Africa Risen, page 30
I watched the clan tear at their flesh after our leader took his share, slurping sound everywhere. Limbs torn apart. Blood smeared on their lips. Mama saved me a chunk of meat, dropping it at my feet. She noticed a morose look draped over my face.
“For how long will you starve yourself?” Mama said in a soft tone. “You are like the rest of your family members. Careless humans are the easiest to come by these days. It is a suicide mission leaving our territory, searching for other kind of meal.”
I processed her words for a while, allowing them to anchor at the base of my thoughts.
“Mama, I agree, I am like the rest of the clan. But I am also werefox. I desire the taste of roasted fish and other kills. Not some flesh-bloody—”
She raised her left paw, tutting. Umpteen times she had warned me about the words I use. Some members of the clan still see me as an outsider, scanning my every move, scared that I would one day give them up to humans. Once, we had gone hunting when we hid at the sight of humans. A man and woman were taking pictures of birds roosting on tree branches. Jinadu gave the order for the attack. I pushed Bala to the ground when he clenched at the woman’s feet. She made a run for it, but her strength didn’t take her far. The boys snarled at me, planned to beat me up, save for Jinadu. I took the items from the dead tourists, stuff the clan considered a deadwood.
The lifeless meat gaped at me, waiting for me to munch it. Obstinate flies perched on it, nibbling out their share. I put my nose on the meat, sniffing. The jungle is no place for a weak animal or werefox. Fires could no longer be made. It will give our locations to humans, coyotes and wolves.
“The child is scared to eat a kill,” someone said from the clan.
A bout of guffaw laughter resounded about, quaking the swaying leaves. I had to prove a point, telling them I am no frail fox. Silence hung thick in the air, all eyes on me. I let out a deep sigh, resting my gaze on the imperious boys who use invectives on me. They came closer, cheering at me for my bravery.
That night when I returned to my human form, basking in the beautiful pictures from the camera I took from the dead tourists, my stomach began to rumble in pain. I turned at the churning of my innards. My enzymes were not used to such a meal. Mama called the attention of her brothers, crying for them to save me. Great-Grandaunt Fisayo spoke some incantations, calling out to the fox-sage god for wisdom. Everything went blank. Voices from the land of the dead beckoned me to come. I saw them. Only I could see the dead. Slowly, my pupils began to dilate, closing the curtain of my eyelids.
When I woke up later that evening, Mama sprang to her feet, snuggling in my arms, licking my face.
“Mama, I’m not dead,” I said, sprinkling some smile on my face.
She showed me some fruit by the bedside. It was risky of her to have gone hunting. She denied going, saying my brothers did that job. Though in human form, I can perceive the lies sifting through her sharp teeth. My brothers would rather have me dead so they can feed on my carcass. From that day Mama had ensured I no longer tasted fresh meat.
* * *
None of us foresaw the message of the harbinger. The sky wore a black regalia as if mourning us. The lions were the first to encroach in our land when we saw their vestige. Then came the hyenas and wild dogs. Mothers warned their children of frolicking after dusk. We binged on our supplies from squirreling. I was more affected because of my human diet. Few times I compromised, eating a modicum of lower animals. After some minutes of a queasy feeling, I felt better. I had to feed on raw flesh if I wanted to sunbath in the grace of the pervasive sun the next day and subsequent ones. Iya Ebun’s one-year-old cub was snatched by an eagle when he followed his brothers to hunt for bees. That woman’s cry still haunts my sleep. Baby Ebun’s spirit had refused to leave our land, staying at the umbilici of the former thronged market square.
It was time to leave all behind, our home. For fear of being killed by predators I transformed back to a fox. Somber vagrant souls walked incongruently. Oblivious of us, passing through themselves while we minded our business.
“What do you see?” Mama spoke in faint words.
“Helpless souls. Crying babies with phlegm slithering from their noses. Craving for their mother’s touch,” I replied.
Mama urged I kept my eyes on the road. I tried to block the chatter and cries and howling of the souls. It quaked my heart.
