Yefon: The Red Necklace (12 page)

-6-

NGWAH WO LAH.

Pa didn’t tell me about my other birthday present like he promised because he had to travel on an unexpected business trip to Foumban, and when he came back the topic just never really came up. He was too busy trying to build a new barn that could fit all his animals. I heard that he was doing well and his businesses were bound to expand. It was a good time because
bvey
meat was more available in our household. So was lamb milk and warm skins that we could lay on our beds to make them softer.

I was a little disappointed when he didn’t bring up the other surprise again. I had been hoping that maybe it would be a new slingshot, or maybe Pa would offer to teach me one or two things that would improve my shooting skills. Killing a few bush rabbits and birds didn’t mean one couldn’t improve. I thought that maybe if I continued to practice he would notice me and ask me one day in the future.

However, something very unique happened one day when I came back home from hunting. I found out that my
sha
η
g
wasn’t an ordinary one.

It was a typical resting day when nobody went farming. I had been up early to see if I could hunt anything down in the small murky bush by our house. At this time of the morning, there would be dew everywhere and droplets of water dripping on my hair, but the road wasn’t as crowded with women as it would be on a farming day.

I basked in the silence, kicking a few stones on the lonely path, and breathing in the cool air that was brisk and fresh like water lilies. What if life was always this way, I wondered out loud.

The group of liveried schoolboys that we saw all the time bypassed me, walking very fast and talking about an examination that they had to take. Our resting day didn’t affect them, and when they rested at the end of the week, we were on the farm. My eyes lit up at the sight of them, and my ears sharpened to hear every word that they said. Their English was always so clean and proper, unlike mine, which was good compared to everyone in my house, but still inferior to theirs.
This was my chance to greet them. Maybe they would stop to speak to me in English.

I raised my chin up, and squared out my shoulders. “Good morning,” I called out politely. The response was a snobbish stare and an occasional giggle. Then the oddest, hot, steamy, feeling overcame my chest area, almost as if I couldn’t breathe or as if my
sha
η
g
was choking me. I thought a kola nut tree was forcing itself down my throat, and so I staggered about, my feet felt heavy and sweaty and my slingshot dropped to the ground.

After coughing repeatedly, I felt better, and I blinked my eyes several times still trying to capture one last image of the boys who were farther away by now. I was so fixated on them that I didn’t think much of what had just happened. “I was up till five reading for the exam” the one with broken glasses held together by tape in the middle had said as they dashed downhill, away from my sight.

Exam. I didn’t know what that word meant, but it sounded fashionable. I would use it on Kadoh soon. What would I say though, I wondered.

I decided to return home without hunting. Today had turned out to be really bizarre. I kicked stones, as I walked back, wading my feet through the dust on the path and running after small butterflies.

A strange cat stared at me from the side of the street, its sharp eyes shining in the sun as its gaze followed me. Most people didn’t like cats. They belonged to the dark, and this one looked like it was a human being who had transformed. When I told Kadoh this story, she would say it was Kpulajey, and I wouldn’t believe her. The idea birthed an even stranger one in my head, and so looking back at the cat, I smiled.

“Kpulajey!” I called out, and the cat suddenly ran away. My blood began to constrict for a second and a sudden wave of heat flushed my face. The cat! Could it be that those stories were true?

My mind was bent on telling Kadoh this abnormal tale as I walked between the lofty kola nut trees that led to the entrance of our compound. I didn’t stop to greet any one, not even the gatherings of women seated outside their houses braiding their
children’s hair, picking
nyoosji
, or cooking and gossiping loudly.

“Kadoh!” I shouted as I sprinted into her mother’s circular
taav
, which was two times smaller than mine.

“She is not here,” Ya Sero responded softly, her gentle eyes holding more than just laughter, but understanding and love.

“Good morning, Ya”, I curtsied. I had a lot of respect for this woman. Not only had she birthed the smartest girl I knew, but she was also humble and gentle.

She nodded with a smile that was inviting even to the deadliest, most ferocious warrior.

“Your sister go to market,
Yeh
,” she replied, her voice soft like cheese.

