Blessing

Chapter 7

81 7 emkeu had lived through many mornings but this one was proving to be different in every way. Before leaving his house, he described his second wife’s breakfast as chicken feed offered to dogs and referred to Fatti as his thirteenth son. Children on his path ran home to report to their parents that he was walking like an unmasked nocturnal juju lost in daylight. Adults around the market square interpreted his resolute and vigorous imprints on the dust as those of a man stung by a snake, who was aware there was no antivenin and who was not willing to die alone. As he stomped along, he answered none of the customary greetings; none were offered. If different groups of individuals described his mood in different words, they all had the same prayer when he took the path that led to the Catholic Mission. One onlooker spoke out for the others: ‘I think we have to pray to our gods. We have to go on our knees and beg them to go and tell the white man’s God to come down quickly and help his priest.’ Temkeu walked up to the presbytery door. ‘They say that they call you Mr. Father; where are you?’ he bellowed. ‘Where are you? Stop hiding behind stones. Come outside and let us talk things man to man.’ ‘Who is there?’ Fr. Max inquired from inside the house as he unbolted the door. ‘Come here and tell me! You ... you and your brothers ... you people look for trouble among yourselves—’ ‘Pa Fopou, it is you,’ Fr. Max said in a concerned tone. ‘I do not know why you are raising your voice but just calm down and come inside. Come inside and sit down so that we talk gently about the issue troubling you.’ ‘No! I will not talk gently and I will not enter your house. That is how you people always do it. With honey in your mouths you call us to come; but once we are inside you give us one spoon of honey and three spoons of a mixture of pepper and ginger. No! I will not come inside!’ T 82 ‘Pa Fopou, if I have done anything that is wrong, please tell me.’ ‘Your brothers in all your countries look for trouble among yourselves and then come and take us to go and help find a solution,’ Temkeu yelled. ‘In this our village, when trouble grows in our midst, we go to the palace and talk to the Fon and elders so that they tell us how to weed it out. At times, we may even clash because we disagree with the wisdom of our elders on how to solve the problem. What we never do is to go to another village and call people from there to come and kill themselves because they want to help us.’ ‘Pa Fopou,’ Fr. Max said ‘I just beg that you tell me the thing which is disturbing you in this kind of way. Maybe I can—’ ‘You can do what? Tell your brothers to come and catch us here so that we too go and look for solutions to their problems?’ Temkeu took a step forward and lifted his forefinger into Fr. Max’s face. ‘You people killed my cousin when he went to your country to help you stop your second big war. Now again you people have killed my son. You have taken away my Makam. My Makam!’ He hit his chest as he repeated his son’s name. ‘I suffered to send him to school. I gave him all I had. I put all into him so that he would become big and help his younger brothers. He went to your country only to increase the size of his head, but your country people killed him!’ ‘I am sorry to hear this kind of bad news about your son, Pa Fopou. Come inside and sit down so that we can talk about it.’ ‘No! I will not come inside. Tell your people to give me back my son – that is all I want.’ Fr. Max sat down on the veranda, took a deep breath and then sighed. ‘You see, Pa Fopou, all men are created by the same God who—’ ‘I do not want to hear anything about your God! You people came here, took our goods, then our people to go and work for you, then our brothers to go and fight for you...