* * *
Anyone under the emblazoned omnipotent sun streaked in custard-yellow would have felt the hotness bellowing from its horizon. When twilight began to appear, all the yellowness started to coalesce, like the fist of a god and the trident of a water deity. The day soon rolled off its carpet for the night to take watch over earthlings.
The night reeked of an abused city on the verge of pulverization: smoke, day-old shit, piss, ogogoro and the irregular weird whiff of roasted meat. Our home was no longer a safe haven. Buildings have become dwarfs from the blast of shells. Bullets drill holes on the walls from planes strafing the enemies, giving lizards and rats a new apartment to live. Void of anyone, human absconded their homes for fear of being killed, conscripted. The east required all the boy soldier it needed to win the war. The former tranquil city of Port-Harcourt had become what you may call a wasteland. Plunders, scavengers and bandits roam about, searching empty homes for leftovers. Anything to keep them alive till the next day.
Presently, this is our third settlement. We have become nomads. Outside our home had become a jungle: eat or get eaten. The lakes where I got food had become malnourished. The water-god had migrated.
When the night descends fully, spreading its feathers all about, I divest myself so that my cloth don’t get torn, and transform into a werefox. Clasping my dress in my jaws and dropping it under a thirsty bitter-leaf plant. Mama doesn’t approve of my single hunt. She sees me as the human child who needs to be protected from the wild. She believes in my powers, yet, mothers will always be mothers.
Tonight’s kill will be anything I lay my hand on, even humans. Yes, I have taken a penchant for hunting humans. Mostly soldiers fighting for the west. These brutes have no regard for lives, gunning down anything that doesn’t have the insignia of allies on them. Finding my way through the overgrown forest, I craned and activated all my senses. Hunters cloak their traps with grasses. Some cower near understory, camouflaging themselves with leaves. Movement from earshot cackled at the dried tan leaves. I leaped into the nearest plant at my flank, ignoring the itchy blade on my skin. Scent of human grew stronger. I saw a soldier, green helmet askew on his head. A chewing stick at one side of his mouth. Unknown lyrics muttered from his mouth. Judging by his weight, he will serve about ten of us. Opposite my stance, he pulled down his zipper pouring out squiggly urine on dehydrated plants. He didn’t stop murmuring as he went on with his business. What an insipience. The perfect time to strike halo on my head. My heartbeat drummed, a single mistake could get me in grave trouble. In that moment of readiness a thud ached my hearing. I cowered, praying my location had not been discovered.
The soldier fell on his urine, almost lifeless. A tight grip on his clavicle was jammed by a lion. Those cursed people. Two more lions trudged towards the kill, licking their lips. The dead soldier was dragged along, while the two cleared the path, registering their presence to any contender. After they left I came out. A mélange of feelings punctured my heart—befuddled—rage—gloominess. That was a big opportunity for food, and I allowed my feeble mind to make me lose it. I hit the road, watching out for fruits. Something hit me on the head. Bursting with energy, I looked at the item. It was a palm kernel, sucked dry. I perceived it, hoping to lick any leftover juice. Another item hit my head. I faced up to find that it was a squirrel darting the palm kernel at me. Such inexorable and avaricious folks. They must have a torrential storage of food.
“Fox-boy, this is no place for weaklings like you,” Izor said.
“Don’t call me that,” I spat back.
High on the palm tree he lolled on a branch, rubbing his fur against the grated back, picking a cashew nut from a pouch crossed over his back. Izor was one of the diffident in his clan. He was the only squirrel to see me transform. Thank goodness, he didn’t rat me out to the other members of the jungle. The rage in me erupted with vexation. How dare this little man call me a weakling? To my left I saw a grasshopper in the act of antennation. A ninja frog hopped on a water-leaf plant.
“I dare you to climb down and say it to my face?” I said, placing my paws on the ash bark. Izor shot out a rambunctious response, further infuriating me.
“Fox-boy, I know you better than your whole clan. You only have the power to transform. But you don’t have the innate ability like your brothers.” He dropped a shriveled nut on my head.