“Please tell her I am looking for her.”

“I tell, my dear,” she replied, handing me a hot roasted
re’
.

“Thank you, Ya.” I curtsied, digging into the woody meal. Its salty sting travelled all over my tongue and I loitered around the compound like a lost puppy, engulfed in my
re’
.

You see, this is how a mother should be, I noted to myself, completely lost in pleasure when Ma dragged me to the side.

It took me a minute to regain consciousness. I opened my eyes to see her heart-shaped, scarified face staring down at me. Ma’s face was marked in several areas with systematic scars engraved in a circular manner.

“Go and wash your feet. You are coming to my
ngwah
with me,” she said idly, chewing a red kola nut as she spoke. I hated the damp smell that emanated from her mouth when she ate kola nuts. What was so special about those anyways? The way adults held that stuff close to their hearts, I would never understand.

Ngwah’s were monthly women gatherings where they contributed money and food towards each other’s welfare. They were well organized such that each month each woman contributed a specific amount, about five cowries each, and all the money was given to one member. Perhaps, a woman would end up with fifty cowries from that meeting which she could use to start up a small business in the market or anything she wanted to do with it.

Next month, a different woman was given the cowries, and so on until in a year’s period; each person would have gotten the money at least once. It was a wonderful initiative that showed that womenfolk could come together to do something good—only if I
put it that way, I would get a beating.

“I said you are coming with me to my
ngwah
,” Ma repeated, this time with a wide toothed smile that reminded me of a little child who had just lost some teeth. The cuteness of it caused me to smile, but not for long. Ma’s expression dampened when I didn’t respond a few minutes later, but she still forced a smile.

“Are you not happy to come to the
ngwah
,” she asked enthusiastically, and I couldn’t help but be surprised that she was inviting me. Was I in some kind of trouble? Was this some sort of ploy to get me alone with her so she could kill me without a trace?

I studied her carefully. Deep behind those eyes laid so many things that I wanted to know, but never would. “I’ll wash my feet.” I responded dryly, and then walked to the side of the house to do so.

It was very windy when we left the house shortly after. The wind was even touching my scalp, and I dashed back inside to grab a thin cloth to cover myself.

Ya Buri was giving Sola a beauty treatment outside her
taav
, and Sola looked very scary with her face covered in a greenish looking paste and several thick locks caught up everywhere in her mane.

“My pretty daughter,” Ya Buri’s voice soothed a shivering Sola.

I caught a glimpse of Kadoh walking in with a bucket on her head. I waved at her effervescently. Her response was a typical Kadoh dance, which included a stomp, and a buttock shake. A fat grin appeared on my face.

“
A bong biy a
,” she shouted across the windy courtyard. She wanted to know if I was okay. I nodded, pointing at Ma, and I think she got the joke.

“We are going to the women’s gathering,” I shouted back, and Kadoh held her big belly before laughing.

“Greet them!”

I wanted to respond and ask her to please come with her mother to the
ngwah
, but I didn’t. Ma would have snapped at me for shouting too loud across the courtyard. According to Ma, real ladies, like Sola and Yenla, never spoke loud and I really wasn’t in the mood to hear all that.

Ma and I walked in silence for a little while, the marching sound of our feet on the fallen dried leaves sounded like food
frying.

“She chews these leaves after each meal,” Ma suddenly said, drawing my attention back to her scarred face.

“Who?”

“They will make her sick,” she added, before mouthing a small round “Sola.”

“Oh,” I responded, amazed that Ma knew about Sola’s terrible eating habits. Kadoh even told me that she had seen Sola eat wood just in order to avoid food since her figure was everything to her.

It made me wonder whether Pa and Sola had ever had a
tete-a-tete
, the way he always did with me. I would ask him, when he got back home.

He was at the
mfu
house, which was the men’s own meeting where they devoured roasted
bvey
meat and palm wine. Besides that, I didn’t really know what else they did in there. As close as I was to Pa, he wouldn’t tell me anything about the secret esoteric traditions of the village meant only for certain types of men.

