"Greetings, Baba,’’ Rolake said, kneeling before an elderly man of about sixty-five, walking pass her towards his hut.
The elderly man was the only man left in Wole’s ancestral clan. Those who were not dead have migrated to the urban towns or other villages to continue with their lives. He was the eldest son of the leader of their clan, called Akinde. Akinde was the man who denied Wole the land meant for his inheritance. He had died many years past, even before the birth of Rolake. His compound would’ve been left desolate, if not because of his first son, Jaye, that's the elderly man whom Rolake just greeted.
"You’re welcome my daughter, Morolake, how is book learning?’’ the old man replied Rolake partially, trying hard to be jovial.
"I’m fine, Baba,’’ replied Rolake shyly.
It was obvious; Jaye was hurrying away from his farm, from hunger and the scotching sun. Old or elderly men, because of their weak bones, couldn’t stand the stressful long trek to the farms. So, they hardly go to farm in Awoye, except those whose children were not in the village or those who had no children that could take care of their needs and wants.
"That’s good,’’ He said, swiping his eyes all over Rolake mischievously. "Very soon Adewole will be entertaining some handsome, rich young men. I mean those who will come and buy you away from him with huge amount of money, cows and fat yams.’’
"I’m not for sale, Baba,’’ Rolake said as if she wasn't aware of what he meant, smiling shyly.
"Oh, you’ll soon understand what I mean, okay? You just wait for few more years, ’’ He said, going inside his hut, cackling. "Extended my greetings to Adewole. He had long forgotten us, but we won’t forget him. Blood they say, is thicker than water.’’
"Alright, Baba,’’ Rolake replied, walking away briskly.
Rolake dared not extend the old man’s greetings to her father as promised. He had once beating Rolake terribly for entering Jaye's house to greet him after returning from school, and warned her not to ever have anything to do with Jaye or any of his kinsmen.
Rolake’s hut is at few yards away now. The trek from Bamibola to Damiro to Awoye was not roasted a yam and palm oil. She felt so tired. The village was devoid of human's noises. Only the bleats of goats and the cuckoos of chickens were heard. Everybody was on the farm except some elderly people and few children.
It was still midday. Having known that Wole usually keep the key under the barn, Rolake went to pick it from there. She opened the door and barged in wearily. She dropped her school box on her bamboo bed and sank into it. She stood up again, undressed and put on her house wear– an old, whitewashed Ankara gown. Carefully, she hung her uniform on the nails on the wall. Only few rich people had hot-coal-powered iron in the village, so she had to do that to make her uniform unruffled.
Rolake remembered something, so she came out and fastened the door tightly behind herself. Her mind was with the money the old woman had gifted her. She again looked at the door to make sure it was well-fasten as, if a thief had informed her of a visit. She hurried to the kitchen. Before leaving for farm that morning, Wole had promised to make Eba after returning from the farm, to be eaten with the left-over Okra soap they had on ground. But that promise wouldn’t materialize anymore because she’d returned home before his father.
Rolake put some firewood which she had fetched the previous day into the mud furnace and lit it with matches. The earthen fire furnace has an ark shape like new moon. Wole had molded the earthen fire furnace immediately after his marriage to Rolake’s mother, Alake.
Rolake watched the smoke engulfed the kitchen, coiling towards the roof top.
"Oh, these fire-woods aren’t dried enough," she muttered, hissed and groaned as the tears caused by smoke tickled down from her eyes.
The woods looked very dried outside but fresh and wet inside, she thought, that is how some people are: beautiful outside but ugly inside. A smile brightens her smoked face.
She bent down to fan the fire with the air from her mouth. Within few minutes, the fire started burning brightly, they had warned enough to burn. Gladly, she wiped the tears in her eyes and some emerging mucus from her nose with her wrapper.
She washed the earthen pot lying besides the furnace, put some water inside it and put it on top of the fire furnace. After the water has boiled, she fetched some Garri– the popular cassava flakes, from a jute sack in the barn with plastic bowl. She fetched some of the hot water into a big bowl and poured the Garri into it. She picked a wooden ladle from the roof of the kitchen, washed it clean and began turning the Garri to make it moist and crisp enough to swallow.
