Come Kelvin" Vivian used to shout, in the heat and excitement of work, on her little grandchild staying with her. "Right now we have to begin folding these taffeta cloths. The next market day is only two days away. Take a broom and sweep this dirty floor. spread the mat. Bring out our two mallets. Let's begin to beat the cloths into pleats. Very fine pleats, you know, so that customer at Sagbe market will have nowhere else to go, than our stall, to get the best taffeta."
After a long spell of heavy pounding, Vivian would slowly raise up her head and smile, catching the tired face of her grandchild, and the small drops of sweat that had begun to gather over the little boy's brow......
"There you are, Kevin," she would tease," At your age, l could swing the mallet, non-stop, from cockcrow to cockroost, all through beating nonsense out of taffeta cloths, never getting tired. But, see how weary you have become now-you indolent creature!. When will you learn not to be lazy?.
"Lazy boys go to the farm only to watch the vulture dozing on the baobob. They waste time playing with the cattle egret roosting on the silk cotton tree at the approach of rain, and the giant crab digging it's abode on the bed of the murky village stream. Lazy boys are many in this
village and you are one of them. you are their leader. See now, Kelvin, you swing your mallet over the taffeta as if there is no more strength left in you, and your tongue crawls out of your small mouth!.
Just let me finish folding this taffeta and reach for my long cane at the corner of the room. Wam, wam, the cane will circle and it's marks will show around the narrow band of your neck, and on the naked column of your back skin. l will crack the whip down in terrific speed; and when l get tired, Kelvin, the whip will drip in slow motion around your tiny body. l will make you howl like a dog kicked in the stomach, for stealing the only meat inside the soup pot."
"No, Mama! Don't beat me," Kelvin always pleaded. "Please, don't kick me like a dog. l am not going to be lazy anymore. l swear, Mama. Being lazy is not good for a small boy like me..... Tomorrow Mama, I'll beat ten taffeta pleats and, day after, ten pleats, to please you. Next week Mama, I'll beat forty, all in one day."
"Beat forty taffeta today, Kelvin, lazy boy! Not tomorrow, and not next week. Never leave till tomorrow what be done today. Today is sure, Kelvin. But nobody knows what tommorow will bring."
"Alright, Mama......"
And Kelvin would resume beating the taffeta with his small mallet-very furiously, playfully counting the number game on each stroke of the mallet;.
"One resembles one," Kelvin's sharp little voice would rise and pierce the bamboo rafters on the roof of the house;.
One and one are identical twin babies of Ogunremi village who, in later years, grew up to legendary fame and prosperity.

Two is like two children of the same parents, eating meals inside the same bowl, and greedily licking okra soup clean and clear, from their fingers.

Three is the dirty calabash on my grandmother's wooden rack, which needs to be washed thoroughly, and be properly scrubbed before the next market day.
Four is the crooked footpath, leading out of peregun, to the neighbouring villages of Oteda, Lelero, Larin and Labua.

Five carries a mortar on his tender neck, with hot yam inside, but no pestle to pound it with.
Six is tiele the lifeless body of the robber, struck dead by lightning at the village gate during a night storm.
Seven is the kongo, beating a slow melody on the round face of the talking drum on a wedding day.
Eight is the pregnant woman of Yege, who delivered her twin babies alone by herself at the road junction between Waari and Elewuji on a sunny day.
Vivian would watch her grandchild with great amusement, a pleasant smile hovering over her face.
"Go on Kelvin," she always urged. "Go on playing the number game with your mallet. Go on beating a steady tempo on the taffeta cloth. That's one sure way to remove boredom, and one way to make your work lighter. Don't stop, Kelvin, until you will get to number one hundred. Make sure your hand moves faster than your tongue.... Many years ago at Adeyipo, when l was a little child like you, Kelvin, l did just that; counting and counting; pounding and counting. l would never stop pounding until l had counted up to three hundred on my mallet, and beaten sixty taffeta pleats in just one day!
"Work was music to us, Kelvin. We would spread out taffeta with laughing eyes and allow the joy of work to radiate on our countenance, all along singing merrily."
The sweet memory of childhood days came crowding back to Vivian, and she enthusiastically took over the chanting of the number game from Kelvin, her eyes half- closed, her teeth flashing;

Nine is the old wine tapper of Lakinde, selling ketembe of fresh palmwine on credit to customers at Oyedeji market.
Ten is the dance arena at the back of Ajipa village where young maidens wriggle beaded hips to the delightful rhythm of the talking drum, to celebrate the feast of Ayan-Agalu.

Eleven is the open jaw of the mad hyena, laughing Kuseela farmers to scorn in the season of poor harvest.
Twelve is the mighty eagle bird neatly sweeping the dirty Omiyo sky with his umbrella wings.
Thirteen is the dark lane in front of the sacred grove at Kange, in the night of the dreaded Oro festival.
Fourteen is a group of villages-huddies of mud dwellings, joined by narrow forest paths and shaded by the slender molepe.
Fifteen is that big jug of water under the tree shade, providing cool, refreshing drink for weary travellers and wayfarers on a long journey.
"Yes, together let's go on counting now, Kevin, from sixteen. Let's sing along and count. Together let's go on pounding, furiously, and be drenched in perspiration....Come on Kelvin! let's get intoxicated with work. Let the tissues on our strong arms stand up like worms on our skin as we pound away at the taffeta."

For Vivian, it was now work, work and work a workaholic! The will to survive was there, putting determination into her bones and vigour into her nerves...And gradually, she began to accustom herself to the hard fact that she really was a widow...
To Be Continued.