Wale and the Little Moonlight

CHAPTER SIX

The nights were always cold in the season of planting. But Wale did not at any time concern himself with the thought of coldness and the danger of the sickness that came with it. He always came out at the night to have his moments. His parents had learned to let him be, only the villagers complained and murmured about his strange ways.

Activeness at night for Wale was neither new to him nor strange to his parents. The night was when his body and mind worked well; the night was when he found pleasure in everything. Even going to the farm at night might as well be pleasurable to him, his parents thought.

Wale had the habit of moulding different things from the clay soil only at night. He had moulded a figure of the god of war, Ogun, and he had also moulded many farm tools like the hoe, cutlass, among other things. All of these stuff, he kept in his room and apart from his parents, nobody in the village knew he knew this art—this nocturnal craft.

“It is a beautiful piece.” Folusho praised and smiled as Wale lifted the moulded spoon to her. “But my son the night seems rather too cold for you to be left outside here all by yourself”.

Wale did not show any sign of having heard what his mother said to him. So, he continued paying attention to his mouldings.

One thing Folusho would never be comfortable with was the idea of leaving her only son, an only child to the hands of the cold night. Cold came with many problems. She always thought. And here was her Wale taking pleasure in its killing hands.

“Please Wale, let us go in my son, I can’t stand you in this night cold”. Folusho said lamentingly this time, touching her boy’s shoulder with that touch of a mother’s compassion. “You can continue with it inside”. She suggested.

Wale looking into her mother’s eyes with the heavy wrapper not just tied around her up to her breasts this time, but with another piece covering her from her head, he understood, he knew how cold she felt, and how colder she would if he continued in the cold. So, he conceded and packed his stuff to follow her inside.

“But I don’t concentrate inside, mother. And the lamp is dim enough to turn my interest off”. He complained.

“At least, it is better than the cold outside that freezes your body”. Folusho consoled.

Wale did not say anything again as he quietly followed her inside. Folusho made sure he was following her by turning back every moment she took two or three steps. But Wale couldn’t have tricked her. He wasn’t good at that. He was always serious minded and sincere. Even though the faint lamp she carried could hardly spot out Wale, she knew he was following her.

Foloshu had to open the door with conscious carefulness so that the creaking sound would not wake Kehinde up, if at all he had slept. And she also had to hold it opened until Wale entered in to be sure that he entered with him and also for her to close and lock the door properly. And when Wale entered inside, he went straight into his chamber.

“You need that Wale. The cold can kill”. She threw a thick wrapper on Wale who was sitting on his wooden bed trying to think out what next to do with the remaining hours of the night. The moulding had definitely ended for him. He knew. And sleep was not going to come any time soon. So, he would be engaging his mind for the time being.

“Thank you mother”.

“Cover yourself as you lie down to sleep so that you wake up strong tomorrow for what the day has to offer”.

“What will tomorrow offer, mother?”

“Tomorrow will be the feast of harvest; don’t forget that!”.

“Yes mother. That will be beautiful. I did not just remember”.

“Sleep now so that you wake up early for your mind and body to be healthy and strong, my son. Remember tomorrow will be one big celebration for the whole village.”

“Yes mother I will sleep”.

Wale wanted her mother to leave his chamber as soon as possible, so he agreed to everything she said. Besides, he never liked the idea of arguing with her as he perceived such act as an act of disrespect.

Folusho left the room with a good night greeting and prayers for her son—something that had become more of a tradition than a habit.

“May the gods of our fathers protect you in the land of the dreams and ensure a sound journey through for you. And may they take you back to us here in the morning. O daro!”

“O daro, mama!”

