Everyone Has a Story

by Sunday Eyitayo Michael

CHAPTER TWO

  As expected, we woke up seeing the full moon, full sun the next morning, we were all excited, Oduduwa has granted our request again; he always did, so far someone asked. All through that day was filled with works and preparations against the evening’s story time. As usual mama and a few other women went to food hut to make some drinks and itikpa; a crispy, long, thin snack; everyone except the toothless aged men and the new born that hadn’t grown a tooth enjoys it; during the story time they just sit back, listen, watch and gulp in the drink excessively. We the young ones ran little errands for our mothers, sweep the island centre and arranged all the mats around the rock-stage where the story teller sits; it was high enough so that he could be seen and heard by all the islanders.

  I always wished I could grow fast and become a man quickly. The only time men worked at Itutu Kilomin was when the community is becoming over-populated. Only then, will they all come together and build more huts and that happens once in a decade. I saw it happen once since I was born and that was when I was just seven years; when mama became the island cook. On other days, Men just sit at home, tell the children stories and when it was time for meals they walk to the food hut to eat and at night, they snore heavily. Those days even include the story time when Itutu Kilomin was busiest.

  As mama and I walked out of our hut, Baba was still asleep, snoring loudly, the good thing was that the sound couldn’t leave the three walls of his room. When Oduduwa made him stop snoring then, he got angry saying that was the major joy of his sleep. Oduduwa decided to give it back to him but created an invisible shield around his room so that the sound would not leave his room. This settled the dispute that wanted to arise between him and our neighbors, whose snores were a little less loud.

  After I had helped mama fetch salt water, pluck some onion bulbs and washed a few calabashes, I ran to join the rest of the kids at the island centre where we all worked happily and that helped us finish our work in time so we had enough time to play. After a few hours of hide and seek, ten- ten, and catcher, we began to hear a group a dancers heading towards our direction, we knew the hour had come, excitedly we all ran back to our various huts to clean up and change our goat skin cloth; the one we wore initially had become so dusty. Baba Agba would say ‘on full moon, full sun, make sure you wear your best goat skin.’ I ran fastest because I wanted to sit in front when we came back. I wanted to see the dancing competition, I loved to see how the young girls swayed their waist from side to side, I knew someday I will pick a wife from amongst the descendants of great mother Nkiru and I wanted to be as lucky as my father, Baba Agba was.

  I could not have known I would put myself into such trouble when I offered Baba Agba my shoulder for support, if I knew I would certainly not have done it.

  ‘Where have you being Tayo?’ Baba Agba screamed immediately I ran into the house. I knew there was trouble; when he calls me omo mi, he is happy but whenever he screams Tayo, certainly I would pluck out my eyelashes.

  ‘After helping mama, I went to join the rest children at the island centre to clear it.’ I replied.

  ‘Then after which you?’ he screamed again but this time in a less harsh tone. I could not place how best I would tell him I was playing after we were through even though I knew that he knew that I was playing. Moreover, I certainly could not tell him any other thing that was not the truth because Oduduwa would strike me dead immediately. Just last year, three children were struck dead in front of their parent immediately after they had lied, ever since, parents hate to ask their children anything that would make them even by mistake lie and even the children were scared to be struck too.

  ‘Err… err…’ I stammered, I immediately noticed Baba Agba’s hand were shaking, it was always shaking but this time it shook in fear, he was afraid that I would lie and that I would be struck by water if I did. Immediately, he forced himself to move a bit forward and held my hands tightly.

  ‘Do not speak my child, I certainly will not lose you, not now, until you are old and ripe to live with our ancestors up and above in paradise’ Baba Agba said in a low shivery tone. It was well believed among our people that any man that dies below the ripe age of seventy-two years will not join the ancestors in paradise, but rather will come back to earth as either stones or animals until they are ripe.

  ‘Have you forgotten I threw my stick away?’ he asked despite the fact that he knew that I was not there when he threw it; I didn’t even know he did. That was an indirect lie, but I guess Oduduwa pardoned him, perhaps, because he was aged and might have forgotten if I was there when he threw it away.

  ‘No…. I mean, yes…. I don’t know when you threw it away’ I stammered in shock, as I did not know what to think about at that moment. Could he now walk well without being propped by the stick? I hoped so because I did not want to think he threw it so that I can be his walking stick.

  ‘So you see why you ought to be around me always. What if I wanted to go to the waste centre to excrete, is that how you would be playing about and leave me here all to myself?’

