THE UNKNOWN HANDS (EPISODE TEN)

STORY SERIES

… I could not understand all the medicine-after-death pretense put on by those who had earlier abandoned him while he battled with death. Shedding of crocodile tears was all over the place and some of them even went as far as making me sweet promises that I

would know no suffering. I soon discovered that all those were mere lip-services. For almost a week after the burial, I was very tired and worn-out, due to the part that I was forced to play while the burial lasted. In fact, I never expected it. Nearly all the society of women that came along to partake in the funeral ceremony had me dance with them round the village at different times of the same day. Some of their songs brought bitter tears into my eyes. For instance, the women sang a song I heard for the first time saying:

“Fatumbi lays on the ground peacefully,

His son lifts him up gently,

Thank you, a good son,

For treating Fatumbi well”

 As the song went on, I recalled almost everything about my father and I sobbed ceaselessly. The women were, no doubt, very creative in their own right and I later learnt that singing of such songs was part of their own strategy to arouse the sympathy of the villagers to a poor orphan like me for a generous donations. Ironically, everything collected during the period was shared by the women and I was left no better than my former self. My condition was even worse, for, I was totally exhausted, unable to lift my hands and legs for almost a week. That was the only gift I got from the village opportunists. In my total despair where the funeral lasted, I still made observations as I followed those various groups. Among one of them, I recognized a hunch-back, Romoke who used to live in a place that was a stone’s throw from our compound. Everyone doubted whether she would ever have a husband considering her frail and short stature.

Whatever man thinks, God’s wish must be fulfilled. We woke up one market day to discover that the surroundings of Romoke’s compound were very festive. On inquiry, we learnt that it was Romoke who was going to her husband’s house. For the first time ever, she looked very neat, lively, and cheerful than she had ever been.

It was much later that people discovered that her husband was an old man who lived very close to the evening market. He was hell-bent on having more children and would not mind marrying just anybody to achieve his aim. I overheard Romoke telling some of the women that I was her son and that she had carried me when I was a baby. I knew she could be right. People saw one another as one and treated themselves as such. All I could do was to go to her and acknowledge her presence.

Another thing I found difficult to understand was… To be continued on Tuesday.

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