Dusk had just passed into deeper darkness and the night market of Alor had come alive.
The river harbour was crowded with slave and livestock pens, and the cluster of homesteads on their stilt legs. The light from hundreds of oil lanterns, swinging from bamboo poles, beat back the shadows cast by the red moon — the sister of the silver moon — that would not rise until just before twilight. The light from these lanterns bounced off the raffia buildings and sheds that served as temporary dwellings for the merchants who came from near and far, where trade routes meet the great Mmamu river.
Away from the harbour, towards the well-trodden road that leads to the Northlands, where the light by some kind of trickery appeared not as bright as elsewhere, a singular building made of baked river clay stood, alone. Here, the business, like at the slave pens at the harbour market, is of flesh, albeit of a more sensual leaning.
It is from this latter place that the captivating sound of flute music wafted out, drawing even the attention of ears not attuned to music. The music was played by an expert, and the applause and encouraging loud voices that accompanied it, attested to the audience’s enjoyment. The flute music rose and fell, and just as suddenly as it had started, the music reached a crescendo and died, leaving echoes of the magic of pleasant music. Then there was a lull, as when people pause mid-chew to savour a tasty mussel they rue to be done with, and then, clapping and ululations broke out.
Standing on a low table in the middle of the tavern, longlimbed with the face of a mischievous cherub, was Obele Okwu. He bowed low with an ornamented flute clasped in his hand, first in one direction then in the other, smiling as he fed from the praise by his captive audience.
Grabbing the large gourd of palm wine that the proprietor of this not too respectable establishment held out to him, he settled into a chair that became vacant as soon as he walked towards it. The owner was appreciative because just within a little lengthening of shadows, Obele Okwu had just drawn in more customers than he had seen during the festival season. Throwing his legs on a nearby table, Obele ignored the clay cup the proprietor was holding out to him as he lifted the gourd to his lips with both hands and drank thirstily.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, after lowering the gourd, wiping off the froth from his lips with his long-fingered hand. “Obele has arrived! If there is one thing that my mother’s people are good at, it is the tapping of the raffia palm. This is excellent wine, Okadi, my mother’s kin. You know good wine.” With that, he saluted the tavern owner and drank again.
“Not a thing, son of my sister, not a thing. Since you are of our blood, I knew you would know good wine, so I offered you one. Most of your brothers from the Seven Hills cannot tell an average wine from a super wine,” Okadi said.
At the mention of the Seven Hills, the tavern quieted, and everyone turned to look at Obele Okwu. Wonder shone in their eyes as most speculated on what a man of the Hills was doing in the Lowlands at this time of the year.
“You are of the Seven Hills?” the man that had vacated his seat for him asked.
“Yes,” Obele said, taking a deep swig from his gourd.
“And what brings a hill man to the Lowlands in the wet season?” someone else, hidden in a dark corner, asked.
Obele did not answer at first. He sighed deeply and nursed his drink while the crowd, feeling a tale in the air, shifted as close as they could without upsetting Okadi, who was known for his deadly temper.
Obele lifted the gourd to his lips, drained it, and slammed it on the bamboo and raffia table between his feet. He then declared that if the Lowlanders wanted to hear his tale, they must refill his gourd, since wine helped the tongue flow better. This made the whole tavern burst into laughter. Though some murmured that this hill man who drank like a fish may burn holes in their pockets, they all agreed that his tale would be worth the expense.
More drink was bought and Obele walked to a more central position in the tavern, surrounded by the Lowlanders. Then he cleared his throat and began his tale.
“My name is Obele Okwu, which you will find is a misnomer, for I earn my living as a bard, and you know we bards sing as loud as the Iroko gong — I know some of you have never seen the Iroko gong. It is a large gong cut into the base of the giant Iroko, but that is not the tale for today.
