A Short Story...Please Read!

An African themed short story; plot chosen from a small village setting with typical beliefs in gods, whom they celebrate with choice gifts and lengthy festivals.

Read below, Share your thoughts and Enjoy!

Title: The gods are funny.

Behead him, Behead him!! he is practically good for nothing! He is a taboo to our village, chop his head off! The villagers ranted in their anger. The matchete wielding man stood bare chested painted culturally in crismson fluids. He looked at me and made a sign to his servant. ‘Come Agbodi, sharpen this for me', his servants ran to pick the file and started sharpening. My head was held down on a chopped wooden stool, I had accepted my fate and today I must join my ancestors in the land where no living mortal can dare reach. The bloodlust continued unabatedly, everyone I knew wanted me dead for something I knew nothing about. ‘This is a mistake,' I muttered speechlessly. No one was listening. The intense heat and the reeking noise sent me into a short comatose, who would not in the face of the most dreaded being ever, Death. I ran down the memory lane in a flash. I remembered the festivities of Arungun, god of kolanuts. The celebration to appease the gods was a yearly routine. Every member of the village usually come around to celebrate the goodness of the gods and the care he showered on the village. It was a ritual that lasted seven full days with sacrifices of goats, fruits, farm produce and most importantly lots of kolanuts. As each bonafide member of the clan participated in this ritual, the priest would bless everyone by touching them with his hand dipped into the sacred waters. Arungun was not by any chance a lesser deity, his worship was termed unavoidable. All villagers must be present with gifts and choice items. Bonga had just returned from the city with some of his friends. He arrived on the eve of the festival, since we were good friends before he left for the beautiful city. I paid him a courtesy visit, we talked at length about the life at the city. The beautiful trains, fashionable women, endless night clubs. My dream was to live in the big city filled with radiant lights, mostly fascinated of his catchy stories and talks about the wild city girls. I forgot the time completely, and before I remembered it was already late into the night. The whole family had been waiting for my return. I was certainly not a kid but the village required strict adherence to every law that governed the land. Any infringement they say may irk the gods of the land. My mother was the first to scold me,' Will you tell me what in the name of Asobi, god of peace you are doing out this late? Or have you forgotten that the gods do not joke with anyone!'. Her face was red with anger, my father just cast a strong look on me as I quickly walked into the hut. The scolding of African parents never stop, they both continued ranting about my lateness using several examples of children that went missing during the Eve of Arungun festival. In my annoyance of this endless bickering, I shouted, ‘Papa and Mama, please don't be annoyed'. They continued even while I went to sleep. I remembered the last time I was scolded this much was when I secretly went to see the one that made my heart beat in such quick successions. She was fairer than the messenger of the gods, brighter than the sun herself. I guess that the gods must have fought a war in the heavens because of her. Ajike, was the daughter of a popular local beads seller. She was so beautiful I found it hard to breathe in her presence. Her body was sculptured by the Ewa, the goddess of beauty. She had these well rounded bosoms like the oranges sold along the village market, her thick buttocks were carefully moulded into remarkably moderate sizes. I literally died in her presence over and over again. Every man wanted her in the village, even the king tried seizing her with his authority. Her parents quickly took her to the city. On such secret meetings, I would sing her songs and tell her tales of the witty tortoise. She would laugh beautifully, her teeth were whiter than the coconuts. We would sleep under the oak tree staring into the lofty canopy of leaves. She would say, ‘Ajao, promise me you would  never stare at any other girl'. How would I do such a thing? May Sango, the god of thunder strike my left eye if i ever did'. She would pull me into a warm embrace and laugh hysterically. I would sing her a poem

Let the whole world pass,
Let the grounds give way,
I would be with you,
Till the sun stops its shine

If you go a thousand year
If you travel to the ends of the world,
I would wait till you return
For you, nothing can sever

If war, if famine
If sickness, if death
I would die over and over
Just to see you once more

