DESTINY OUT OF DILIGENCE

The nostalgic story got into gear in a vigorous rural setting. It grew up between the two warring villages of Budoagun and Ladubah, with their proximity defined. Though, life in Budoagun was like bread through butter, originally, and their seemingly endless land area was dominated by local peasantry. Their fame was indeed high until they blindly made rods for their own backs. At the other side, the inhabitant of Ladubah widely yearned for those natural bounties, but they were richly endowed with technical prowess. Mallam Aliyuh, a renowned family man of Budoagun was made of sterner stuff. He often visited Mallam Dawduh, a respected pedagogue who lived in the neighbouring village to learn some farming innovations. And he became a model ever than before. An endless hunger despite all riches and knowledge soon turned in to be the order of the day in Budoagun. Later, being under the shackles of civilization, both villages were up to their eyeballs in social struggles... PART ONE Mallam Aliyuh The new year in Budoagun came with disparity. The existence of a several drought in the village was followed by a ceaseless food scarcity that lasted for the period of two years. So Budoagun was deserted by dwellers. Starving young and old slowly evacuated for survival and made a retreat towards Ladubah, where the suffering was duly alleviated for due to the adoption of technical farming, the receiving region smelled no odour of the ugly drought. So majority of erstwhile traders who patronized market in Budoagun from far and wide had fled away and day in day out, a handful of dwellers trooped out of the village, like refugees whose homes had been swept off by a powerful earthquake. The next village still turned to be their shed. Ladubah had largely increased in population with the new inhabitants. It became a champion in social advancements. And as time passed by it grew into a famous town. In Ladubah, Mallam Dawduh sooner established a cocoa firm so youths there would be well empowered and their comfortable livelihood would be more improved. He would say to any of the townspeople who came to ask about the point behind his overwhelming generosity quoting Nelson Mandela of South Africa that ‘What matters in life is not the mere fact that we have lived; it is the difference we have made to the lives of others that determines the significance of the life we led.’ At some other times, he would opt for the popular wordings of Mitch Albom of the United States of America by saying that ‘The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.’ Among the inhabitants of Ladubah, meanwhile, Mallam Dawduh was an articulate dignitary. His name had grown as high as the mangrove trees over the years. His influence had expanded far and wide like a wild fire burning up a dry bush during the deep harmattan seasons. He had hence gained ground for his passionate oratory, his profound generosity, his deep sense of judgment and his renowned brotherhood spirit. And so when the new town sank in the need of a new traditional ruler, he was, after a sight negotiation, methodically enthroned, perhaps for these natural prowess and erudition. No one had gone against it. And even if among the elders there was anyone who did, it was not made open. The whole town echoed that he was a responsible man without equals, and so was suitable for the role ahead. He was there and then conferred with the title “Alase of Ladubah" and his enthronement ceremony was held at the town center. “I greet you all my humble fellows,” Mallam Dawduh said, calmly addressing the townsmen and townswomen who were standing around in one big circle with him at the centre, sitting on a voluminous armchair. He was trendily dressed in native putting on a bobble hat, and white beads worn around his wrists and neck. “Your Majesty!” The audience chorused. Then, sententiously he continued uttering each word slowly and carefully. “Remember that I am not superior in rights to any of you and by the way, I should not be seen as a stark messiah. It is neither by my will nor power; I am only destined to be your leader. It is yet God’s will that can never be pushed away.” He paused momentarily, and the audience clapped him rapturously, hailing audibly. Their magical voices went up so high that they sounded like bumblebees. They either acted like spectators who had just seen their team score or like restive traders at the busy market place. They were much overwhelmed with an exquisite pleasure. Mallam Dawduh was apparently impressed. His face beamed with smile. And as if it had been plastered, it seemed like the smile would never dry off. Stylishly in readiness for a summation, he cleared his throat. “I hereby seek your total support and loyalty” he looked around now stretching out his two hands to gesticulate his points. He adjusted his bobble hat and then supplicated succinctly. “Because without you, my effort no matter how strong will be to no avail. I pray that God's mercy would continue to drown us deep.” As he concluded, some spontaneous words of approval suffused the jubilant crowd. “May it be so! Your majesty! Alase!” They abruptly spelt. Now they raised their hands upward and forward in the way that people do when praising a revered dignitary. They beat local drums and rapturously danced. The atmosphere was enshrouded with delight. So the ceremony was later rounded off with an uproarious pleasure. At the other side, the daring dwellers of Budoagun lived in the state of pathetic depression. Though they thought that the merciless drought must not last forever, that no life condition was ever permanent. Yet they were partly discouraged by their rival’s progress and by those who deserted them without a trace. So