“I am of the Seven Hills, though I am kin with the people of the Dry Marshes through my mother’s mother, as Okadi over there will attest to, having hailed from the foothills. I am presently on a fool’s errand for my famous friend Alika of the Seven Hills. Perhaps you have heard tales of his exploits in the Two Markets War and the Taming of the Plain Lion?
“I was sent to these foothills because of my bloodlines, for it is hoped that I can convince some of my grandsire’s kin to follow me back through the dreaded path to the hills and bring the fabled northern ox with us. The ox is for Amaoge of the Shrines, who Alika hopes to make his partner at the Festival of Bonding.
“I would like to tell you a bit about Alika, my friend, whose tale this is. I would have loved to tell you of his exploits in the Two Markets War, assuming you have not heard of it, but we both know that will call for more palm wine than I can consume at this sitting.”
Laughter followed in the tavern as Obele lifted the fresh gourd and tapped the bottom to show its emptiness. Someone brought another full gourd over and Obele grasped it by the slender neck and took a swig, belching contentedly as he shifted his weight on his stool before resuming his tale.
“Alika, the strongest man in the Hills, has walked away from more battles than any other warrior in the Seven Hills. No, not for cowardice, but for lack of a worthy opponent and his unwillingness to inflict harm on a fellow human. The songs of the Hills have it that the most well-kept secret of the Two Markets War was the fact that Alika was coaxed to appear on the battlefield by his mother with the solemn promise that he would not strike a blow. Then on the front lines of Umumba like Ala, the Earth God’s wrath, Alika stood trying his best to look as mean as possible. Now, now, I am not trying to put wings to that story, and I can only confirm that Alika shared two burly rams with me after that hardly fought battle, presents from the elders he said.
“Yes, I assure you, even the elders agree that had the Ezilo clan summoned enough will to strike out, they would have hauled home the lone human head that would have given them the battle. But the fear of the gentle giant, Alika, robbed them of a ready victory though they out-numbered Umumba three to one and owned the most feared war Ikenga (war totem) in the entire Seven Hills. This is not a summon to arms for you faint-hearted plains and river men. Remember that Ezilo is of the Hills, and we fight all outsiders together.
“But I digress; I was talking about my friend, not the war.
“Alika is tall, everyone agrees. The tallest man the Seven Hills has ever produced. You know, we of the Hills are born tall, most crossing the length of six feet. But Alika stands above seven and has the mass of two Hill men without the fat of the Lowlanders. He could easily lift ten times his body weight and till the fields at par with five strong workers combined. Everyone also agrees that Alika is an asset to the Seven Hills. In the crowded market, women look at him with doe eyes, and men envy him. His mother could not have prayed for a better son.
“All appeared well, but Alika nursed a secret pain.”
Obele paused, as if to gauge the crowd’s enthralment. He noticed that most of his audience had limp lower jaws, a good enough sign of their rapt attention, so he smiled to himself and continued.
“You see, marriage in the hills is unlike those of the Lowlands and elsewhere. There, parents take pride that their children chose a life partner on their own. We hill dwellers bond at late adolescence or early adulthood, and most get married soon after that. Here lies Alika’s dilemma. Fear, fear for the weaker sex. Though strong and built like the ox of the northern plains, Alika gets queasy around women. He cannot go beyond the first few words of pleasantries before his habitual stammer takes over. No, Alika rarely stutters. His affliction only occurs when a maiden’s smile lights up her beautiful eyes.
“Now, the time of bonding drew near and Alika’s soft heart had been seized by the medicine man’s beautiful daughter, Amaoge, who stands taller than her brothers and is known to shun womanly tasks, choosing instead the hazards of her uncle’s hunting lodge in the Twin Forests. No one knows why she caught Alika’s attention but, I, Obele, his bosom friend and confidant in many adventures, swear by the Thunder God’s Bellow that it is because she is the only woman in the Seven Hills who can look Alika in the eye and hold his gaze, rather than her beauty that makes even old men dream of youth long spent.
