Wet Harmattan

RITUAL

Monama walked into the vast compound, lit by torches mounted on the wall and by a huge fire that burned at the centre of the compound. The place was filled with people, most of whom Monama recognized. He saw Fonati sitting on a large wooden chair, flanked by two of his eldest sons. He marveled at how much the boys had changed. Fonaya had a hard edge carved into him, from the way his eyes observed the people that had gathered and how he leaned on his left leg which was drawn backwards, seemingly relaxed, Monama knew that he was a warrior. He had also grown sideburns and stood with casual confidence.

Alado had a faint smile on his lips as always but there was also an underlying wariness in the man, his eyes playful yet intense. He had also grown out a small goatee. Monama chuckled within himself, remembering when he had compared his growing beard to other young men his own age and the frustration he felt when they didn’t grow fast enough. He ran his hand across his jaw and smiled. He had not worn a beard in almost thirteen years and he did not think he ever would again. Fonati turned and saw him. He smiled broadly, beckoning to him and Monama walked to where his brother sat. the man was wearing a dark blue, sleeveless jalabiya made of spidersilk, one of the most expensive materials in the entire kingdom and he wore loose trousers that tapered together at the ankle.

Monama bowed slightly to him and the man slapped his back, laughing. He saw her then, Juni, as she walked to where the men were, a servant carrying her own chair and she motioned for the servant to place it beside Fonati. She turned to look at Monama, ignoring the greetings of both her sons and she gave him a stiff smile that did not touch her yellow eyes. She wore a long black kaftan made of spidersilk with a cotton, black djellaba over it. Her full lips were painted black and her forehead was also marked with an intricate design that women normally drew on their skin whenever they went out to where many eyes saw them.

Asai soon joined them, carrying her own chair and she wore her anklet this time. She hugged her brothers and Monama, ignoring her mother’s scowl and she sat down, a broad smile on her face. Monama saw the young man standing with the others of his age, towering above them, his green eyes looking around with obvious boredom. He had not even tried to join the rest and this annoyed Monama. He did understand that the boy was not legitimate and as such, could not stand with them but he was annoyed that Fonati had not legitimized him by marrying his mother though he could still see the complications there.

“I see the warrior has come home. Though I doubt he considers it such, judging by the time he has spent away, fighting for his northern king.” Juni said without turning to look at him. Fonati muttered something and sighed but she ignored him as well. Monama looked forward, his face calm, serene. He chose to ignore the barb but it seemed she was not satisfied.
“You have run into some difficulties, I expect and you have come for help as always. It’s funny how you remember your family only when you need them.” she said and Fonati turned to glare at her.

“Enough, woman.” He growled and she raised an eyebrow then smiled before leaning into her seat. Monama looked down at her a while before he turned to look at the otuko’s entrance. The otuko was the messenger and priest for the eyes that saw it all. His word equaled that of the chief in normal matters and was even superior to his in religious matters but during time of war, he was not allowed to meddle in military decisions or affairs except giving blessings. He came in now, wielding a metallic staff that had metal strings attached to it’s head that was carved  to a shape of an eye. The staff was about twice his height and the strings hit the shaft, making jingling sounds as he stabbed it into the ground.

The otuko was a short, muscular man with dark yellow eyes, so dark, they seemed to be brown and he had an eye carved into his forehead with patterns carved into his skin, raised like worms that seemed to writhe with each movement of his muscles. He wore a black skirt and was barefoot. Two young Ngapa  men walked behind him. one carrying a small bowl and a dagger, the other pulling a goat behind him and carrying a tuber of yam in his other hand. A hush fell on the crowd that had gathered as he came to the fire and raised his staff, stabbing into the ground with impressive strength. He shrieked loudly and began to dance around the flame, moving in a fluid, graceful pattern, like a leaf blown in a soft wind.

This was contrasted sharply by the stream of loud, ragged chants that flowed from his lips, his eyes wild. He danced for a while and Monama watched him, remembering the awe he used to feel when he watched this performance. He closed his eyes in irritation at himself. He now considered this a performance? How far had he fallen? He could not remember the last time he did his morning sacrifices and prayers. He wondered if the others were actually right and the northern way of life had eaten into him. But he could not deny that he felt nothing now, no reverence, none of the awe he had once possessed and he silently prayed to the eyes to look upon him and forgive his unbelief.

The Otuko’s movements grew quicker, a trickle of urgency flowing into them, building up until his movements were broken but nonetheless impressive. He made a turn around where he had stabbed his spear into the ground and he stopped abruptly, his wild chants reducing to a whisper. He stretched out his hand and one of his apprentices handed him the dagger. He turned it, waving it in the air for a while then he made a quick signal with his hand. The other apprentice led the goat to him. the animal was silent, looking at the ground, almost as if it had it’s fire removed from it. the otuko, his mouth still moving in whispered chants, pulled back the goat’s head by its horns and swiftly slit it’s throat, letting it bleed into the bowl that was held under it’s neck, held by an apprentice. Monama noticed that Asai had clenched her fists and was biting her lower lip, her eyes turning red and misting over with tears. He frowned.

He had never seen an Ngapa who was averse to killing an animal. He had also not seen an Ngapa that was a harnessed healing before this time so he shrugged, maybe it affected them in this matter as well.After the goat was killed and bled, its carcass was thrown into the fire. Fonati stood then and walked to the otuko who nodded at him.

“Naho hai” the otuko said and Fonati nodded grimly. “Naho hai” he said as well and in a slow, long move, the otuko drew the dagger across his forearm, adding to a slew of scars that made there their residence and his blood was collected in the bowl as well. The otuko collected the bowl and walked close to the fire, his eyes aflame with the brightness. He threw the entire contents of the bowl into the fire, screaming. Almost immediately, everyone present fell flat to the floor, except Fonati and the otuko who stood staring at the flames, their faces hard, cold, reverence in their eyes. the otuko started a prayer of thanks for the harvests, thanking the eyes that saw the crops from their time under the ground to when they were taken from the fields. When he finished, he bowed and slowly left, his apprentices trailing behind him. The people stood then, looking at Fonati who broke into a broad smile.

“For months we have toiled, tended the earth. Our fathers say that the dirty hand brought about the oily mouth. We have dirtied our hands. Now, let us oil our mouths.” He said, bringing a cheer from the people. He turned and walked back to where he sat as servants carrying pots of food and large jugs of sky and palm wines flooded the compound. He clasped his hand on Monama’s shoulder and smiled then turned and nodded to his family who bore smiles on their faces. His face grew hard then, cold, expressionless and he turned to Fonaya.

“It is time. Preparations have been made I’m sure.” He said and Fonaya nodded, his face mirroring his father’s countenance. It was called the dead face and was drilled into every Ngapa boy by their father or trainer until it came instinctively. It was no good to show your enemy or a rival how you felt at a particular moment. Asai turned to her father, flashing a sweet smile.

“I want to watch this time.” She said and Fonati turned his dead face on her, causing her to flinch slightly. She turned away and he nodded, signaling for Monama to follow him as he walked away from the crowd, out of the compound through a small door carved into the wall.