The following morning was going to be heavy with activities in his family and the whole village. Wale knew about that. He had been up very early even before the first c**k crowed. And even though he had barely slept the previous night, he showed no sign of weakness or any indication of drowsiness. He had gone into the backyard to fetch some plantain leaves for the goats. The goats must break their fast before the humans. Wale liked feeding the goats even more than he fed himself. He liked the goat, even more than he liked the cats. Sometimes, he thought that the goats were more sensible than humans and the cats because the fed on green leaves and not on all those starchy stuff and flesh that humans and cats fed on which would in turn feed them with many sicknesses. He had resolved that humans and cats, apart from feeding on similar things, shared many things in common, and one of such thing was trickiness. While the goats and their cousins, the sheep, were meek and simple. For him, this was a good reason to avoid human and feline, and spend time more with the goats. That was why he would spend much time feeding them.

Folusho had woken up at the sound of many morning crows by the many c***s around her compound and neighbourhood, and had gone to look for Wale in his chamber, and found out that he was not in his room. She also came to the backyard, but still her eyes could not capture him.

“Wale…Wale!!!” Folusho called out.

“Yes, mother, I am here cutting plantain leaves for the goats". Wale answered and explained himself.

The young boy was hidden by the thick green leaves of the plantain plants so that his fair skin was lost in the lushness of the leaves and made it difficult for her mother to spot her, especially as it was still dawning.

“Oh my son, I have looked for you everywhere”. She said with a relief in her voice as she approached him.

“Mother I was up at the first crow. I needed to feed the goats”.

“You are a strong boy my son. The goats must be happy to have a good master like you”

“Mother, they have good souls, and they must be treated kindly”.

Folusho smiled as she heard this. She always smiled each time she heard her son talk about their livestock in that manner.

“Mother do not come too close”, Wale warned. “The machete is too sharp for you to come closer”.

Folusho stopped instantly where she was and watched her sun getting all busy with joy. She had come to tell him that his father had gone out to Kolawale’s for their men meeting where he would wash his mouth with good ogogoro or fresh palm wine, and that she would need him to assist her in the kitchen. Of course, Wale always assisted in the kitchen, but today, he would have to assist more because they had to cook different foods more and gather fruits and vegetable for exhibition and consumption at the harvest feast. For the gods had indeed favoured their land, especially in the few past years. And the Kehinde’s household seemed to be most favoured.

For many years, even before Wale was born, Ogunta had not really been experiencing great harvest, though they were not cursed with famine either. Every household worked very hard on their farms to keep themselves, and only a little was left for sale and savings. So things had been somehow hard. And life in the village was not very exciting as people lacked enough to eat and celebrate with. Because of this, the people hardly came out to celebrate the harvest day. And even when they gathered, the food and other stuff they presented were always meager. Thus, the celebrations were often dry and events were not many to entertain the people—especially the wrestling which attracted the interests of the young men, women, elders and the children was suspended. Yes, this game of strength and skill had long been out of sight. The Oba at the end of the celebration had always prayed to the gods for better days to come, and the people had always been hoping for the better days. Now it seemed the better days were here. And Wale, since he was a baby, had been witnessing better harvest day celebrations. And this particular day even promised to be better than the past better days.

Later in the morning, the sun had risen so bright, and it was a good sign for celebration. Every household was busy with preparations. Nothing would make any villager to miss out on this very feast of harvest. There would be dancing of the maidens, and wrestling of the able-bodied men. And the strongest wrestler would definitely be rewarded with the oldest daughter of the Oba. The men, both young and old would feed their eyes with the pleasant beauty of the maidens. All these were the thoughts that crossed everybody’s mind, especially those older people who had before witnessed a celebration as great as this one promised to be. But almost none of these things crossed Wale’s mind that morning. Perhaps, he was too young to concern himself with some of those things or he was not just too excited as everyone else was. The only thing that excited him in all of these was the thought of watching young men wrestle.

Wale had only heard tales of great fighters in his village. The names he heard—like Bola the hippopotamus, Ola the gorilla, Abiola the lion, among others—were all those of a distant past whose songs of glory and victory were still being sung on the lips of their compatriots. And Wale was yet to see the emergence of new generation of the gorilla, the hippopotamus, and the lion of his own time. And sometimes he would wonder why the great heroes of his land always associated their names and glory with wild animals.