“Our hill bonding ritual is done at the lesser market square away from the cradle of the elders, effectively hidden from the prying eyes of parents who harbour prejudices and want to lift their families standing in the Hills with their choice. Before the day of bonding, a suitor is expected to give his intended a gift known only to her. If she fancies him, she will give him hers on the day of bonding.
“Now, it is a common occurrence for suitors to be led on and then dumped for another at the bonding. In the hills, a woman’s pride is measured by how many suitor gifts adorn her mother’s hut. The youths avoid this situation by seeking and getting assurances from an intended beforehand. This is done at the Iyi Ama stream, where a promise given is broken only at one’s peril. It was exactly two moons short of the yam harvest and would-be-suitors had about a full moon circle to either get the promise at Iyi Ama or hope for any maiden left over from the choosing, which would not be suitable for the most feared warrior in the seven hills.
“The day this adventure began was not remarkable. I was busy cleaning new flute woods my master tutor sourced from an antelope hunter in the Twin Forest. Having eaten a stingy meal of roasted locust and ncha, tapioca meal to you Lowlanders, that was provided by my tutor’s wife, whom he met with the river dwellers at his music’s prime, I was still feeling hungry. I was about to give into temptation and raid my other mother’s loft when a shadow fell across the stacked wood pieces in front of me. I almost jumped out of my skin but for that irritatingly familiar voice that reached my well-tuned ears.
“‘Obele Okwu,’ Alika called out in that hoarse voice of his that always jangles my nerves, ‘are you scared of a harmless shadow?’
“I looked at him for a bit, thinking up the best retort to counter his wit. I will also have you know Alika is quick with his tongue — at least when it is not a maiden he is addressing — and I always must fight for words to keep him at bay.
“And who would not jump back from a shadow without substance?” I finally retorted.
“He looked at me for a long while, like the times he was preparing for our speech battles, which always lifted his spirits and left me drained. When I thought he was about to throw a hard counter at me, he shifted his weight and sat down heavily on a disused mortar.
“I noticed Alika’s spiritless countenance, and squatting on my heels beside him, I hailed him, ‘Brave warrior, what draws twilight’s shadow across your brave heart?’
“He looked down at me, a weary smile playing across his full lips, and swatting tiny blood-sucking insects that plague the Hills on his broad shoulders.
‘Obele,’ he called.
‘I am here, Alika. Speak your fill.’
‘Obele, you know the day of bonding is upon us?’
‘Yes, I am aware,’ I replied, dreading he had gotten wind of my assent with his younger sister. An awkward situation I had hoped would only come to light after the bonding when he was forbidden by law to hurt an in-law. ‘What about it?’
He looked at me and asked, ‘Do you not see any problem?’
‘No,’ I replied, with all the sincerity I could muster.
‘How then, Obele the bard, can you be my friend and not know that it is a few twilights to the night of bonding, and I, Alika, have no mate?’ he bellowed, standing to his full height, arms akimbo. ‘How then?’ he added for emphasis, his voice a whisper.
‘But Alika, you are the last man I expect to have that dilemma.
All the girls want to be with you, even the married ones look at you with longing and I am sure it is just the taboo that keeps them away from your hut. You can have anyone you want.’
‘Have you forgotten my difficulty?’ he asked, glaring at me manically.
‘Oh! The difficulty.’
‘Yes, that difficulty.’
“He glanced around to see if we were still alone. Spying my tutor’s foreign wife at the far end of the compound, he pulled me away towards the ill-used hunter’s path.
“We walked in silence for a long while. Well, long enough for my acute ears to lose the sounds of the village, until we arrived at the forked crossroads at the forest of Abam. Alika crossed over to the wayfarer’s seat, under the large wild looking Ugba tree that is rumoured to harbour the traveller’s goddess, Ijedimma. I felt a little slighted that Alika, a warrior, was this free with Ijedimma’s domicile. Being a bard, I considered myself more of a journeyman than a warrior, so I rushed to claim the place, beating him by a hair’s breadth.
