Tale of an African Woman

Chapter Twenty Five

139 25 he good instinct of prevention is better than cure having had the better of the priest, he decided to lock his door. Still, he could not get over the reason which might have caused his friend to tell him to leave his door open. He was surprised to find that many other doors in the village had been left open even though the occupants of the houses were nowhere in sight. As the priest and his friend trailed behind the crowd heading towards Nding’s compound, he asked the fellow why people did not steal even when the doors were left open. He simply smiled and again pointed at the premises of Nding at the top of the hill. It would only start to make sense to him after a long stay and he had started to put some of the things he read in the book Bernard Nso gave him in Ireland in perspective. Ahead of them, the noisy crowd continued its way. It had not rained for some days and dust had already started accumulating and as the people walked, they kicked up a storm. They were soon ascending the slope atop of which the compound was nestled. The track leading up to the compound was tiny. This caused the crowd to string up in an Indian file, working its way up through the bush like a snake. The chatter of voices and the rustle of grass floated down to the priest and his friend who brought up the rear. Occasionally, the wail of the woman could be heard. It was often accompanied by some deprecatory voices assuring her that all would be fine. At the top of the slope, the land flattened out and the crowd was now in the domain of the gnukwabe. It was a vast estate of kolanut, orange and other fruit trees, as well as of coffee shrubs. After walking for a while in this balmy and lush greenery, they burst onto a clearing with four thatched houses set in a rectangle around a courtyard. T 140 The clearing began with a farm of peanuts and beans which extended to a mere couple of yards away from the walls of the compound. The compound was pitched against a backdrop of a forest of tall, old and deep green kolanut trees. The whole environment looked very eerie. The crowd met Nding at the entrance of the compound. He was leaning on his walking stick and did not even bother to stare out at the people heading in his direction. A young man stood by his side eating oranges, his son and only child, it was immediately whispered. His name was Takwabe. As soon as the crowd came to a halt and the priest and his companion caught up with it, it was hard for Fr Sean not to discern the affection the old man had for his child. In spite of the old man’s age, he would sometimes drop his walking stick to peel an orange which he handed over to him. “Send somebody to go and buy a small bag woven out of white raffia fiber, a rooster and a small calabash of palm wine,” the old man announced without even examining the child and with his eyes still focused on another orange which he was busy peeling. As should be expected, the Irishman was completely lost. He deemed his conduct of not even examining the child inadequate but what happened next stunned him even more. Without uttering another word, he turned round and with the lazy shuffle of an old man began to walk away, abandoning the crowd behind him. The crowd simply followed him while a young man was immediately dispatched with some money to buy the items he had requested. Fr Sean and Kikakilaki followed the crowd of about fifteen through an entrance into the courtyard, across it and out of the compound. They walked down a bush track until they came to what, from every indication, was a shrine in the midst of some trees and exotic creeping plants whose tendrils sometimes grew across the track. The trees fenced in the shrine which was housed in a very large hut, with seats all round. It seemed ordinary for the most part. On the walls were dark, old fiendish-looking bags. To complete this exotic and mysterious decor, some snake skins hung down from the bamboo walls. [3.145.156.46] Project MUSE (2024-04-26 15...