STANLEY'S JOURNEY: THE POOL OF RIVALRY

The First Explorers: Beyond Fear.

Father turns towards me.

"The elders said that when empty stomachs could remain patient no longer..."

"...men began searching where fear once forbade them."

I picture families sitting around empty cooking pots.

"So..." I begin slowly. "...someone entered the forest?"

Father smiles. "So the story says."

"Who was he?"

Father chuckles. "The story never agrees."

I blink. "It doesn't?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Some versions say it was a lone hunter."

Irde raises a finger. "My grandfather always swore it was three brothers."

Jaesin laughs. "My grandmother insisted they were travellers who had lost their way."

Several nearby men overhear the conversation, and one joins in. "My own father claimed they were palm-wine tappers."

Another laughs. "No. They were warriors."

Within moments, half a dozen different versions fill the air.

Ben leans close to me. "How can all of them be right?" he whispers.

Father hears us. "They cannot," he replies gently. "But neither can we prove which one is wrong."

He stoops to pick up another wooden peg. "That is the nature of stories carried upon the tongues of many generations. They sometimes wear different faces... but they often carry the same heart."

I ponder his words. "So... what is the heart of this story?"

Father points towards the towering forest beyond the stream. "The elders all agreed on one thing." He presses the peg firmly into place. "Some people crossed the boundary that everyone else feared."

Silence settles around us. Even the steady blows of the mallets seem farther away.

Father continues. "They entered expecting death."

Irde nods slowly.

"But..." Father says, "...they did not die."

The words linger over the flowing stream.

Ben's eyes widen. "Then what did they find?"

Father smiles. "The old people always answered that question differently." He wipes the sweat from his brow. "But every version begins the same way." He looks towards the forest. "They discovered that fear had exaggerated many things... but not everything."

Just then, a loud c***k echoes through the worksite. One of the freshly trimmed support poles snaps cleanly in two.

"Oh no!" someone shouts.

The men hurry towards it. Irde throws both hands into the air. "I knew that tree looked stubborn before they cut it!"

Laughter breaks the tension once more. Father walks calmly towards the broken timber.

"It seems the bridge has decided to test our patience."

Without another word, everyone gathers around the damaged support. The story of Ankre pauses; the work of Ankre continues.

Before long, the damaged support is replaced and fresh pegs are driven into place. The bridge begins stretching confidently across the stream once more.

The sun climbs steadily overhead, bathing the village path in warm golden light. Sweat glistens upon every forehead, axes gradually fall silent, and even the cheerful laughter becomes less frequent.

Irde leans upon the handle of his mallet and stretches his aching back. "I don't know about the rest of you... but my stomach has begun holding meetings without my permission."

The gathering bursts into laughter.

Jaesin wipes his brow with the edge of his wrapper. "If we delay much longer, your stomach may elect itself village chief."

More laughter follows.

Ben quietly nudges me. "I think mine has already become chief."

I laugh. "So has mine."

Just then, one of the elderly men resting beneath the great willow tree shades his eyes with a wrinkled hand. "They are coming."

Almost every head turns towards the winding footpath. From the distance, four familiar figures emerge beneath the dancing sunlight.

Mother walks in front, balancing a large basket upon her head with the ease of long practice. Beside her walks Koide, carrying another basket. A few steps behind them comes Adora with a clay pot tucked carefully beneath one arm, followed by Urenna, who carries two calabashes filled with drinking water.

The cheerful murmur among the workers immediately softens.

"They have rescued us," Irde declares dramatically. "I was beginning to suspect we would complete the bridge before seeing food."

"They know you too well," Jaesin replies. "They would never allow your stomach to overthrow your good manners."

The villagers laugh once more.

Father lays down the wooden mallet in his hand. "Come," he says quietly. "Let us receive those who have laboured while we laboured."

The women reach the shade of the great willow tree. Mother gently lowers her basket onto the grass. Koide sets hers beside it. Adora carefully places the clay pot upon the ground, and Urenna follows with the calabashes.

Father walks towards them. His eyes first meet Mother's. "Thank you, Kellima."

A gentle smile brightens her face. "It is our duty."

Father nods appreciatively. Then his eyes shift towards Koide. "Thank you."

Koide inclines her head almost imperceptibly. "You are welcome."

Her voice is calm, respectful, yet somehow distant. She immediately lowers her eyes and begins arranging the wooden bowls without another word.

Father says nothing further. Neither does she.

The silence between them lasts only a few moments, yet it quietly settles into my thoughts. Mother notices one of the bowls tilting upon the uneven ground. Without speaking, she reaches over and steadies it. Koide pauses briefly, then continues serving the soup.

No disagreement passes between them. No smiles either. Only quiet cooperation.

Father looks towards Urenna. "You assisted well?"

"Yes, Daddy," she beams. "Koide taught me how to keep the fire from becoming too fierce."

Father smiles warmly. "Good. You have learned something useful today."

Koide remains occupied with the food. She neither adds to the conversation nor withdraws from it; she simply performs her task with quiet precision.

Soon the aroma of freshly pounded yam and rich bitterleaf soup fills the riverside. The men gather beneath the willow tree in small groups. Some sit upon logs, while others spread their wrappers across the grass. Ben and I settle near the stream where the cool breeze reaches us first.

Irde inhales deeply. "If this aroma had reached us an hour earlier... I might have abandoned the bridge altogether."

Jaesin laughs. "And allowed us to explain to your wife that hunger defeated you?"

Irde shakes his head dramatically. "No. I would have explained it myself."

The laughter that follows seems lighter than before. Even Father smiles.

As everyone begins eating, the stream continues flowing quietly beneath the unfinished bridge, as though patiently waiting for the hands of Ankre to return.

I tear off a piece of the soft pounded yam. Before lifting it to my mouth, my curiosity returns.

"Daddy."

He glances towards me. "Hmm?"

"You said those who entered the forest expected death... but they did not find it."

He swallows his food and rinses his fingers lightly with water from a calabash. A thoughtful smile settles upon his face.

"The elders always paused at that point in the story." He looks towards the forest standing beyond the stream. "They would first remind us... that courage does not always remove danger. Sometimes it simply reveals the truth hidden behind it."

I lean closer. "So... what truth did they find?"

Father smiles. "They always said the answer deserved a full stomach."

The men around us laugh softly. Irde tears off another piece of pounded yam. "Listen to your father. No story should ever compete with good food."

The laughter grows once more.

For the moment, the story of Ankre waits. So does my curiosity.