Wale and the Little Moonlight

  Nothing exciting was really happening in the small village of Ogunta located somewhere in the interior, west of the Niger, where only peasants, artisans, and subsistent farmers lived. And only the activities of their livelihood were the things that occupied their minds, and no one was actually interested, perhaps insightful enough to give life to this land beyond the things that fed the mouths. Such a quiet and boring village it was. But it was good enough that the sun was there to warm their sky in the day while the birds sang their songs, and at night the moon was there to rule. Yes, the moon ruled their nights perfectly, so it was for little Ogunta, even before little Wale was born. But that night when Wale was born, the moon was not around to shine a welcome light on him just like it had done to other children who had been born in Ogunta. It was a strange night to all of Ogunta; they had never lost the moon before, even for half a night—it was the knowledge of truth their forefathers had passed down to them from the beginning of time, and it was one truth about their homeland that they cherished so much, and believed in so strongly that it brought them good luck. And nothing could change that. They thought. And so it was that night that Wale’s birth was going to put a scratch on the pages of their people’s history and heritage. It was a total darkness that night when Wale was born. Folusho, Wale’s mother had been laboring in great pains for a very long time that night, heavy thunder kept on rumbling and striking, lightening illuminated the sky every now and then, and heavy torrents drummed every roof and flooded the land. Even big trees danced to this disastrous music of nature, and some even lost their grip to the ground as they fell and lay lifelessly as though they had been struck by a night spirit. Every soul in Ogunta was troubled and frightened as some reasoned that the gods were angry with them again and had come to take over the earth to cleanse it. And finally, Wale was born. The moment Wale was put to birth, he started crying, and as he cried, the storm intensified. As soon as he stopped crying, the whole storm ceased. And peace became still again in Ogunta that night. Nobody but Folusho, Kehinde, Wale’s father, and Mama Kehinde, Wale’s paternal grandmother, knew that a baby was born that night. The whole trouble of the night had swallowed up the screaming and crying of Folusho at the time of Wale’s birth. And even the baby's cry was brief and unnoticed. The following morning, the people were glad and grateful to the gods, at least, for sparing their lives and their families, and livestock, and for giving them a second chance to amend things by themselves and cleanse the village with their own hands—even though some of their plants and farms had been destroyed. They gave thanks after thanks to the gods. And they were going to make a feast and sacrifice as a token of their appreciations to the gods. “Eka abo…eka abo…” were the sounds of morning greetings from one neighbour to another, from one compound to another as men and women moved around the village greeting their kindred, friends and neighbours in full gaiety. “Yes, the gods decided to show us their anger last night, yet they decided to show us mercy at last”. They said to each other. Baba Ogun, one of the most revered elders of the land also moved around in the village receiving greetings and returning them as they came. But deep inside his heart, he knew something was not normal. He perceived that the troubling event of the previous night could have been a warning or sign from the gods. Other elders may have been thinking along this line. He reasoned. So, his strolling around the village was not just an aimless one, or just for morning greetings and celebration, he had to go and see someone, definitely an elder like him, to share his thought. And in all of this, in all of this joy dance and celebration, no one from Kehinde’s family was seen outside—not Kehinde himself, not Folusho his wife, and not Mama Kehinde. Their hut was still closed, possibly locked. Then someone observed. Apata, the village drunk raised concern. “Why is this house still sleeping till this hour?” He stuttered. “Are they all dead?” He faltered in his steps as he approached the compound to wake the Kehinde household up by himself, even with his jar of palm wine clung to his armpit. He was so startled and petrified at the sound of a baby’s cry. “Baby?” He exclaimed in amazement. When did Kehinde put to birth that nobody heard or knew about it? This was the thought in this drunk’s head. “Hey…hey…everybody come”, he yelled as he beckoned on everyone around, “there is a baby in this house”. Everyone’s attention was drawn to Apata and Kehinde’s compound and the women and young men hurried towards the compound to, at least, hear what the drunk had to say in such a jubilant moment.   “What is the problem?” the women asked. “Can’t you all hear the cry of a baby?” He still beckoned on the people to come even though they were there with him. “No, we can’t hear anything”, the people replied. At this point everyone looked at each other and thought that Apata was just being his real self, and that he had only seen or heard things out of the influence of the palm wine he was holding so tight in his bosom. And they hissed and sighed in disappointment. “Apata just go and sleep I think you have had enough already this early morning”. A young man advised. “You all do not believe me because you think I am drunk”, Apata complained. As they were about to turn and leave, the sound of the baby’s cry came again, this time very loud and repeatedly. “It’s a baby! It’s true! Apata was right.” A woman shouted, and all the women rushed towards the close door. The door opened as they pushed it. It wasn’t locked, after all. A few people went in, while others stayed back to get the good news from those who went in.  Some even thought that Folusho had just put to birth. The baby had just stopped crying again by the time the last woman entered the hut. This was because Folusho had soothed him with what he screeched for. Both the mother and the child looked amazing together as the baby clung unto the mother’s breast and the mother’s arms unto the baby’s body. The baby was very focused sucking life out of her mother, and the mother was focused looking into her little love’s face, even though his eyes were still very much closed and his whole body could barely be seen due to the cloth that wrapped him up, except for his tiny folded hands that stuck out a little and moved momentarily as he fed of his mother’s breast. It was clear the baby had not just been born. He had been born some hours earlier, definitely the previous night. The women knew this and they were very sure of it. “Come in!” Mama Kehinde beckoned on the women who were still shocked and excited. “Folusho you have put to birth!” A woman exclaimed in a somewhat interrogative manner, approaching Folusho who was sitting on her bed with the baby. The rest of the women also shouted and ran outside to break the news. The outside had its own jubilation—a new jubilation added to the one from the mercy of the gods. Other women who preferred to stay back outside before now ran in to celebrate with Folusho and Kehinde’s family. But the men feared to join the women inside for they thought that in moments like this when a baby had just been brought into this world, tradition only permitted the women to bear witness and tap from the blessing of the goddess of fertility and fruitfulness so that the same celebration would visit their homes. And it was a strong taboo for a man to see another woman’s nakedness other than his wife’s. Meanwhile, as the women were having their moment with Folusho and the new born baby, Kehinde, the head of the family was in his chamber all by himself. It wasn’t that he did not hear the noise and talkings of his guests; he heard everything. But he had to be a man by staying there in his chamber until the women left.  And the commotion that went on in his head that morning was enough to silence the women’s noise from his wife’s chamber. “My son being born last night, of all nights—something that has never happened-means something has just happened”. Kehinde kept on engaging his mind that morning. He was sure there was a puzzle somewhere to undo, and the village would expect some explanations either from him or from the village priest. " Perhaps the kingdom of Ojola had sent the storm to ravage our land". Kehinde finally thought of the most belligerent kingdom and their long-standing enemy in Oduduwaland as being responsible for the storm.  Ojola had been the only trouble in the peace-loving Oduduwaland. And many kingdoms had lived in the fear that Ojola might attack at anytime as their hunger for expansion was undying. Ogunta was aware of this menace, and Ogunta had always wanted to live in peace without fear, and also to unite the whole of Oduduwaland under one strong or divine leadership that would  ensure a good measure of peace and progress in the region, but the great kingdom of Ojola and their quest for war had always remained a force to reckon with. And only Kehinde was able to associate the latest happenings with this perpetual aggressor.