  ‘No Baba’ I replied in a low but rather sad tone. I knew he won’t be able to place why I am sad now, I needed to make it clear to him because he might think am just sober about my actions not knowing it’s because I didn’t want to be his propping boy.

  ‘But Baba, I will get you a new and stronger stick tomorrow.’

  ‘Sticks are too rigid, I needed something flexible. Our people will say ‘a man who have tasted palm wine won’t call a man who have drunken palm wine to stupor a drunkard because he too have tasted of its sweetness’. Besides, now you have come of age, help your aged father, after all, how many years do I have left to live?’ he said. Forgetting that he had told me twice during story time that Oduduwa has promised he would live up to one hundred years and he was just eighty years then, I could certainly not be a propping boy for twenty years.

  However, I knew trying to make him understand that, will only make me late to the island centre for story time and possibly at the end he won’t understand which will make two losses on my path, so I decided to do the right thing.

  ‘Baba, I can see you are dressed already, let me quickly change my goatskin and clean up so that we can both go’ I said as I rushed to my room and all the way I imagined how I would grow my first goatee as a prop boy. I held Baba Agba’s stool as we ‘snailishly’ walked to the island centre. Many of those that ran passed us bowed to greet and they went ahead of us. I couldn’t reply the greetings that were directed to me, because I kept counting the number of people that ran past us; I counted so that I would know how far back I would sit, all I just hoped for at that moment was that I will at least see the dance, even if it was the last move. As expected, the whole mats were almost filled up except for the mats at the back; it was so far behind that even if I stood I would not see the dancers. Sadly, I moved Baba Agba beneath the full mango tree; that was a place reserved for the aged men, the shades of the mango tree was so big that a little more than forty aged men could find shelter beneath it. I dropped Baba Agba’s stool on the floor and bent him a little to sit.

  ‘Now where will you sit?’ he asked as he turned around looking at different mats. My eyes followed his too round the rock. ‘Look at one at the front’ he said as he pointed at the front row close to the rock ‘just one person is sitting on it… oh its Jemimah; the daughter of Mr. Hassan. Go and join her there’ he paused and dipped his hands into his crocodile skin bag to bring out kola nuts. Baba Agba still had teeth unlike other men of his age group; even though they had turned thick brown because of the kola he chewed excessively.

  ‘What are you still waiting for; do you want to lose that space too?’ he said without looking at me as he broke the kola into two halves.

  ‘No Baba’ I replied and I rushed down to sit on the mat with Jemimah.

  Jemimah was nine years then, but unlike other of her age groups who struggled to join the dance team; she just sits back shyly and watches. She had long glaring eye lash
es like that of a cat and her beauty if liquefied and kept in a bowl and given to someone to drink, no matter how strong he is he would have reached stupor before he reaches the first one fourth of the bowl. Her beauty was excessive just like mama’s own, but she was a bit less beautiful than mama was. Baba said her father was a northern outcast when they were on land; he was the son of the great queen Amina of Zazzau.

  Baba Agba had told me of queen Amina heroic stories and I admired her heart, I was sure that if it was her heart that was used to create mama, it would certainly not be a woman, but a man, a very strong man. Baba Agba then will jokingly say that Olodumare, the great god supreme had given all her generations’ bravery and strength to her that is why Jemimah is so shy and that’s why once, a rat drove Mr. Hassan from his hut.

  ‘Happy full moon, full sun’ I said to Jemimah immediately I sat down, she used her slender black fingers to cover her eyes in shyness as she turned away and slowly replied.

  ‘Same to you’, I could see her mouth opened as she smiled when she replied. Her little white teeth shone and the two front teeth had a tiny beautiful distance apart.

  ‘So whose story would you like to hear today?’ I asked, I wanted to bring up a conversation so that the hot air between us could cool down at least a bit, I knew it wouldn’t last long, but I would try so hard to make her talk.

  ‘Perhaps, Kukuru’s story’ she said with her fingers still over her eyes, I noticed her smiles fading away; she was certainly feeling uncomfortable with the conversation but I wasn’t going to quit anytime soon.

  ‘Why do you want to listen to his, Ijemili has one and half legs, don’t you think he will have more stories to tell?’ I asked.

  ‘I hate scary stories; I won’t be able to sleep at night?’ she replied, this time she had dropped her hands from her face and placed it on her thigh. It was far easier than I thought to make her get free with me, perhaps she was just shy to start up a conversation with people but when the conversation is started she goes ahead freely.

  ‘How do you know his story will be scary?’