I didn’t argue with him. He was right. My sister, Bisi, had fallen in love with a rabbit once. What sonorous voice she possessed. She gave him a condition if he wanted to hear her sing again: he must bring his brothers and friends to the collared banana plantation at the dusk of the third day when the sun was yawning, about to retire for the night. Poor rabbit. He was so enamored with my sister that he forgot she was a fox, cunning. It turned out a siege was laid for them. Their cries transported a dirge during the slaughter carried out by my brothers. Their souls lingered in our community before they wandered off.
Izor shouted my name to call me out of my reverie.
“I’d tell you what,” he said. “You are different. I like that about you. You once saved my village from the pogrom of your avaricious kind. There have been recent activities in the Oni River. Perhaps, if you are lucky a kill or two might fall into your claws.”
I thanked him, scampering towards the river. Along my way a voice appeared from the sinuous trees. I lowered my back, steadied my footsteps. The bushes were now home to visiting creatures who just wanted to survive. The voice rang out again, this time the tone directed towards me. The person could only be Tokoloshe, another waif. He is an ally, too. Who doesn’t want to be friend with an honest fox? Tokoloshe appeared, reclining on the skeletal frame of an agbalumo tree. He was dressed well than the last time I saw him. He never fails to obeisance me whenever our path cross.
“You don’t seem to be affected by the war,” I said, breaking the nut of the conversation.
He stood up, opening his arms too ostentatiously to advertise his outfits.
“Who did you rob this time?” I asked.
“No one, fox-boy. I didn’t rob anyone of this outfit. I met with a depressed wood-sprite. He mentioned something about a revenge. So I got the identity of the person he wanted dead.”
“What! You told me you didn’t engage in such act anymore.”
“It was the lions that carried out the job. I got payment in new cloths. The lions had a feast. The wood-fairy got her revenge. You see, foxes are not the only cunning creatures in the forest.”
I wanted to grab him by the throat until he gets asphyxiated. Those desire were for another day. He inquired of my destination. I shrugged, telling him to be careful of ravenous ghouls and specters. He doffed his hat, swallowing a stone to turn invisible.
Oni River was a constant source of food supply before the war. Now it has become a dump site for soldiers. Heavy stench choked the area. Dead stagnant water vastly spread around, suffocating the aquatic denizens inhabiting there. The last time I came here, foraging for food, sadness clambered into my heart upon seeing the souls of aquatic beings crying over the loss of their families. Hunting during a funeral was bad business for me. Aloof the river I waited for prowlers. I fell into a shallow gouge, shaking russet of my fur. It dawned on me that the russet wasn’t a bad idea, a perfect camouflage from preys. I doused all of me in it, walking towards the river.
Putrid smell of carcass tingled my nose. How was I to fetch for a kill in this unhealthy body of water. If Jinadu were here his words be: Mama has indulged you to the extent that you won’t even feed on a dirty kill. The water gaze was undaunted. Dragonflies gamboled on the dead green plants afloat it. I didn’t see any souls there. Another thought popped up in my head. What if Izor tricked me in coming here for his personal gain? Marveled, I saw a mackerel waggling its tail in the river. Gingerly I jumped at it, clasping it in my jaws. Gaiety pimpled on my face. Though a small kill, at least it would suffice.
Just as I placed the mackerel down, squinting to locate another, the birds cawed, flying higher as if danger lurked in the air. Leaves strewn, dust resurrected pirouetting and levitating. I didn’t want to see what sinister creature owned this land when I grabbed my kill and turned to leave. A huge splash from the water sprang me unconsciously to the ground, pushing away my kill. In the middle of the river, driving towards me was a girl on a water horse. The horse neighed an unfriendly blast at me. Fear trussed whatever brevity had in me. My furs pricked my bones like thorns. Death winked at me, happy to receive a guest.
