The Prince of Milk

Yoruba Resolve

Ayo watches his mother stumble out of the hut, a wide armed woman with a huge figure. She used to do this before, it had been long since he saw her stumble with the pot in her hand. Back then he could not help her, he was merely a boy. A small creature that could only watch, never participate. Now, he was not so sure if he was any different from then.

The hills seemed to be moving further and further each day, he could swear that he held them in his hands once. His mother told him that the hills were created by a wrestling contest of two giants, Oranmiyan and Olugbogbo. The heaps of ground that formed when one was pushed against the ground caused the mountains. Ayo wonders if the White knew the giants, if they were perhaps friends or foes. The window of the hut has given Ayos position once more, he must flee from his mothers wrath.

The tasks for the day include fishing once more. Maybe it was the breeze, the skies covered by clouds or the darkness of the atmosphere, but old memories began to surface. His whole life had become ruled by the memory of the white, a special outlier in the monotony of everyday tasks.

He was a boy at the time, his mother had warned him against staying at the stream for too long but he never listened to anything she said. He had stayed till night and simply sat in front of the water, watching the fragmented moonlight reflected on the water. Suddenly a flash of light came at once. Ayos bewildered gaze was caught by anothers gaze

If one ever asked Ayo what he saw, he would say that he didnt know. All that was left from his experience was an impression, an understanding of the sadness that emanated from that light. The White was sad and somehow, Ayo understood the despair faced by a color that usually gave joy. Ayo became consumed by the white and found himself at home once back to consciousness. The spirits had chosen him, this was all the proof he needed for the looming intuitions that bounced round the walls of his head each day since his birth.