  ‘What could have made his legs one and half will certainly be scary.’ She replied as she shivered a bit; I believe it was because thoughts ran through her head of how it happened.

  ‘Don’t you remember Katuma’s story?’ she asked after she had recovered from the brief shiver.

  ‘No, when did he say his story?’ I asked.

  ‘Four years ago, I was just five then. Katuma lost just his thumb, but when he said the story of how he lost it, I couldn’t sleep for ten days on a row, I even went to father for comfort at night but even he couldn’t sleep after listening to the story. If it’s Ijemili that will tell his story, I will close my ears all through’ she poured out like a drum that have been long reserved with water and is once given an opportunity to flow out. She felt so free with me; I never even knew she could whisper.

  ‘Wait; am I really talking to you?’ she asked after a long pause.

  ‘Of course you are’ I replied in a low tone. Immediately she bent her head and began to weep, I got scared, what could I have done wrong? On the other hand, was she among the ‘select’, has the voice of Oduduwa earmarked her? I thought as I raised her head a bit.

  ‘What is wrong with that?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘This is the first time I have been so free with anyone, I feel joy rushing through my lungs now that I know I can do it, I have longed for this moment since when I started talking or rather, when I was old enough to talk.’ She said. I felt like a hero and I smiled at her.

  The voice of Oduduwa, Parukutu, danced forward. Ever since Oduduwa had created the island and wives for his people, he never again appeared in person, but rather he spoke through Parukutu, who was over one hundred and twenty years old. Parukutu had the strength and agility of a twenty years old man, even his voice was deep and young unlike other shaky old men, who weren’t even as old as he was. Anytime he wants to deliver a message from Oduduwa, he wears his kalimo- a rare skin combination formed from pounded hippopotamus, tiger and rabbits and the cap he wears are made from elephant’s tusk and whale’s teeth. When he danced around, the tiny calabashes tied around his waist hit themselves to make rare melodious sounds, depending on the message he wanted to deliver; whenever he wanted to deliver a bad message, the calabash clashes are vigorous but the common sounds were the soft melodious ones. He climbed the top of the rock and after a little dance; he paused, lifted his hands up to the sky and recited some incantations. Immediately, stars fell from the skies into the ocean and his eyes burned like the sun and the stars and water now guarded the boarders of Itutu Kilomin, it was a rare act so we all bowed.

  ‘This day is going to be a special day’ he started in a thunderous voice, which cooled down to normal towards the end of the sentence.

  ‘I shall make one thousand years one day and a thousand days one year’ he said and I wondered what he meant, immediately I tried to relate it to cashew nuts and a cashew tree, it’s just like saying the cashew nuts will now be the tree and one thousand trees will hang on one nut. Oduduwa is excessively powerful.

  ‘Wow!’ the whole congregation exclaimed, I was not the only shocked person there.

  ‘Today, Ijemili will tell his story’ he continued, and on impulse, Jemimah and I turned to stare at each other, I guess now she was bold enough to listen.

  ‘And after which, Kukuru then I, Oduduwa will tell my own story’ he said and the whole congregation exclaimed again, this time louder, everyone was in shock. ‘Are you surprised? You needn’t be, everyone has a story, I just like you all creations of the great god supreme, and my father, Olodumare, have a story too. However, since the best is reserved for the last, I will speak last... Yes last...’ he said and he danced around the rock and then he floated on the air down to the big round calabash, where he sat. Normally, Ijemili would have walked up the rock immediately he came down, but just like everyone else, he was in shock.

  After about twenty minutes, we had recovered but Ijemili would not still climb up the rock, he was scared, Oduduwa had never revealed himself in that form. Normally, Parukutu would have gotten the message at the shrine then he would come physically to tell us.

  ‘Why are you afraid?’ Oduduwa through Parukutu thundered again. ‘I am with you and for you, so do not be afraid.’ He said and as he spoke, Ijemili was lifted up from the ground and floated on the air to the top of the rock. Everyone bowed again.

  ‘All hail Oduduwa the great god of Itutu Kilomin’ someone shouted from amongst the crowd.

  ‘We hail, we hail’ we all chorused. Immediately, the women stood up and went around sharing the milky kunu and other drinks depending on whatsoever one anyone desired to take, and itikpa was passed around too. The drinks were more than enough and perhaps because the women spent so much time making the drinks, they did not make much itikpa, so Jemimah and I had to share a bowl.

  Mama was the one that went up to serve the story teller with two bowls of itikpa and a large calabash of kunu.”