The Leopard Spirit 5
When I arrived home that evening, it seemed like the whole world was turned upside down. I felt my head swell as the bee stings and sharp roots hurt. By the side of my bamboo bed, Nene and her dog sat, staring at me. She held my hand and squeezed softly. I saw her beautiful face through the moonlight when she leaned over to kiss me. She was sobbing.
“Get well, brother,” she said. Ah! Nene seldom addressed me that way. She always called me the big head or a naughty boy. I had never seen her in this sad mood, either. I tried to smile at her, but the pain wouldn’t let me. I lay back speechless, and she left with her dog.
Outside the hut, a lot went on. Many girls from my community brought water to fill our tanks. A few came into my room to help massage my body, pulling my legs and hands as they smeared shea butter, honey, and other ointments all over me. I was still resting when Fata walked in. My heart jumped, dancing with excitement. But I couldn’t hide my pain.
Fata, ah Fata! My secret crush – the girl who played the strings of my heart. Her color was light chocolate, and she spoke softly. When she walked, she looked like a graceful deer. She always held her head high like a proud peacock. Her pretty face was like soft roses. But I never dared to tell her how I felt. I still wonder how other boys did it, how they started conversations with such girls.
“They are too proud!” I argued as a flashback interrupted my thought. It was during the wrestling season in the village, just after the match between the legendary Mazi Agbareke, the Gorilla, and cunny Mazi Kene, the Tiger. We were waiting for the next bout when we discovered a group of girls in the crowd, standing opposite us. From our stand, we imagined the girls were talking about the boys as we watched them laugh and clap.
“They must be musing over your big head,” Onu said as he turned to look at me. The other boys slapped their thighs and laughed.
“Wait. Please, can everyone take a look at my head and Onu’s and decide for yourselves who should go home with the title of Isiuwa, alias world’s biggest head?” I replied. More laughter followed. “These girls are scared of this oil drum you call a head!” I said, pointing at Onu’s head.
“Okay, o. I may have a big head,” Onu admitted. “But it is not empty. I can talk to girls, and they like me, but you can barely stand them. You dream of a girl who doesn’t care if you exist.” With that, Onu won the fight, and I decided to steer the conversation in another direction.
Now, Fata’s sudden appearance in my room brought back my fears. I was sick, but I vowed to talk to her that evening.
***
Men, women, girls, and boys gathered in my father’s compound to hear my story. Nearly everyone from the community sent an emissary. Gifts accompanied the visits, too, for the Igbo people believed in the onye aghala waneya (do not abandon your people) philosophy.
My father, with some men and hunting dogs, formed a small search party to comb the surrounding forests. A score of younger men was asked to protect the village while they were away. The evening breeze gave way to night’s treacherous cover, and thousands of singing crickets began their procession. It was usual to enjoy the night air and listen to folklore, but this evening, things were not well.
My mother, with help from other women, cooked for everyone who came. Yam and vegetable soup were prepared. A massive fire was made around our compound entrance to keep away the wild dogs and spotted hyenas. I heard mama and her maids tore through the barn to fetch yams. The large basket hovering over the charcoal fire in the kitchen was brought down. It was rare to see mama take fish from that basket. I only remembered her opening it during festive seasons like the New Yam Festival. I knew this basket held most of mama’s smoked fish, and it was every child’s dream to steal a piece of tasty fish from it. Girls gathered water-leaf, spinach, and other greens from the neighboring gardens. Some of the visitors came with mats and were prepared to stay till daybreak.
That night I had another attack. It was midnight, and everybody was settled for some sleep.
… To be continued…
***
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