yam in a mortar. She looked up, saw him, and glanced around. Our eyes met, and she looked away. If I’d been with Dotan, we would have gotten treats and a tongue lashing. And if her husband were home, he would rush out with a horsewhip directed at me. It was me they hated most.
The smell of jollof rice hit me as I approached our hut. My stomach rumbled, reminding me it was empty. At least my appetite was back. I opened the door and stepped in.
Mama was there, dressed in a blue Bubba that had seen many better days. She busied herself over the fire pit. A scarf on her head did double duty, keeping her natural hair together and out of view and mopping up the sweat that trickled down her forehead.
Mama looked up and scowled. “Where’s my son?”
I shut the door, my eyes darting around. “He should be home already. He cut across Ayodele’s compound.”
The door opened, and Dotan walked in, all smiles.
I raised an eyebrow. “How come I still got home before you?”
“I stopped to greet some of my friends,” said Dotan. “They’re all excited about tomorrow.”
Mama’s eyes were fixed on the bulge in Dotan's bag. “I see you got something today.” The deep and harsh voice she had addressed me with became melodious.
“A squirrel,” Dotan said and pulled it out by the tail. “Nuju shot a bird, too, but it got away.”
“It got away,” said Mama. “If it weren’t for you, my boy, we would have starved to death.”
I shook my head. Dotan conveniently forgot to mention that I shot the squirrel, too.
Mama pointed her spoon at Dotan. “Take the squirrel to Alaba, he’ll pay good money for it. He makes good money from all the visitors from Ode that like bush meat.”
Dotan stuffed the squirrel back in the bag and headed for the door. “See you later.”
As much as I didn’t want to, this was my chance to tell Mama about what I saw in the forest. She might have an answer. ”Where’s Kemi?” I didn’t want her repeating anything I said to Mama outside the house.
“Over here, banana head!” yelled a voice.
“Banana head?” I laughed and walked over to where Kemi lay on the mat propped up on her elbows, a game of Ncho, Mancala, spread out in front of her.
“Yes, banana,” said Kemi. “I have to peel off your outer layer before I can get to the soft Nuju inside that will play Ayo with me and tell me stories.”
A painful lump formed in my throat. Mama had doted on Kemi and Dotan for as long as I could remember. I tried to distance myself from Kemi sometimes just to spite Mama, but most of the time I couldn’t help myself; she was my adorable little sister
“Okay, who’s winning?” I knelt beside her and looked at the game board. She played with white cowrie shells against blue ones.
“The blue ones,” said Kemi.
“I’ll play blue then,” I said. I counted the cowries in the different pits and figured out which hole to start with to win. Then I started with the one that would cost me the game.
“Would you take me to see the priestess tonight?” asked Kemi.
I almost said no, then I remembered that, as a priestess, Mamalawo would be in an excellent position to talk more about the bird. Over the years, her job had been relegated to telling stories about the past and healing wounds with herbs and roots instead of magic. Tonight, I wanted to learn more about the past.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll take you.”
Chapter Six
The smell of roasted corn and coconut filled the air as Kemi and I arrived at the village square. Women sat on low stools in front of charcoal fires fanning the flames to roast corn, coconut, and pears.
With a mat and blanket in tow, we headed for the almond tree at the center of the village square, the site of many important events including new yam festivals, welcoming visiting dignitaries, the harvest of farm produce, and tomorrow, the selection of children to serve the gods at Ode. The village square could hold the entire population of Nuso—about one thousand people.
A large crowd gathered under the tree, driven away from their homes by the tension created by the next harvest of blood. People left their homes to find other things that would keep their minds away from thinking about losing their children.
Wood crackled in the fire pit set in the square's vicinity. The sound of crickets chirping and frogs calling out to each other reminded me of other times I’d sat and listened to the priestess tell stories.
The sound of little children younger than Kemi filled the air as they ran around playing tag and hopscotch, reminding me of not too long ago when I was carefree. Then, I didn’t notice Mama’s disdain for me.
“In our land, we have many gods that gave their powers as gifts,” said Mamalawo, dressed in a white Bubba, with white chalky powder smeared on her face. “Some of these gifts we haven’t come across yet, but the ones we know, I’ll tell you about them. Not everyone had the gifts, and neither were all gifts equal.” She paused and looked around. “Some had the gift of control over the elements—fire, water, darkness. A few saw into the future, the power of divination. A handful could raise the dead!” Her voice rose to a high pitch.
There was a hush as everyone around considered what she’d just said. We lived in a small community, and most of us knew when someone died. It would be magical to see someone dead get up. Would they be the same? I wondered.