The girl’s hair was purple, braided with silver thread. Around her hair were beads of different sizes sewn to add vigor. Her pupils were white streaked with ember. I had never seen a water-princess before. The glow in her immaculate cocoa brown could ensorcel a man to servility. I picked myself up to run, but my legs were seized in a water shackle. I struggled, praying to the gods to forgive my stupidity, promising never to act as a hero again. Help didn’t come. Instead the water drew me towards the river. Hatred burned at the center of her eyes. I howled, calling for help to no avail. She pulled out a dagger from her scabbard. The glint from it married the sun, sending cold sharp shivers down my bone marrow. Few feet to where she stood, the water still bringing me closer, I transformed back to a boy, not minding my nakedness. She plopped me into the river. I bobbed back up, but she was gone. In a flicker, she rose from the water again, tossing me a pant.
The awkwardness that billowed around us laced with silence. We sat adjacent on the shore. Great-Grandaunt Fisayo was right after all. The river goddess’s daughter was a pure epitome of beauty.
“That’s my brother’s pant you are wearing. He doesn’t like to give out his wares,” she said, eyes on the water horse swimming. “I should kill you right now. What right have you to come steal from my mother’s land without a permission? I thought werefoxes knew better unlike your uncouth siblings.”
Flustered, I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.
“I am Akin. Sorry for the intrusion. I was hungry, that’s all.”
“Sorry,” she scoffed.
She ranted about how ingrates like us, esurient fishermen too, wouldn’t allow the water to remain soothe. From the tone of her voice it was evident that her animosity was mountainous for people who her mother permitted to catch fish from the river.
“Do you think my hair is ugly?” she asked, dabbing it with her hands.
I had to be tactful in answering her. The answer to this question was rhetorical. Who weaves such colors in a bid to be the cynosure of a gathering?
“Well,” she said, staring deep into my eyes.
What did I have to lose? She might kill me anyways.
“My great-great-grandaunt acquired some books from humans. The people in those magazines do wear funny hairstyles. This combination of yours is stale,” I said.
She stood up, walked into the river, akimbo. I figured she was thinking of a hundred ways to sever my limbs. Faced to me with uncertainty in her eyes, she came close.
“I am Fifesekemi, daughter of Yeye Aribidesi, ruler of the five great rivers. Call me Kemi. Everyone calls me that.”
She was genial after all. She beckoned to come with her into the river, saying there is something I must see. This was my first time beneath an unfamiliar territory.
“I won’t hurt you. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. Besides, I like your courage, telling me about how stupid my hair looks,” Kemi said, then poked me in the stomach.
She was a feisty one, too. Placed around my neck was a neck bead from her. Its purpose was to make me breathe underwater. The water horse plunged into the river as soon as we mounted it. A veil like a mask covered my face from the gush of water that would have filled my lungs. A paradisiacal view stretched across the deep. Turtles, a family of sperm whales gaped at me, probably wondering why the princess brought a boy into their home. I faced up, a sheath of greenness spread across the topmost layer. It cloaked the creatures living beneath—this way fishermen would think all the fishes are dead or migrated.
We alighted at the base of the river, benthos scampered at our presence. I had no choice than to follow her when she pulled me through the postern of her mother’s fortress. We did a little tour of the place. Mural of her forefathers wielding weapons of war down to her mother’s picture stretched on the wall. We sneaked out, mounting on a dolphin who took to us the top of the river.
“Where is this place?” I asked, noticing the serene ambience. Thickets arranged in rows paved way for the unknown.
“This is where I come to relax. Here, I feel normal. I get to walk with my feet.”
Half-bodied in the water, the welcoming breeze tousled her hair, revealing the beauty therein. I heard footstep drag our way.
“Hide quickly,” she said.
The images we saw underneath the water were obscure, distorted. I thought someone had parked a wagon in front of the river. I peeped out of the water, watching the wagon whose rider was unavailable. Kemi didn’t approve of our staying there. She insisted we left. Her words didn’t sow in my mind. I climbed out, curious to know who was inside.
“Look, there are prisoners inside. Let’s help them,” I said, fondling the lock.
Kemi jumped out of the water, pulling out her dagger to cut the steel lock. Footsteps approached behind us, before we turned a blow landed our faces.
