STANLEY'S JOURNEY: THE POOL OF RIVALRY

The Bridge of Unity: Strength in Many Hands.

The coolness of the mud-walled barn greets us as rows of carefully stacked yam tubers rest upon dry bamboo racks. Father crouches beside one pile, examining each yam with the attention of an elder choosing seed yams for the sacred planting season.

He lifts one. Shakes his head. Another. Still not satisfied.

Finally, he selects several healthy tubers and places them into a woven basket.

"These will do."

He rises and carries the basket into the compound.

"Kellima."

Mother immediately steps out from the kitchen shelter. "Yes."

Father hands the basket to her. "Prepare pounded yam." His eyes drift towards another basket leaning against the barn. "And bitterleaf soup."

Mother receives the yams with both hands. "It shall be ready before the sun stands over our heads."

Father nods. Then he turns.

"Koide."

Her name hangs briefly in the morning air. Moments later, she emerges from her room. Unlike the previous morning, there is no delay. She walks calmly across the compound, her face composed.

Father bends slightly and lifts another basket containing several yam tubers, extending it towards her. "You will prepare the second mortar."

She accepts the basket. Slowly. Her eyes rest briefly upon the yams before settling on Father's face.

"Very well."

Her voice carries neither resentment nor appreciation—only duty.

Father notices her swollen belly. "Urenna."

My sister answers almost immediately. "Yes, Daddy."

"You will remain behind today. Assist Koide."

A bright smile spreads across Urenna's face. "I will."

Koide neither objects nor expresses gratitude; she merely adjusts the basket upon her hip. For the briefest moment, her fingers tighten around its rim before she quietly turns towards the kitchen.

Mother watches her leave. Then, without saying a word, she follows with her own basket.

The silence between the two women lasts only a heartbeat, yet somehow, it feels much longer.

Father says nothing. He simply dusts both palms together.

From beyond the compound comes the distant echo of men calling to one another. Axes strike wood. Someone laughs. Another voice shouts for more rope. Curiosity immediately pulls my eyes towards the village path.

"Are they already gathering?"

Father smiles. "It appears we are the ones delaying them."

He disappears briefly into the storage hut and returns carrying a long cutlass across one shoulder and a sturdy wooden mallet in his left hand. He tosses a smaller mallet towards me. I barely catch it before it slips from my hands.

He laughs. "You had better hold that bridge together more firmly than you held the mallet."

I grin. "I shall, Daddy."

As we step through the compound gate, I glance back. Mother is already washing the yam tubers beside the clay water pot. Urenna kneels beside Koide, arranging firewood beneath the three-stone hearth.

Koide pauses. Only for a moment. She watches Father disappear down the village path, her face betraying nothing, before she quietly turns back to the yams.

The morning swallows us as Father and I continue towards the stream. The farther we walk, the more alive the village becomes.

Men emerge from their compounds carrying cutlasses upon their shoulders. Others balance wooden mallets, coils of forest vines, and sharpened stakes. Women call after their husbands to remember the midday meal. Children run barefoot along the dusty footpaths, eager to witness the day's work.

Even the old men sitting beneath the willow tree seem unusually cheerful.

"Today will be remembered," one of them says as we pass.

Father smiles respectfully. "If the bridge stands well, so will the memory."

The old man nods approvingly. "It is easier to build a bridge than to build unity."

Father glances at me. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes."

"What do you think he means?"

I ponder for a moment. "I don't know."

He smiles. "A bridge joins two pieces of land."

I nod.

"But unity joins hearts."

His words settle gently within me. We continue walking.

Soon the familiar murmur of flowing water reaches our ears. The voices ahead grow louder. Axes bite into timber. Wood strikes wood in steady rhythm. Laughter rises above the labour.

As we round the final bend, the stream comes into view. Nearly half the village is already gathered there.

Several massive logs lie upon the bank, stripped of their branches. Some of the younger men struggle to drag another from the nearby bush. Others sharpen wooden stakes. Women gather bundles of tough forest vines that will bind the bridge together. Children dart excitedly from one end of the stream to the other until their mothers repeatedly call them back.

I stop for a moment, taking in the scene before me. The narrow stream cuts across the village path like a stubborn serpent. By sunset, I realise, no one will need to roll up their garments to cross it again. The people of Ankre have come together to change that with their own hands.

A familiar voice suddenly rises above the cheerful commotion.

"Stanley!"

I turn. Ben comes running towards me, a wooden peg balanced proudly upon his shoulder.

"I thought your father had forgotten today's work."

I laugh. "He would forget his morning prayers before forgetting community labour."

Ben grins. "I have already carried three pegs."

"I shall carry four."

"We shall see."

Before either of us can prove anything, another voice interrupts.

"Instead of counting pegs, perhaps you two should begin carrying them."

Irde, Father's closest companion, approaches with a broad smile spread beneath his thick black beard. Resting one end of a heavy log upon his shoulder, he shakes his head dramatically.

"You boys have mouths stronger than your backs."

The men nearby burst into laughter.

Ben scratches the back of his head. "I was only encouraging Stanley."

"Encourage him while walking," Irde replies. "The bridge will not build itself."

Even Father smiles.

Without another word, Ben and I hurry towards the stack of wooden pegs.

Not far away, Jaesin kneels beside the stream, carefully measuring the distance between two freshly driven stakes with a long strip of woven fibre. He looks up as Father approaches.

"You come at the right time."

Father lays down his mallet. "Or rather the right time waited for us."

The two men exchange a warm smile.

Jaesin points towards the flowing stream. "If these supports are misplaced, the bridge will lean before the next rainy season."

Father studies the measurements for a moment before nodding. "They should stand another handspan farther apart."

Jaesin smiles. "I thought the same."

Together they lift one of the thick support logs into position.

Ben nudges me. "They always agree."

I shake my head. "No. They simply think before speaking."

We carry another bundle of pegs towards the men. By the time we return, the first support has already been driven firmly into the riverbed.

The sound of wooden mallets echoes across the valley.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Each heavy blow seems to bind the entire village together. Men steady the logs. Others drive the stakes deeper into the earth. Women separate the forest vines into long, strong strands for binding. The younger boys gather scattered pegs while the little children cheer whenever another beam is raised into place.

No one stands idle. Everyone belongs to the work.

Father pauses only long enough to wipe the sweat from his forehead. I seize the opportunity.

"Daddy."

"Hmm?"

"When are you going to tell me about how Ankre came into existence?"

He steadies the upright support while Irde raises his mallet. "When you are ready to listen."

"Will you tell me now?"

He smiles faintly. "There is no better place. A bridge is built with timber, Stanley—but a village is built with something greater."