“Some had healing powers,” continued Mamalawo. “When I was a little girl, we used to visit Oyiria. It was such a beautiful place. One time, we had visited, and while playing, I fell and broke a leg. My mother took me to a healer. It was such a beaut
iful place. The healer brought me into a room, laid me on the bed, spoke some words, and waved her fingers over my leg. I felt extreme heat at the injured spot, then it was back to normal. Healed. I got up and walked away as if nothing ever happened to my leg.” She paused and smiled.
“Who has heard of the god of thunder? What does he hold in his hand?”
Several little boys’ hands shot up.
Mamalawo pointed at a boy with two hands up. “Yes, little Shola,” said Mamalawo, smiling.
“Shango is the god of thunder. He has a double-headed axe. I want a double-headed axe like Shango.”
Mamalawo smiled. “We all do. We all long for those days many moons ago when men and women had the gifts from gods and were godlike.”
Everybody watched her and waited, the sound of crackling wood in the fire loud. I leaned forward; Mamalawo wore a distant expression.
“Yes,” said Mamalawo. “There was another incident when I was in Oyiria. A little Oyirian boy was playing with a coin. He would toss it in the air and keep it suspended there. And, looking at it, made it move in different directions—”
“Can an animal turn into a human, and the other way round?” asked a familiar voice.
No, it couldn’t be. I spun around, and my jaw dropped. So he had seen.
Mamalawo pivoted and looked toward where the voice came from. “Why do you ask, Dotan, son of the late hunter?”
All eyes were fixed on Dotan. “In the forest today, my sister shot a squirrel, then a bird stole it. She shot the bird, too.”
“The gods,” mumbled a few voices.
“And what were you doing? Just watching?” asked another.
A few people laughed.
“Something like that,” said Dotan. “Anyway, when we went to retrieve the bird, it had the face of an old woman.”
“Who had a human face?” asked Mamalawo in a shaky voice.
I couldn’t believe my ears. What I was trying to ask in confidence, Dotan had blurted out in front of everybody.
Mamalawo’s eyes searched the crowd, and when she found me, she stopped. I shrank into my shoulders. Why was she looking at me? I didn’t ask the question.
“What happened to the bird?” asked Mamalawo, her eyes on me.
I wanted to hide. She should be looking at Dotan, not me. He asked the question.
“It… it flew away,” I blurted out.
Mamalawo laughed a deep laugh. “Harmattan is coming.” I shivered as a chill traveled down to my bones.
Chapter Seven
It was still dark when I woke. Maybe I hadn’t even slept, still angry from the events that happened earlier in the night. Why didn’t Dotan mention he had seen the bird's face? And why did he lay everything out? He didn’t have to mention me.
Now the whole town was aware of what happened in the forest. People believed something out of the ordinary happened when Baba died. Something to do with the gods or evil. With this sighting in the woods, there would be a backlash.
Or maybe everybody’s mind would be on the harvest this afternoon; they would have little time to think of anything else. I let out a deep breath, easing the tension I felt.
I looked at Mama and Kemi, then turned to look at Dotan. I wished Baba was still alive. He would have had answers. Baba had hunted in our forest since he was a little boy and knew it like the back of his hands. The right spots for trapping bush meat, fishing, where to pick wild fruits and herbs. He knew which plants were medicinal and which ones would kill you with one bite. I’m sure he would’ve encountered that bird before. I missed him. He took me hunting with him whether or not I wanted to go. She’s a girl, Mama would protest. But he’d counter with, she’s our child, and we must prepare her.
He tried to teach Dotan and me, but I was the more interested one. Mama had insisted that I learn more about cooking to help her. Baba countered that I must also learn how to hunt. As a child, I always felt I was used by our parents to settle scores. Whenever I did something Baba wanted me to do, Mama’s job was to bring me down and humiliate me.
Dotan and I attended a small school under the mango tree with other kids for formal education. But once we came home, the focus was more on the practical things in life. Then Kemi was born, and things changed. Baba and Mama were thrilled. Baba’s attention shifted to the new baby. Mama’s indifference changed a little, as if she had always wanted another girl. Within a short time, I spent more time on my own and soon preferred my own company.
I had no friends in school or out of school. I did my homework and whatever chores were assigned and then practiced with my bow.
“Nuju, are you awake?” whispered Dotan.
“Yes.”
“I can’t sleep, either,” said Dotan. “Each time I close my eyes, I see the woman’s face. It scared me, and I knew if I brought it up, we both would be terrified. At first, I wasn’t sure what I saw, then I saw your face and I knew. I had to pretend so we wouldn’t panic in the forest.”
