Chapter 12: Chapter 12
The windstorm which swept into the community was a sign. This prompted the town crier who took up his ekwe and began his routine task. Other times, he had waited for a signal from the diviner, but in this event, he thought there was no point. Everyone should know what about the wind, or at least, the elders should be able to tell.
“The sojourners to the spirit world are back,” Ikebe thought with delight. He was certain about his stance, knowing the seasons of rains has long gone. Aside from a circumstance as now, the gods only sent a wind to sweep clean the earth before the rain.
The people considered the rainwater a blessing, and so, it does not drop on a fouled soil. Whenever there was a windstorm, they inspect the clouds and measure how heavy the rain will drop. If the clouds were clear with no signs of rain, they began to puzzle what the storm could be about. There was a particular joy which winds breezed into the community, special to the little ones. It worked peculiar magic to the children. A crying child could stop and forget that which she was crying for.
One can distinguish the town crier, Mazi Ikebe from the crowd with his air of humor. Unlike the other men who girded their wrapper on the waist, he had his knotted at the back of his neck. He remodeled his lifestyle well to the nature of the office he operates.
“The man who carried the ekwe on one hand, and the beating stick on the other will have none to tend a dropping wrapper.”
When the windstorm passed across his yard, he aroused and went for his work tools. He clenched the ekwe across his left arm like how a nursing mother carries her suckling baby. His right hand-carried the beating stick, and this was how engaged he got whenever his office called.
He started from his compound to calling on the people. He always does so, as he found it appealing attending first to his immediate audience. Even though his household has known the information, he never bothered. Each time, he set his children to wondering, how he enjoyed repeating himself.
“Has father forgotten he has told us about this news?” They would query in their head.
Today’s oblivion dismayed Kasara so much so that she asked her mother. She got the response she had never thought about.
“What is the work of a town crier if not to talk?” Her mother responded.
“No wonder there were marks of amusement in her face when father’s voice broke into this yard,” Kasara thought. “But it is quite amusing nonetheless.” A chuckle of a smile escaped from her lips as she thought.
“What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you laughing at your father?”
“How can I laugh at my own father? Tufiakwa!”
“I will tell you to him when he returns. Then, I will see from whose courtyard you go to fill that your big mouth.”
Kasara felt very nervous by her mother’s threat, and her body grew cold at one time. She knew how uncalled-for the attitude was, and how sad it will be for one’s father to hear such report of his daughter.
“I caught you laughing first. I will report you to father when he comes back. Let us see who goes back to her father’s house,” Kasara retorted. She refunded a cut of the anxiety and smarted as her mother battled to contain the chill that stroked her nerve.
“The evil spirits have possessed you. Did you think you can send me away from my husband’s court?”
“The both of us will return to our parents, but I am already in my father’s yard,” Kasara said. She tossed her head in delight as she said.
She angered her mother so much so that she picked her cooking spoon, and aimed for her head. Kasara saw this coming beforehand, so she dodged her body. The spoon flew over her head, hit the wall, and broke into two halves. Her mother got even more infuriated and began to rain curses.
“I should have thought better. Have I not known she is an ogbanje?”
“Did you call me an ogbanje? I am going after father to report you,” Kasara threatened. She made for the exit to her mother’s court, but her mother will not allow her any chance. She dragged her back and began negotiating for a settlement.
“It is okay to laugh. We can laugh together, only you and I.”
“No. I must tell father,” Kasara spat a stern objection.
“You want to do this to your mother? Expect the same treatment from your own children.”
“Tell me whatever you want and I will give it to you, I promise.”
Her mother’s proposal enticed her. She tossed her head, searching her brain for what she would ask of her.
“You will let me pick meat from the soup pot,” she demanded, and her mother yielding to her malevolence amazed her. She has put an end to many things, like the spanking when the soup gets sour because a hand had gone into it. The everyday quarrel which has become her packaged morning offering.
Many times, her trouble started by her mother inspecting the meat in the pot. She used the cooking ladle to touch the meats one after the other as if she carried the register on her head. Every time she does this, Kasara would better be expecting whatever comes out of it. Today, all her troubles have met their waterloo. Her siblings would later catch her with big chunks, and as always, report to their mother. But she developed unexpected coldness in handling the soup pot thievery.
