EJIMA

CHAPTER 14

Jidenna rubbed his eyes and walked out from his little bamboo bed. He yawned wide, giving no care to his father’s instructions to always cover his mouth whenever the need to ease his air tract arises. The good news was that his father was nowhere near his little hut. He was away to the Igwe’s (King’s) palace and will not return until the birds retire to their nest. The man’s lectures never cease. They always went on and on until the sun was high on the cloud. If the ears could get filled up, Jide was sure that his ears would be overflowing with all the instructions his father was laying down for him.

He picked his clay cup, and with his free hands, washed the drool from his face, before gulping a good quantity to rinse his mouth. He was becoming a man and his father always forgets that part. 

Obi will not remain a boy forever, will he?  A voice at the back of his head affirmed. Besides, Ugomma was living next to their compound. What will she say when she sees the drool on his face?

Jide returned the calabash on the rack, spluttering the water on the dusty floor. Ugomma would mock him. Her flair was tormenting other children and as bad as it may sound, he would defile his father’s instructions to avoid any insult, especially from Ugomma. He will not be the laughing stock today, not anymore. Two days ago had been bad. They had mocked him because he broke his water pot. None of the children would laugh at him again, anyone who tried will taste the wrath of his growing maturity.

“Jidennaya,” Came the yell from somewhere in the compound. 

“Yes mama,” Jide shouted in return. He dropped the cup on the pot before holding fast the wolf fur by tying the girdle around his weight. 

A smile dropped on his face despite his effort. It was the voice of his mother. Her voice was a harbinger of food. She would never call him like that if breakfast was not ready. She was the best mother in the world and knows how to answer the call of a hungry stomach.

Picking up his plate, he was about to step outside when he heard the voice of the wooden gong, coming faintly from an unknown distance. The sound of the gong made him bite his lower lips. It had disturbed his sleep. He had returned with his father after the festival, but could not sleep because the village Town Crier would not let the village rest. The man had announced the upcoming new yam festival all through the night, beating his old wooden gong like an army in a parade.

Jide remembered battling the man in his dream. He had wrestled with the village Town Crier until he had won. The noise had not resounded again after the dream and he had slept the remaining hours of the night, unperturbed until now.

"I think I will need that food now," Jide said, hoping to keep thoughts about the town crier and his gong would remain at bay. He was about to step out when his elbow nudged the basket hanging on the door frame and something fell off. 

It was a small wood, fashioned like the tail of a hawk and designed with delicate black pencils.

The smile on Jide’s face folded into a frown. The Town crier’s wooden gong? Confusion stared at him as he tried to recollect. Unless the wooden gong had developed legs of their own and had walked into his room, then there was no way it could have been in his possession. The Town Crier never part ways with his gong. The adage ‘take the gong of the crier and you take his voice’ was not a joke. Without the gong, the town crier was nothing but a crier.

But what Is this gong doing in my room?

That question was left unanswered when Maazi Maduka started shouting out his name.

What am I going to do now? 

Jide panicked. He searched his room and the frown on his face deepened when some sticky object held his toes. He looked down and was surprised to see mud all over his feet.