"Oh yes, Eba is ready now,’’ she soliloquized, having the air of a professional cook. Having warmed the left-over soup on the fire, she served herself some of the Eba and okra soap.
After Rolake finished eating, she went inside the hut and picked her books to read.
Years ago when she started schooling, Wole had set aside a wooden stool and little table for her in one corner of the parlor as her study.
In the scotching noon sun, Wole started coming from the farm. When he got closer to his hut he was aghast. The door of the hut was opened! Why? Only he and Rolake knew where the keys were kept. Perhaps Rolake had never return from school that time before. No, it wouldn’t be her, he thought aloud. Many questions were running race in his mind. Who opened the door? Did he forget to lock it in the morning? No, he couldn’t be so forgetful. Could a burglar have come to his hut? No; not after the two goat thieves were apprehended by some villagers and stoned to death by the Baale’s order two seasons ago.
The two young men, the goat thieves, had been stealing goats, fowls and other domestic properties like cooking utensils for long until they ran out of luck one faithful day. They would come from Bamibola village pretending like cocoa seeds buyers and stole peoples belongings when they had gone to their respective farms.
No one knew who had been responsible for such atrocities until the day they two thieves were caught stealing a goat from the pen of a farmer. The farmer had come home to pick some yam seedlings he’d forgotten in the morning unexpectedly and saw the thieves stealing goats from his pen, after burgling it. He raised alarm immediately. Before the thieves could run away; the few villagers left in the village had rounded them up and arrested them. They confessed to be the unanimous thieves that had been stealing from the villagers for long.
After thorough beating, the Baale ordered for their execution but some villagers were against it. Those villagers who were against the jungle justice suggested the men be taken to the police station in Ilutuntun for persecution, since there was no one anywhere nears the villages. But the youths among them insisted, saying they don’t belief the thieves would be persecuted in the city police station and magistrate court. If you have your money, they had claimed, you could even scale through a murder case in the police station. So the Baale gave the final verdict that they should be stoned to death.
Wole walked briskly into the hut with his machete, held tightly up. Hearing some footsteps, Rolake stood up immediately and went to the door, already known Wole was the one coming. He heaved sigh of relief when he saw his daughter.
"You are welcome, father,’’ Rolake greeted, collecting the machete in Wole’s hand and dashed towards his room.
"Thank you my daughter,’’ Wole said with a sunken heart, remembering the school fees. She must’ve been sent away because of that, he thought. "Handle the machete with care! It is well sharpened!’’
"Alright, father, I will,’’ Rolake replied from afar.
Within a twinkle of an eye, she has kept the machete under Wole’s bed and returned to him in the parlor.
"How was school today?’’ Wole asked coldly, expecting an unpleasant story.
"It was good, father. I think I should get you some cold water from the earthen water pot first before serving you the Eba I had made.”
"Thank you my daughter, but I’m not having even any appetite for food or thirsty for now,’’ Wole said as worry lines laced his forehead. "You’ve never come from school except after closing hours. Even after exams that pupils play around the villages while expecting their results, you would still stay back till closing hours. What happened today?’’
"I was beating mercilessly and sent away from school because of the exam fees…’’ Rolake rolled out rapidly.
"You mean your teachers caned you?’’ Wole wasn’t happy at all. He loved Rolake so much and didn’t want her to be subjected to any form of hardship. "Oh, when I hit my left foot against a stone on the farm today I knew something terrible would happen.’’
"All of us who haven’t paid the exam fees were caned and driven away by our headmaster.’’
"That was inhumane!’’ Wole ranted in anger mixed with frustration, waving his hands in the air aggressively, as if those who caned Rolake were standing before him. "Absolutely uncalled for! Have I owed any school fees besides this one? After all, I’ve pleaded several times that I would pay soon. They still went ahead to treat her so badly?’’
"Yes, father but…but, ’’ Rolake paused and swallowed hard, she didn’t know how best to start her story.
"But, what do you mean by but?’’ demanded Wole camly, looking straight into her eyes, that was full of stories, ’’Go on, I’m listening, say whatever you have to say.’’
"We…I was lucky on my way home today, father.’’
"You were lucky?’’ Wole asked in shock. He thought someone who was seriously birched and sent home from school was being lucky? "You were lucky in what way?’’