the evacuation still continued. Many more later stumbled out of the village dropping a mocking word that there could never be light at the end of their tunnel. Some angry women packed along a handful of the village soil and swore on it that they would never ever again touch the soil of Budoagun with their own legs. ‘It is better it runs if it could,’ a woman said. At the end of the second year of the forlorn draught, anyway, things started to turn into normalcy. The long drought began fading away. A different breeze blew on Budoagun as it sooner died out. Their ill looking faces felt recuperated, having pulled through the hard times. A dark cloud casted across the sky, followed by a stiff wind and then a restive rain began to splatter. It was a rain of relief. The village children cheerfully jumped up and down, and babies even made different babbles. The rain teemed down with ice, and grown-ups dashed out with eagerness to catch and throw them into their mouths to thaw. It sooner turned out to be a fun, a mesmerizing fun. After all the erstwhile desert got on brink of recovery. No sooner had a c**k crowed the next morning than the anxious farmers returned to their farmlands. They did not give the earth a day rest. Mallam Aliyuh hurriedly trekked off his path after he had taken a pepperless breakfast, followed by his only son, Fadebih. They were deep in conversation. Fadebih gambolled behind him playfully placing his bare feet on his father’s footprint. “Now we would revive our easy living, and those who mocked this village will soon bear the shame.”He said to Fadebih, smiling. “You would regain your strength ever than before and as from now on Arike would breathe a stupendous gas. “Fadebih smiled, still gambolling. They exchanged banters as they slowly moved ahead. Day in day out, it later came a period of huge harvest in Budoagun. Walking toward his distant farmland, this time, alone was Mallam Aliyuh. He glanced at either direction as he hurriedly moved along Ajibade’s farm. At distant, he paused at a spot to examine a tattered sack. He silently stared at it a while longer, then he murmured. “He must have arrived here during the fading darkness”, he guessed, referring to Ajibade. “I hope he has a stunning harvest.” His face was then covered by a sudden pang of envy. He became so curious that he could not move a step further. Then his eyes lingered on the broad ridges, like a stray cat looking for the way to follow. He cleared his throat, “Good morning, O’ father,” audibly he said but there was no response. So he repeated the greetings twice more, but the silence still prevailed. He could only hear the chirrup of birds; the length and breadth of the farmland were as silent as the graveyard. So, to ensure it was not a culprit doing an evil work, he decided to search around. “It concerns me too when my neighbor’s wall is on fire, one intuition told him. “You get on your way or you will regret doing this,” another instinct refuted. He however chose the former and went ahead. He had smelled a rat. So he took heavy steps and frown his face at will as he moved. He besides began to beat the bush along to create awareness. No sooner had he moved a few steps further than he sighted a corpse behind a citrus tree. He got a rude shock and nearly stumbled. He took half a dozen steps backwards before he could take a critical look. And after a frozen fear, when he discovered it was Ajibade’s corpse he flung his hands unto his chest. “Ah! Ajibade’s remain! Who may have done this villainous work?” he yelled in horror. “Man is evil and wicked.” There was a trace of tremor in his voice and he almost lost his agility as he ducked examining a wide bruise behind the neck of Ajibade. In Budoagun, Ajibade was a popular old villager whose back had been crippled by old age, who had kept his nose to the grindstone weeding on his cassava plantation on the day he met his dreadful death. His last weeding for the year was that supposed to be. So as he applied his poor cutlass, he did all that his weakened bones could allow. He was as anxious as voracious readers as he continued to weed. No sooner had he reached the third half of his target than he got weary and decided to pause. He chose to have a momentary rest under a shady citrus tree. So he trudged down there and laid irrationally on some shriveled leaves, resting his head in a relaxed posture. Soon the gentle breeze touching his yellow skin had lulled him to sleep and he began to snore, heavily. On the bare ground, anyway close to his bald head was a hungry snake curled up, unnoticed. He stretched and the leaves rustled as if they were being blown by a heavy tornado during the deep harmattan seasons. Two pieces of fresh stalks had fallen on his face. So he had opened his eyes and had flung them away. He had shut them back and had slept off. The snoring continued, louder. Perhaps by his heavy snores or by his constant touches the snake was getting irritated. But he still could not notice. It writhed, then it let out its furious tongue and bit him mercilessly. He moaned then, sharply, he rose to a sitting posture, shallowly breathing. But he was too old to rescue himself. He had called for help and no one had come to his rescue. He had gone into his death throes. He had coughed and had sighed painfully and then he had shortly given up the ghost It was again a terrible day in Budoagun. A stream of tears gushed out of women’s eyes. People were taken aback when Mallam Aliyuh told them about the gory sight. Everywhere was that strong feeling of bitterness for the touching death of a poor man who had lost his wife and children in a tribal war early in life. Mourning continued for a complete week after he had been given a pleasant