“He looked at me with forced tolerance and dropped the customary kola nut at the sacred tree’s foot. Not being of a priestly line like him, I assumed a pious demeanour and nodded my head at the places and accepted the proffered kola nut. You know what kola does to a bard’s voice, but then a little piece hardly makes a difference and a friendly, if not patron goddess shared it. We did not sit there long before Alika told me he was taking the left fork of the road, which led to the Twin Forest.
“Intrigued, I asked him why he was going there. He looked at me with his big innocent eyes as if I had gone mad.
‘I am going to court Amaoge and I need you for moral support,’ he said casually.
‘Court Amaoge? Have you not been doing that a lot recently?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t play dumb, Alika; everyone knows you like her,’ I replied, clenching my fist to stop myself from laughing at the horrified expression on his face. ‘And those late-night vigils outside her homestead, the water fetching and barn making for her father. Everyone is doing something for some girl’s family these days. I even spent the whole of last market day tilling your mother’s vegetable patch for Chi… eh…’ I cut myself off, hoping he had not caught the significance of my blunder, but one look at his smiling face and I knew that the harm had already been done.
‘Relax, Obele, I know about you and my sister. I am not blind, too. You two have always liked each other. We all knew it would lead to this.’
“I felt my unease fade away like a whiff of summer smoke carried by the strong winds. I turned away from him, hiding the relief that flooded my face.
‘What do you want to do?’ I asked.
‘We will go to her uncle’s hunting lodge. I have a deer trap near the stream. I noticed fresh tracks there yesterday, and I am sure it would have snared something now,’ he said, pausing to look back to see if I was following him.
‘If that trap fails, we will check my fish trap in the stream. Hopefully, we’ll go with one or both. Now I want to give her the gifts before her uncle knows we are there, so I need you to distract him long enough for me to deposit it where she will find it later. Are you following? Now the tricky part is not giving her the gifts but holding my act long enough to ask her.’
‘Ask her what?’
‘Hey! Were you following anything I said? To ask her to be mine.’
‘Okay, I get it. But why don’t we just wait for her to come back home and give her these gifts at home?’
‘No, it is better done in the forest. That way, if she rejects me, it will be known to only three people: me, you and her. Same goes for if I make a mess of it,’ he concluded smugly.
“I wanted to argue further, but I saw the sense in his reasoning and held my peace. I was dying to ask him why he decided on non-conventional gifts when everyone else just got ornaments. We took the left fork like he wanted and got to the stream at about midday. Now you know how dense the forest in the Seven Hills can be, especially at the peak of the rainy season when the elephant grass is most luxuriant. Well, the trap was hidden by such a growth and my untrained bush eyes did not even realise we were in its vicinity until Alika exclaimed in unabashed horror.
“Following his furious gaze, I looked again and saw what was aggravating him. In the grasses lay the despoiled carcass of a rather large deer. Its bowels had been ripped open and most of the meat chewed to the bone. What was left looked more like a bloodied mass of bone and cartilage attached to a strangely whole head, which still hung from the taut vine rope of Alika’s trap.
“As we looked on, a young lioness strolled out of the thick grass with her brood. She licked fresh blood from her jowls and growled contently as she strolled casually towards us. Some of her brood, wanting second helpings, trotted back to the carcass and tore off bits and pieces and fought over them.
“I know you want to ask what we did in the face of that blatant theft. Well, being of the Hills, we are kin to the lions. Aside from being the totems of the Seven Hills, they are also bound to us by the blood pact our ancestors had with theirs, so we expected them to protect our kill and not eat them for lunch. It took all my talking skill to persuade Alika from taking his revenge on the lioness there and then, an action that would have brought on us the wrath of the guardians of the caves that protect the Hills and its lions.
