Bride Prize

Eight: Venda's wickedness unveiled

“I hear that the man who took the lead at the farm meet was not desirable by you,” Zasha said, staring at his sullen daughter with concern in his eyes.

Night had fallen over the little village. The moon was late in showing up and everywhere was quiet.

Iveren was seated on a circular carved stool beside the fire in the kitchen hut. Zasha sat across from her. His daughter’s unhappy mood affected him negatively.

 “Somebody put something inside Tersoo’s gourd of drinking water,” Iveren said. “It made him weak and he couldn’t farm.”

Torkuma, one of Zasha’s junior brothers stepped into the hut and stood beside Iveren.

“Venda is bad boy,” Torkuma said. “I don’t like him very much.”

Zasha looked up at the man who had spoken.

“Who is talking about Venda here?” he asked. “Torkuma, you don’t even want to know what is going on and you just jump in with any kind of talk that suits you.”  Torkuma glared down at his elder brother.

“When I heard what happened, me and one of the boys went to the farm and checked. Tersoo was leading for more than half the farm work until he drank water from his gourd, by then Anakura had brought food. It was after that Tersoo started to lag behind. Which means, by our calculation, Tersoo had made more yam heaps than everyone on the farm even if he came last. We concluded that Tersoo did most of the work.”

Zasha thought Torkuma made some sense.

Iveren looked at her father. “I was there when he went to drink water from his gourd,” she said heatedly. 

“And who was leading by the time you people arrived at the farm?” Zasha inquired of his daughter.

“It was Tersoo,” she answered, “Ape was there too, and Mbakese.”  Zasha got to his feet.

“Alright, it is settled then. I know what to do.”

After Zasha had left the hut, Torkuma said to Iveren, “If I see that bastard Venda anywhere near you, I am going kill him. He doesn’t know who I am.”

He turned and stalked from the hut.

*   *   *

Tersoo was down with the flu for the next three days, during which he was unable to go to his farm. The native doctor was called in to attend to him.  

After careful examination, Nyitse, the native doctor, had declared Tersoo safe. Tall, slender, sixtyish plus, light in complexion, the native doctor had come armed with his diagnostic apparatus, which included a tiny bone, small piece of animal skin, a long strand of horsetail and a small round pebble. His method was wholly unorthodox, but quite remarkably reliable.

First, he placed the tiny rounded pebble over Tersoo’s tommy and rolled it several times. Then he rubbed the long strand of horse tail into Tersoo’s hair. Next, he touched the elbows and ankles with the little borne. The little parchment, he rubbed over Tersoo’s skin. 

The next action was the most interesting part of his work. The tall old man put his tools into a small calabash and covered them for a few seconds, after which he opened the calabash and tossed the items on the ground and studied their relative positions.

Ugba, who was sitting next to the doctor, watched attentively without uttering a word. 

“It’s a mild stomach upset,” the tall, wizened old man declared in his conclusion. “What was put in his drink was only meant to weaken him and not kill him. He will recover after a few days.”