burial. At the burial ground, Anike an aged village woman walked out holding a beautifully conspicuous flower. She stood before his tomb and began to speak, emotionally. Then, she placed it down at a right edge of the tomb, and bade him farewell. “Father, I offer you this precious flower and my deepest sympathy” she said. She was in tears. “Farewell to fridous, the best of paradise”. Amazingly, Mallam Aliyuh condemned her a few moments later saying the custom was barbaric. “That culture is only for pagans,” he remarked before he went ahead to buttress his point, “the dead could neither hear your voice nor behold your bunch of flower.” So, apart from Anike, no other person gave such offer to the dead. After the mourning rites was an impromptu meeting summoned and, as if the village had had the conspiracy of silence, everywhere stood a deathly silence. It was this meeting that gave Mallam Aliyuh a wild heartache. His ears already were full. He had known Budoagun for years. They were extremely good at casting aspersions and were never contented with a person’s sincerity. After the burial, before the announcement was made, he had been eavesdropping a number of slanders via his rumour-monger, Hambalih. He had heard how he had been secretly called the suspect of Ajibade’s death, how people had asserted that the meeting would be an inquest on the death. Yet he did not make any move to vindicate himself. He counted such rumour as a sort of youthful misdemeanors. But this very day, he was highly bewildered as a host of negative thoughts sprang up to his mind. Though he was innocent, he began to question himself as he roamed about the four corners of his room like a huge-cash debtor on the brink of receiving his creditor. “Did I in fact know about Father Ajibade’s death? How would I be claimed guilty of a crime I had not committed?” He burst out, “Never!” He wished the meeting would centre on something else. But would it? He still could not believe his ears. And no answers were supplied to his questions since he was soliloquizing. Inside a local auditorium were most villagers gathered a few minutes after. Courteously were they seated on heavy logs and raffia mats. The logs, well-shaped, were for men, and the mats, for women. In between them was a slight gap, and they were all curious, gazing morosely at the platform. There was initially a long silence. The silence was so strong that one could hear a pin drop and every face was broadly covered with the mask of anxiety. Ikare soon went up to the platform. He was the coordinator of the meeting. Roughly seventy, his hair was as white as snow. But despite old age he was clever, agile and robust. He was dressed in white agbada and a brown beanie. He sighed deeply and the silence was broken. “I humbly greet you all the invaluable people of Budoagun” he said with an admirable boldness. “First I pray for all the departed souls of our great heroes and for this village that it shall not perish asunder.” “Ase! May it be so,’ a group of voices uttered. Another babble of voices uttered different words. It was thrilling. He smiled impressively, then he continued: “This urgent meeting is mainly held to ensure the peace of this land. A challenge should Father Ajibade’s death now be to us all because, we are yet to know the immediate cause of his death.” He cleared his throat, “to avoid such an irreparable loss in future, this issue should not be overlooked,’ he looked at the ground ominously as he descended the platform. He sat down and Hambalih, almost immediately, like someone who was possessed by evil spirits, rose to his feet. He greeted the audience and paused to hear them respond. Then he started. “It was the evil work of the people of Ladubah. I clearly submit,” he said all out. And though he had just begun talking, he had already jumped into conclusion. “They have a limited area of land. So I guess for this reason, they have planned to keep murdering us on our farmlands to get those lands hijacked.” he said, more bluntly, dragging their long known rival into the arena of suspicion. Everybody heaved a deep sigh. His address had ended sadly. So a number of incomprehensible echoes filled up the auditorium. It Sooner died down . It was like the wailing of hungry mosquitoes passing by one’s ear. Mallam Aliyuh was then in a mood of buoyancy. Obviously, he had not been held responsible so far. So bravely he rose to disentangle the profound fact from allegations. As he rose, bleating of goats was heard exactly from outside- two male goats were chasing after a she-goat. A woman peeped out through the window and sent them away. “I appreciate not only the degree of maturity you’ve all displayed, but also your concerns about making this village an abode of peace”, Mallam Aliyuh said with aplomb. A momentary decorum was attained all over the auditorium. Heads nodded and eyes were curiously focused on him. All ears listened up, even without being told. He would not like to stutter, so slightly he lowered his voice and communicated courteously at a lesser speed. “Based on my own discovery”, he gestured, softly beating his stumpy fingers against his chest, “he sustained some injuries from which I gathered no proof of murder. So I don’t believe he was murdered by an enemy whatsoever.” His voice was drenched in a tone of polite firmness. He watched the audience nod their heads again in agreement as he continued. “Nevertheless let’s call a spade a spade. Our bushy farm surrounding are prone to wild animal attacks. So I suggest they should be either hunted or set ablaze.” He sat down. Then his suggestions, having been regarded as prudent, were tacitly examined and eventually heeded. So the meeting got adjourned on an harmonious finalization.