The road to Pa Lamlen’s house, where the meetings were usually held, was rocky, and smelled of dirty buttocks. It was a miracle that any one even lived in such an area. Mossy walls crawled with cockroaches and a certain gray insect whose name I will never know since I have never seen it anywhere else but in a few areas in Nso.

The insect was shaped like a small
ngie
seed, coarse in texture and sticking lifelessly on a wall, and if you tried to touch it, a whitish looking maggot body came out and moved. It was the most disgusting thing ever, and I got goose bumps every single time I saw one!

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine something pleasant but only jumping maggots came to mind. It was not a pretty sight.

Ma and I eventually arrived at the compound, which was now filled with several village women who were walking about greeting each other and engaging in small talk. Ma held my sweaty hands and shot me a nasty look. Without a word, I knew to wipe my palm against my wrapper, before holding her hand again.

We passed by several women, most of whom had old cracked feet that smelled yeasty. Immediately, I knew I wouldn’t like this meeting.

One skinny woman with a squirrel voice approached Ma and I, and Ma’s eyes instantly lit up as they saw each other.

“Long time no see oh!” the woman exclaimed sweetly before hugging Ma, and I marveled at her almost perfect teeth and even skin.

“I know,” Ma cooed back, looking as happy as I had ever seen her.

The skinny woman then threw up her branch-like hands, her droopy breasts bobbing up and down as she clapped her hands in amazement. She had penetrating dark olive eyes that glistened as if she had seen a god.

“Is that Yefon?”

I looked at Ma, unsure of what to say to this woman that I had never met.

“Yes it is her. Yefon, come and greet auntie,” Ma said, smiling.

I slowly approached her, with a lazy grin on my face. The auntie then asked one of the worst questions of all time. All African aunties do this, and it kills me, especially, because it is hard to remember all their names. Auntie is always a safer bet, than Auntie A, or Auntie B.

Out came my worst question. “Do you remember me?”

I looked up at Ma again, genuinely too stunned to even react, so I smiled shyly as a cover-up, my head spinning in all types of directions, wondering where I had met her.

“I was there when you were born,” the auntie gushed proudly, her breasts moving all over the place. “I helped your Ma with you because she was very sick.”

I know I should have been more grateful and perhaps given her a kiss on the cheek or something to thank her for taking care of my bronchitis-impaired baby self, but I was too stuck on the fact that she expected me to remember her name so many years later. I was a baby, skinny woman! How am I supposed to know? Oh let’s see, yes, you had rough hands, and your nails dug into my skin like sharp objects. It was truly entertaining!

“They cannot steal you. You look just like your father,”! she said, before asking Ma how Pa was. It was very peculiar how she lit up when Pa’s name came up. Her olive eyes glistening with interest and her long lashes batted every so often. Had they been lovers? That was a very uncomfortable thought that shouldn’t
have been in my head in the first place.

They talked and talked and talked while I stood there staring at the beautiful sky. The fluffy clouds meshed together, forming all types of shapes. Was that an elephant I saw, or did I just imagine that?

The tantalizing smell of food brought my attention and gaze to two small girls who were carrying several trays of well bundled loaves of
kiban
wrapped up in plantain leaves. On second thought, thank you Ma for bringing me here. I strayed away from Ma and walked towards the table. I could faintly overhear two women who were gossiping about a certain Berka whose daughter was pregnant out of wedlock and how terrible that was. From the hushed manner of their voices, I could tell that the Berka in question was among one of the women here.

A large pot of
nyoosji
and
khatikatih
soon followed and my nose almost exploded from the heavy aromatic smell of the spiced bleached palm oil in the
khatikatih
and the more overpowering organic smell of the vegetables that smelled like watercress.

“Settle! The
ngwah
is about to start!” A woman as lively as fresh palm wine stood up to speak.

The women settled down on the plank benches, and the hushing sounds died down as more women found seats. Ma and her skeletal friend sat next to me and continued whispering like two teenagers. I was more intrigued by the lively woman’s square head. It was so big that a family meeting could be held on it, and it didn’t help that she tied a huge heavy scarf around her head, which distracted you as she spoke.