The manner with which their mother received compliant about Kasara further dissuaded them. Soon, none of the investigative eyes ever bothered whose hand went in or not. Their excitements ceased overnight. They loved how their mother swung into action, but she no longer does so. Instead, she served them with a rather too dull answer, like, “Oo! I have heard. I will whip her after.” But nobody cared about it later.
Mazi Ikebe struck out his yard from the many audiences he had in the list. He carried the record of his audiences on his head and went about striking off until his head became slate.
He went throughout the neighborhood, first, before the news, he declared some warnings.
“Community people, open your ears and listen to the message I have for you. Do not say I have not told you,” he spelled one word at a time. “Those who have ear have heard, and would bear me witness with the gods.”
He was never in a rush, one can see him taking his time to beat the ekwe, and making sure it produced the same sound as always. He spat the words one at a time so he does not forget to say anything. Then afterward, he carried on to the next neighborhood. He does not count the bulkiness of his audience. One could make up such a good audience. The logic was on the fact that one who hears information does not swallow it and let it remain in his belly. The person goes about anointing other ears, and like so, the news circulates the community. Each time he met with passersby, he braked to tend them even though some never cared to give heed. Many times, it seemed like he was talking to the blank.
As he walked on, children basking in the wind graced his sight. The children would free their body’s weight, spread their arms, and let the wind drive them like the kites. This moment was as pleasurable as never to them. They followed the storm to wherever, and until it ceased, they seldom remembered home.
The sound of the ekwe caught their attention, and soon, they had a difficult choice to make. They struggled to gain balance between attending the wind and the resounding tone.
“Little ones, I greet you all as you delight in your play. Let those who have ears open their ears and listen to this information...” As he said, the children took hold of their ear lobes and stretched, so that air has its way inside. “...those who are wise have heard, and would bear me witness with the gods.”
He made sure he did not leave any living soul out of the numbers. Later, he would search his head for any unturned stone, and if he found none, he returned home.
He met with Trojan of people who were on their way to the Igwe’s inn. He even met his own household at the entrance of his yard, preparing to throw the last step that would bring them out. His wife was unlike the others, never in a hurry to venture. If she was like the kind who did not care to first digest the content of information, he would not have met them. The frenzy defined the long throats in the community. Those were the people who contributed nothing but never missed the front rows. Many times, they have had to vacate their positions for the original occupants. Each time they did, they balanced their shame on their bare head and carried to wherever they went.
“Nnuo, Nna anyi. You met us on our way out,” His wife greeted, and each of his children took turns to follow suit. “Ndewo, Papa.”
“Thank you, ezi nwa. Do have a nice day,” he responded to his children one at a time.
“We will be going ahead. You can join us from behind.”
“What were you doing since? By now, they must have filled up the front row.”
“I was cooking when the news came. We had to finish our meal before.”
“That is good of you. Always take your time, and do not be like those hungry tummies, hurrying to go get some good food.”
His wife heaved as she listened. She felt relieved to learn what he had in his stomach was not what she expected. She was expecting chastisement for taking too much time, but he gave her merits for creeping like a snail.
“Go on, and show them how able I am. A man does not say he wants a household and complain he has nothing to feed them.”
He rubbed his abdomen as he talked so that his wife got the inkling. She knew he seldom asked for food with his mouth. Every time she had neglected his drama, he would begin to scratch his head, and that only meant how critical.
“Thank you, Nna anyi. I have set your meal,” she said. When she thought he was going to chastise her, she resolved to keep quiet if he will not ask. She said in her mind that if it is an abomination for him to declare he is hungry; he can go ahead and chew his words. He may swallow with his saliva if he cares.
“Good wife who knows the heart of her man,” he responded and giggled like a boy whose mother doubled his food. He did not bother to ask where she kept it. He knew where it would be, but every other day she had refused to announce, he does not go there. Sometimes when she lost it with him, she set his meal but would not inform him.
His children bit their lips for their father eating up their time. They were old enough to go on their own, but it has become a tradition to step into this sort of event together. Every man wants to show off his possession, so his neighbors could measure his fortune. As soon as he bade them bye, they all scampered from their mother in the guise of one engagement or the other. Their mother also joined her fellow women. No one ever cried of loneliness on this sort of event.