If you would die
Let me go with you
Life would be worthless
Without your soothing smile

She would laugh and cry at the same time. Sooner than expected, we would have to return to our different homes. Those times were the saddest moments of my life. Ajike left for the city to further her education since men had started disturbing her parents for her hands in marriage. I knew our hearts belonged to each other and that one day, the goddess of marriage will bless our holy union and grant us beautiful kids like Ajike. Her departure left a chasm in my heart, I thought about her all the time. Love is in itself a strong palm wine whose taste one can never get enough of. The chirping of kinkin (a dainty African bird) woke me up, I swiveled on the mat. I knew what I had to do; fetch wood and water at the stream. I quickly stood, took my bouba and left for my morning chores.

Bonga and his two city friends were already waiting for my company. I joined them and we happily did my chores together. Bonga had always been my best friend in the village since were kids, we quarreled most often but we usually resolve our issues sooner than we fought. Bonga asked, 'When is the festival starting today?' while he chewed on a sugarcane. I answered, ‘how soon have you forgotten our customs, Bonga?'. It is in the evening, my son'. We both chuckled knowing fully well what brought about that appellation. Bonga had a small stature and I was quite big and tall, it had always been like that since we knew each other. We were like the biblical story Rev. Tom, a catholic missionary told us while he taught at school in the village, David and the Goliath.

Once upon an unfortunately funny day, my friend Bonga was caught in an act of truancy. He left the school with me to drink a calabash of palm wine. We usually sneak out during boring lessons to drink palm wine to our fill. Mr Asukuo, our English teacher was also in the palm wine drinking habit. He never met us there. We played our game with utmost caution to avoid getting caught. This very day, we horribly mis-timed our visit. We had just taken one calabsh each when Mr Asukuo emerged from the blues. I quickly dropped my calabash and took to my heels but I alerted Bonga very late, he got caught. Bonga knew the nature of the offense. It was two weeks suspension and the presence of one's parent. Bonga's parents were tough and disciplinarians to the very core. He begged me to play his father, since Mr Asukuo had never seen bonga's father. I stole my father's big regalia and used talc from bonga's mother who lived in the city to disguise myself. His parent were wealthy and this fame preceded him everywhere he went. I arrived at skool disguised as Bonga's father, I was sweating but I dare not come out of the character or Bonga might confess my name as his partner. Mr Asukuo met me the supposed bonga's father. ‘Good morning sir! I'm so sorry we disturbed your diurnal trade activities. We requested for your presence because of your son Bonga, his act of truancy can no more be condoned. He was seen gulping calabashes of palmwine during school hours. Such act is so deplorable and unacceptable.' I increased the baritone of my voice,‘ Mr Asukuo, Bonga is my son and I must say that he is of good conduct and highly spoken of. Is there anyone who would atest to his truancy? Anyone at all?" Mr Asukuo stared down at Bonga and asked if there were any accomplices?. Bonga nodded no. I left with my heart in my mouth, Bonga faced no punishment for his truancy. That singular act tightened our friendship more. We became inseparable.

Later that evening during the festival rituals. Bonga told me he made a major deal with a white man in the city and he needed to sell Arungun carved idol as an artefact. I decried my position on it knowing fully that death awaited any man who tries to steal the heritage of the village. Moreso, it was a taboo and a shameful thing to the family of the offender. I explained these to Bonga, he could not deny his ignorance on the consequences of this miserable thought he nursed. The city had changed Bonga, he called Arugun , the god of kolanut, a superstition! A folklore story told to scare kids away. He believed no woe would befall him during and after the operation. I implored him not to engage in this unholy ordeal. He never did listen. The festival continued successfully with no hitch, Bonga came to my house on the penultimate day of the festival's closure and said he was leaving for the city. I bade him farewell and followed him to the village motor park. I felt he had finally come back to his senses which he left while coming to the village. The gods had shown him a clearer path. I never knew the gods had planned a sick joke on us. I was merely a character in their dramatic plot.

