Hyena's Howl

The Hyena's Howl

It was a cold night. A cold night lit by the radiance of the pale crescent moon. The wind swirled through the trees making their leaves shiver; a sound both majestic and terrifying depending on your perspective. The clouds above played hide and seek with the pale, crescent moon and stillness of the night was broken by the occasional rustle of theleaves. The air held a tense note of expectancy. Something was going to happen.

My name is Odebiyi, born into a family with hunting traditions as old as time. Tales of my ancestors were legendary; elevated to the realms of mystic deities by the prowess of their skills and the embellishments of stories passed down from generation to generation, it was a thing of pride and a stress of sorts to come from a lineage so renowned. It is said that my great-great-great-grandfather himself fought with the mighty elephant in the forest of Iju; a forest so ancient and a home to the spirits of the land. The forest was feared; indeed it was used to scare many errant and mischievous children and bold, fearless hunters quaked at the mention of the name. It is said that my ancestor, the mighty Odesakin himself, went into the forest to seek out the mighty elephant.

Ajanaku Elese-irin, so was the mighty elephant called; he would come into the land from time to time, trumpeting his power and ravage the crops tended with the sweat and toil of our people. He would ravage the crops shortly before the time of harvest, sowing a wide swath of destruction through the farmlands and plains of our forefathers; he would fling many a hapless man or woman with his mighty tusks, those whose fear and fatigue caught their feet in poses of statues would he plow through while their cries and screams rent their air. Ajanaku Elese-irin came with the seeds of ruin; as he stamped through the villages, the treads of his feet collapsed houses while destruction and death followed in his wake. The people sacrificed again and again to the gods but the gods were silent.

Many a hunter had gone into the forest of Iju to bring down the beast. In groups and singly did they go but none ever returned. The times were hard and so it was for four years till Odesakin arose to liberate the land or die in the attempt. It is said that he fought the great beast for seven weary days till at last he emerged from the forest, faint and bloodied but holding the tusks of the great beast in victory. Some of the hunters dragged in the carcass of the beast to the main village square and the king honoured the mighty hunter, my own ancestor, with the titles of Olori Ode and Akogun.

Tales of this sort of valour abound in my lineage. Or shall I talk about another of my ancestors, Odemuyiwa, who slew the great buffalo in the forest of Efon. No! I shall not talk about it so they will not say I boast. Indeed we are told, from the time we know our left from our right, the histories of my lineage and enjoined to uphold the ideals of bravery, courage, selflessness and never put the family name to shame. It has been that way through the generations and every first son is expected to be a mighty hunter so.................here I am.

I have been crouching on this branch for some time now. I have been observing what must surely be one of the fattest antelopes that Olodumare ever created. The meat on that animal and the skin promises to fetch me a lot of cowries, enough that I might marry another wife and still have a bit to play around with. Although it was a cold night lit by the radiance of the pale crescent moon that shone through the breaks in the clouds, the air was heavy with scents of anticipation as I lifted my dane gun quietly.

As I set my sights on the antelope with my finger curled round the trigger and ready to shoot, I heard it. The hairs on my neck stood as the antelope bolted faster than the hurricane wind. The sound was so unearthly with hints of terror that my blood became as cold as ogi in harmattan weather.

It howled again as it stepped into my field of vision and I saw......I saw, the biggest hyena I had ever seen in my life. It was as large as a lion with eyes so luminous the light of the moon seemed dim beside it. In my terror, I fell off the tree branch and our gazes locked. It howled, shattering the stillness of the air and sending resounding echoes of menace through the trees as it raced towards me. I fired and fired and fired but it was as if my shots gave it energy to charge faster.

Ori iya mi o! I am no Odesakin or Odemuyiwa and if the spirits of my forefathers would not aid me at this time, I would be dead meat. I offered prayers to the gods in my mind as I kept firing until I ran out of gunpowder and it still came running. Then I slid my hunting knife out of the sheath and prepared to meet my fathers. It sprang at me and we rolled in a fury of flashing claws, fur, heat and sweat. It raked the side of my face with its claws and kept champing its teeth to bite me.

There we were man and beast, locked in the dance of life and death till I got lucky and rammed my knife straight into its heart. The hyena gave one last howl loud enough to set my ears ringing and blow the leaves of some trees nearby as it slumped in its death throes. I knelt on the ground, my hunting garb shredded, my face stinging and my blood watering the earth in drops and drops as I gulped in massive amounts of air while trying to calm the racing steps of my frightened heart.

Sometimes at night, I still jerk awake with the howls of the hyena from that night ringing in my ears. I bear the souvenirs of that battle on my face and body, the scars of its claws a reminder of how close to death I was that night. I know that the life of a hunter consists of moments like this but if this is what it means to be a legend, I don't want to be great.