“So, reluctantly and with great disappointment, we left the trap and its ill-fated catch and made way to the stream where we hoped for better luck, leaving the young lioness rolling on the forest floor with her cubs. She clearly needed the meal more than us, but that would not stop us from taking the matter to the Guardians.
“The stream had no name, not having the luck of being affiliated to any god or spirit, but it originated from the smallest of the Seven Hills. Somehow, the water dodged the slopes that would have led to its capture by the other streams that flow into the great Mmamu River. Rather, it ended in the Twin Forests where it collects into a little lake called Beautiful, for its collection of rainbow butterflies and bright plumaged birds. At the centre, it is said to drain into an underground river, and anyone caught in its swirl is lost forever, but the shallows are perfectly safe and the fishes are large. It was at the shallows that Alika had set his trap, and as we approached, the splashing of a captured prey welcomed our wary eyes just as the water cooled our parched throats and soothed our insect gnawed upper bodies.
“We did not immediately go to the trap but sat by the shore eating a meagre ration of dried nchi meat and trading banters on our extensive adventures, believing our catch was waiting for us, and no harm would come to it. How wrong we were.
“It was I who went to pull the trap from the lake. Not having much trap fishing experience, I wadded into the water that came to my knee. I thought nothing was amiss when I saw the black polished diamond glitter of the prey’s skin. Grabbing the tapered neck of the fish trap, I lifted it onto my back without looking and headed back to shore. I noted the heaviness of my burden and smiled, knowing that it meant a big catch.
“I must have gotten very close to shore when Alika’s scream stopped me in my tracks. My heart wobbled and my knees knocked together as I looked up at him and around me, seeking the source of his distress. He was still where I left him, only he was dancing around horrified, pointing toward me, gesturing and shouting incoherently.
“I turned around, alarmed, but the water behind me was still and the forest beyond held no trouble. Turning back to him, I was about to tell him off for playing a joke on me when something slippery brushed my shoulder. No, mind you, I was not spooked by it, not yet; I was more worried about the smell of the fish that may cling to my new shawl. I lifted the trap off my back and manoeuvred it to my front, intending to rest it on the soft shore sand so that I could wash the fishy water off my shoulder before it sticks and starts smelling. You can imagine my horror at the sight of the biggest water snake I had ever seen, staring at me with vexed eyes.”
There was a collective gasp from the audience at this point. Apparently, everyone knew the potency of the water snake’s bite. Some even murmured that no one comes that close to a water snake and lives to tell the tale. If he heard these murmurs, Obele did not show. He only signalled to Okadi with his upheld flute that his gourd was empty before going right back to his tale.
“I do not know how I threw the trap away before its poised head struck or how I managed the strength to throw it as far as I did — a feat, I tell you, even Alika envied. But I remembered vividly that it was fully out of the broken trap and coming at me with blinding speed. I waited only long enough to note that I had underestimated its size, and then my heels were touching my head. I caught up and passed Alika, who was struggling to pull out our machetes from the solid grip of the clayey soil, and without looking back, shouted that it was a venom thrower. He overtook me before I got to the bush path. We ran like mad for several stone throws. The venom thrower, you see, is as aggressive as a woman in labour and will chase you for a great distance if it feels you have hurt it greatly. We had, by catching it in a trap, done more than hurt its bristly feelings. When we finally came to a heart shuddering halt and found out that it was no longer in pursuit, we picked a high branch to rest on, in case it was still bent on catching up with us.
“I do not remember who it was that suggested to use it in place of the fish as a gift for Amaoge, but we were both too scared and beat to go back to the lake just then. We were still resting on the branch when Amaoge and her uncle walked up to us from the direction we had come. It was my acute ears that heard rumour of their whispered conversation. I alerted Alika, and we climbed down from our branch and stood by the path awaiting their coming.
“Mazi Akani called out to us as they neared, and we walked down to meet them.
“Amaoge looked as stunning as ever, and even the jungle tattoos on her person and the large basket on her head took nothing away from her beauty. I almost envied Alika because of his choice.