The town crier came calling...
People of Ardande Village
The calabash has been opened
The covered sacrilege has been defiled
Death has come to us all
A thief has stolen our peace
Asukuo, the god of kolanut is gone and,
All its perpetrators must die like a fowl
Miserable, miserable demise unto them all.

The message stung me like the scorpion's tail. I almost pissed in my new festival wear. I knew I would be connected to this theft which I knew nothing about. ‘Who would testify of my innocence', I queried. Bonga was my bosom friend, the whole village was aware of that fact. I packed my bags secretly without telling anyone. I would escape in the dead of the night, while all crows slept in their baskets. I had to leave, else I would dance my steps away from the path of the living souls.

I woke up while the family slept on their mats. I cried as I packed my bags and left in the dark night. There were guards everywhere in the village. I bent, crouched and dodged the centries watching closely. Stealthily, I made it to the village boundary feeling I had evaded the whole army of guards. I never knew some guards waited in the thick bushes. I was halted before I made a dash, they queried where I was headed and instantly I turned a stammerer. ‘I-I-I a-amm go-ing tt--oo th-ee b-ig ci-ti'. They slapped me, I felt death would come that night. I was led back to the village having been beaten as though I had stolen the Arungun deity. My parents were brought before the king, I explained what I knew about the stolen deity. I reaped the gains of my foolishness, why run when no one chased me? I was in the village cell till dawn. I cried more while I shouted Bonga's name repeatedly. The king summoned the deity priest to make consultations concerning who the thief was, the priest concluded it was truly Bonga that made away with it as I have confessed. Bonga had gone, the land needed a scape goat to be a deterrent to any other violator of the village rules. I was offered to be the sacrificial lamb because Bonga was my friend. I pleaded with the king

O king, the earthly voice of the gods
I am innocent in these matters
Spill not the blood of the blameless
A young sinless blood

O king, friend of the heavenly gods
Let me not be swallowed in these waters
Let not the world call you heartless
For throwing an innocent plea into the slippery mud

O king, the right hand of the gods
Let not my head splatter
Let not the king be called merciless
For cutting the tip of a flowering bud

No one heard my cries, the village needed a blood to sate the angry gods. The dumb gods who do not speak yet seek blood. I shrieked in the face of my death. Is this what fate had planned for me? Finally, I will meet the partial gods who would kill an innocent soul for wrong justification. At this juncture of the cold blade, I asked myself perhaps the most important question ever, do gods exist? These gods who watched Bonga steal yet was silent while he travelled home peacefully. The gods must be partial, I concluded. The king ordered my execution immediately. My blood as an atonement to rid the land of the gods' impending wrath. I woke up from the comatose and the noise still went on. My head was the price for the defiance against the gods. I must face the music alone.

O Bonga,
Why push me headlong
Into this catacomb
Friends brings fortune
I guess not misfortunes

O Bonga
Must I suffer this cruel fate
For sharing in your mortal thoughts
No more, no more
This life I leave behind

O Bonga
Sleep not son
I will come for you
If truly there's life
Yes! Life after death

O villagers
Please hear my cry
My blood will cry
On your noisy heads
Now and ever.

Hold his head firmly! The head of a stubborn fool'. The matchete wielder took it far into the heavens and down it came heavily on my neck. I saw my head fly from its neck, blood splattering everywhere. A great uproar rose into the skies. The horror was yet a queer satisfaction for their view. Who were those getting pleased really; the gods or the people? I might never know after all. I jumped up from my day dream in a flowing pool of sweats. I had slept for eight straight hours, sweating profusely. ‘What kind of dream was that?' I imagined. I quickly went to the palm wine seller and took seven calabashes to flush the ill luck out of my system. ‘The gods are very funny', I chuckled. What a dream', I whispered to myself. The gods played on my mind.