I nodded in the dark, knowing precisely what he meant. If we were both terrified in the middle of the forest, we could have made mistakes.
“I’m sorry for asking Mamalawo at the square without getting your permission.”
“That’s alright,” I said. But it wasn’t alright. When things went wrong in the community, I was blamed.
Dotan cleared his throat. “After you left, Mamalawo called me aside and said I was lying, that magic had been dead for a long time. Then she said, maybe next time I would tell her we saw a water summoner.”
“People that have the gift of summoning?” I asked. “How can you summon water?”
Dotan yawned. “Exactly my words, too. I thought she was losing her mind. We’ll continue tomorrow. All right, good night, or good morning.”
I chuckled as a yawn gripped me. “Good morning.” I knew it wouldn’t be long before the cock crowed and the village would bustle with activities to prepare for the harvest.
Chapter Eight
“Nuju! Nuju. Wake up! All you do is sleep.”
A hand shook me. I opened my eyes and saw Mama leaning over me. Sunlight slipped in through cracks in the door.
“Dung beetle, I overslept,” I mumbled.
“Of course you overslept, worthless rubbish,” said Mama. “You kept Kemi for a long time at the village square.” Mama straightened herself. “I have to go to the market. I’ll be back soon so we can prepare for the afternoon.” Mama shuffled towards the door.
I noticed movement on the mat where Kemi was.
“Bye, Mama,” said Kemi.
“Bye, my daughter,” Mama said, and shut the door.
Dotan got up, stretched, and yawned. “What's for breakfast?”
“Whatever you make,” said Kemi, mimicking Dotan’s voice.
“There’s some leftover food from yesterday,” I said. “I can warm up some and boil some greens. We can eat that for breakfast.”
Dotan shook his head. “No, I’ll wait until Mama comes back and makes something special.” He lay back on his mat and covered himself with his blanket.
Kemi sat up. “Nuju, I had a dream last night.” There was excitement in her voice. “I was in the forest, and I shot a bird. I want to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. Will you teach me?”
I was skeptical. “Why?” For a long time, I’d been trying to get her to go hunting with me, but she’d always refused, and Mama would encourage her not to.
“Yesterday when Dotan was talking about the bird you shot down, it sounded so exciting. I want to try.”
“Mama doesn’t want you doing that or going near the forest,” said Dotan. “But you two can have a blast together, I won’t tell. I’m just going to hang out here and relax. Who knows? This might be my last time at home. Nuju, if I were you, I would do the same. Kemi doesn’t have to worry until next year to face those witches.”
What Dotan said made sense. There was a saying that when the student is ready to learn, the teacher will appear. It would go against mama’s wishes, but, since Kemi
on her own was prepared to learn, I would teach her.
I jumped up from my mat and got into my boots before she changed her mind. “Okay, we’ll shoot lizards for practice.” I unhooked the string from my bow and tossed it to Kemi. “String it!”
I went to the corner where we stored Baba’s things. We had covered them with a piece of cloth. I took out a bow I’d used before I moved to the one I have now. It had ten years of accumulated grime on it. I sneezed.
“Your life!” said Kemi as she struggled to string the bow. “This is tough, I can’t do it.”
I dusted my old bow with a piece of rag. “Try this.” I handed my old bow to Kemi and took mine back.
Kemi dropped my bow and picked up the smaller one. “That’s more like it!” She raised a fist in the air.
The safest place would be to let her shoot against the back wall of our hut. Back in the day, Baba had put a figure made of raffia for me to shoot at. What would I have her shoot first before lizards?
Kemi had an arrow in her string. It looked clumsy. She looked around. “Where are the lizards? When you don’t need them, they are all over the place.”
I laughed. “Not yet. We have to first learn how to grip the arrow, pull the string, and aim.” Kemi’s arrow was pointed at my stomach. I tried not to panic. “First thing’s first. Always point your arrow down.”
Kemi looked at her arrow. “Oh, sorry.” She pointed it downwards.
I exhaled. “Let’s go to the backyard.” At the back, Mama had made me pile a bunch of logs for firewood. I selected one and stood it up against the wall.
“What do I shoot?” asked Kemi.
“You shoot me first, then the log later.”
Kemi had an incredulous look on her face. “Okay,” she said slowly.
I shook my head. “Of course you shoot the log first,” I said. I showed her how to load the arrow, breathe, aim, and shoot.
We practiced for about thirty minutes, and Kemi was not a natural. Maybe she would do well with live targets. I’ll humor her. I looked around for a lizard. We had to be careful we didn’t shoot someone passing by. A female lizard scampered up the back wall, and I pointed at it.
The Selection Page 3
