The Talking Drum

Hunter Who Killed a Forbidden Game

Hunter Who Killed a Forbidden Game

Many years ago, when I was seven and living in the village, I used to go hunting with a catapult. My targets were lizards, toads, and birds within my community.

Though lizards and toads were not edible, they were readily available for children to test their hunting skills.

When I turned twelve, I began to use arrows and bows to hunt rodents. Life in the village was interesting to me. Meat, fish, and even the food we consumed were all sourced from the village.

I had never dreamed of relocating to the city until the day I killed a forbidden animal.

It happened one summer. Mom was sitting in front of the kitchen, peeling some tubers of yams; though the aging night prevented her from recognizing what I was holding on my shoulder as I drew closer.

First, she thought it was a wild animal. I was frightened when she finally recognized it as a porcupine. "Aru," she screamed, which means 'abomination.'

Her voice attracted Dad, who emerged from his hut and screamed upon seeing the animal. "Aru!"

I couldn't ascertain what was going on. Why was bringing a game into this house wrong? It would have been better if Mom had stopped screaming, instead of raising such a loud cry that engulfed the neighborhood.

As a child, I couldn't hold back my tears while Mom wailed like a dog caught in a trap.

Our neighbors couldn't help the situation, as they found pleasure in castigating me. I was insulted and called all sorts of names.

Right from time, nobody, including my parents, had ever told me that a porcupine was a forbidden animal in Umunko village. So, why should I be bullied?

The story had it that during the Nigerian-Biafra war, there was a man called Nwikpa from our village. Nwikpa was a well-known native doctor.

At the peak of the war, when the Nigerian troops were advancing into the village, Nwikpa caught a porcupine. After incantations and sacrifices, the porcupine multiplied into thousands, cordoning off the village and its surrounding bushes, providing a formidable defensive line that resisted the Nigerian troops and saved Umunko from invasion.

A law was made at the end of the war that whoever injured a porcupine, knowingly or unknowingly, shall treat the animal, and whoever kills it shall be sacrificed on the altar of the gods to appease the spirit of the porcupine.

That was the fate that had befallen me. I was seized and escorted to Umunko central square where I was tied up with ropes and laid on the altar for sacrifice.

I cried and pleaded for pardon, but nobody cared to listen. Age, I was told, was not an excuse to let me go, for he who killed a porcupine threatened the existence of the village.

Atama, the village chief priest, raised his sword against me. As I braced for the end, I jolted awake—it was all a dream!