“She smiled at me and gave Alika an appraising gaze. As usual, he averted his eyes, and she smiled secretly at me. By thunder, I thought, she really likes him. If he can see her as clearly as I can, we would not be thinking up all these schemes to win her love.
‘We caught us a large venom thrower,’ Mazi Akani announced. ‘It must have tired-out chasing after some prey and was resting when we came up to it. Amaoge here got it dead on the head with her bow from fifty paces out,’ he added.
“The pride in Mazi Akani’s voice was clear. I looked to a scowling Alika, who shook his head warningly at me as I made to offer information on the dead snake. I endured the secret humiliation of weighing the worth of venom thrower skin in the market for the happy old man who looked on, pride dancing in his deep-set eyes. I walked over to Mazi Akani and started a debate about whether the gash the arrow left on the snake’s forehead would demise its value if it was to be sold as a walking stick head.
“My congress with the old hunter gave Alika his time with Amaoge. Hell, they were walking behind me and Mazi Akani, so I saw and heard nothing. I only knew something good must have happened for my friend when Amaoge sauntered past us, a big smile on her face.
“We did not follow them all the way to the hunting lodge but said our goodbyes at the next turning. Twilight was turning to darkness, and I was itching to get home to my flute and leafy yam porridge. But no, Alika had not had enough adventure, not that day. He said he had promised Amaoge an elephant tusk and a plains ox for her bonding if she would take him. Now he is going to the eastern foothills to trap an elephant while I head home, get my gear and go to my grandmother’s people for an ox.
“I thought him mad; I raved and ranted, telling him that a woman who loved you would not make you go to such extremes. He only smiled, his eyes far away.
‘Obele,’ he said after he tired of my questions, ‘she accepted me before I made the promises, and I want her to have the greatest bonding gift ever seen in the seven hills. You are my friend and in-law… Okay, okay, would be in-law, get the ox for me and you will have my gratitude forever. There might even be an elephant tusk for Chiwendu. Think what that will mean.’
“That got me.
“What? I never said I was not weak in the knees where the fair sex is concerned.
“Well, I got home that day when the hyena’s laugh began in the valley and left with the first embers of that day’s sun. As for Alika, I do not know. I left him at the crossroads arranging poles he had cut in the forest, preparing for his long trek east where the wild elephants hold sway. By now, he probably is at the eastern foothills trapping an elephant while I am here with my mother’s people, drinking free wine and searching for someone willing to drive an ox into the Seven Hills.
“Knowing Alika and his hunting luck, he might even be back in the Seven Hills already, waiting for me. I am yet to get a cattle man brave enough to take the route to the hills this rainy season, even with my promise of protecting them from our guardians, as I do not possess the skills to herd that fierce species. Time is passing and I cannot go back empty-handed and my bond waits.”
There was a deep silence when Obele stopped talking. Even a silent fart would have been too loud in the ensuing silence. All eyes were on Obele, following his every move. Like a charmer who knew he had entranced a prey, Obele slowly pulled out his flute and lifted it to his lips. He blew a blast that seemed to convey all his frustrations, before finding a sorrowful tune. He stood up gingerly on his feet and danced a little jig even as he swayed from side to side, pushed by the music. Buoyed up by the drink, his dance became more dramatic, and his flute changed tune, becoming more soul-lifting as he moved from one end of the tavern to the other. Soon enough, the music swept everyone up.
The flute music drifted through the night air, again reaching the river harbour where an Orten, struggling to adjust the worn shoes of his fierce looking enyinya, paused for a long while to savour the sound of the flute. Then suddenly, he felt the need to seek the musician whose flute had stirred his soul.
The laugh of a lone hyena echoed in the distant marshes as he hurried towards the tavern, where the sound of a raunchy chorus flitted through the night air to spur him on. He knew he was going to meet fate, but what that fate had in store would be told in another tale.
