"Servant of Death" by John Otroyin
Photo Credit: Ahmed Adly, obtained and licensed through Unsplash
The Orò festival was concluding with a masquerade procession. Yẹmí gyrated around the masquerade, chanting praise songs and dancing with widened chest and distorted face. When the procession passed through Bàá Yétúndé’s compound, Yẹmí pushed back the urge to knock on the wooden door and drag Yétúndé out to see the beautiful masquerade in its superfluous dress with bursting colours decorated with cowries and mini bells, and its blood dripping lips.
After the merriment that followed the procession, Yẹmí gestured Yétúndé and they went to their usual spot behind the village shrine. The forest behind the shrine is feared to be the brooding spot of perturbed Òrìsàs. The first time Yẹmí suggested this, Yétúndé protested: “Don’t you know the gods stroll there waiting for barren women and vengeance-seeking-men to bring sacrifices? You want them to eat our heads like eggs in a calabash?” Yẹmí assured her they would be safe. As he promised, nothing happened after they played behind the shrine. The spot became their ground, where they go for some alone time: to think, to be buried in each other’s eyes, and to do other things.
“Why didn’t you dance with your age grade girls today?” Yẹmí asked once they both sat on a fallen tree.
“I didn’t feel like it.”
“Really?” His eyes didn’t believe.
“Truth is, I don’t want to dance and have men drool over me. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that’s the reason. Were you not the one that complained about how my breasts were shaking the last time I danced at the coronation? Or you want other boys to be seeing what is yours alone?” She faked a frown.
“Never. I like it like that. It’s good you didn’t dance. I don’t want to have too many competitors. My anger is a masquerade that should not be seen often.”
“See his mouth.” She giggled.
“I tell the truth. You know it.” He kicked a dead leaf with his leg. “But I know how much you love to dance. And now you’ve been robbed of that. Dance for me.” He started clapping and making beats with his mouth. “You are the best dancer in the whole world,” he said once she dropped on the tree trunk, tired.
“I hear you, even if I jumped, you will still call me the best.” She fought for air.
“Marry me, Yétúndé.”
Yétúndé mumbled unintelligible words. When she tried to speak up, her voice was gone.
“Your body calls adulthood louder than mine, and this disturbs me. I don’t want to lose you to one rich farmer who will have you as his sixth wife. Cutting is in a fortnight and we both know after cutting, these men pick you girls like fruits.”
“I’m afraid your father won’t wait until I’m old enough before he gives your hand out in marriage. Your body calls adulthood louder than mine, and this disturbs me. I don’t want to lose you to one rich farmer who will have you as his sixth wife. Cutting is in a fortnight and we both know after cutting, these men pick you girls like fruits. Let’s get married. If they won’t allow us, we shall run away.”
Yétúndé quivered. “Run away, kẹ̀? Who will take care of my father? What about the chief priest, your father? Who…”
“You are my future Yétúndé. Leave these men alone, they’ve lived their lives, let’s live ours. You think your father will have a say when one chief asks for your hand in marriage?”
“He won’t let me go. Why are you talking like this Èṣùúyẹmí? My father knows it’s you who I have chosen.”
“After cutting they will see you as an adult. You know he thinks this thing we have is a child’s play? Just the other day, Ojúawo was talking about marrying the granddaughter of the priestess of Ọya for me. These men do not validate what we share.”
“I’m not going to get cut.”
“Kí ni?” What?
“Yes. I told my father I don’t want to get cut. Why should I? What is its usefulness for me? They say a cut woman is less promiscuous. Well, I will get married to you when the right time comes, so what is the point? Plus, I hear girls die from bleeding when it’s not done right. I can’t gamble with my life, I’m the only one my father has.”
“Ahan? What about me. You didn’t even consider me.” He ridged his forehead in false anger.
“Of course you know I live for you alone.”
“So why didn’t you say it first?”
“I don’t need to say it. You are in my heart, and before words pass through the mouth, the heart knows them already.” Her cheeks broke into dimples as she looked into Yẹmí eyes. “The most handsome: the future Awo of this land. Your cheekbones are so defined they can cut leaves for soup. Look at those eyes, gods!”
“It’s enough. My head is becoming too big. I fear it will explode.”
They held each other and laughed. The cold breeze that swept that evening was pregnant with rain—the gods’ way of blessing the land after the festival. The couple left the forest before the rain hit the earth, but didn’t make it home in time.
*
In Ifá religion, it is believed that when a baby is born, it chooses its destiny as it passes the spirit world to the land of the living. Some children are blessed with ample time, so they choose the best. Others are not so fortunate. But, if whatever they’ve come to earth with is not good, there’s a chance to exchange it. This was what brought unfortunate Kàsálí to Ojúawo.
“You see, when the hen finds refuge in a hole dug by a big snake, that hen is doomed.”
“You shall be successful, my son.” Ojúawo chewed his tongue. “You see, when the hen finds refuge in a hole dug by a big snake, that hen is doomed.” He laughed in two syllables. “A cat that has chosen to fight the tiger because they look alike is equally doomed. This world is not a fair place, only strong men who have the heart to snatch their happiness from the powerful witches of this world, enjoy it. You are wise. And you have come to the right place.”
Yẹmí sat on his crossed legs by the door of the consultation room, learning the job that will be his in the future.
“Thank you Awo. You will live long. You know my predicaments. What should I do?” The perturbed man said almost in tears.
“Ètùtù laá se!” We’ll do a ritual. He laughed, disyllabic, two ‘he’s of different pitches. “We shall make a sacrifice to the pillars of the earth, the great mothers who open the door when a child is born. I will go through it on your behalf and exchange your destiny for another.”
“Thank you Bàbá.” The man’s gratefulness was written all over his glistening face and jittery body.
“But,” Ojúawo chewed his tongue. “There is a great possibility that the destiny I change yours for might be even worse.”
“Ha!” Kàsálí cried.
Yẹmí muffled his laughter. His father once chased him out of the room when he laughed at a woman whose daughter’s genitalia was changed to a boy’s by her enemies.
“Do not fret. There is a way out. You have to bring clothes of someone who has a brighter destiny. Then, I can exchange your dim star with that person’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“We shall begin when you are ready.”
“I am.” He paid for the sacrifice and promised to bring the requested piece of clothing the next morning.
“All good. I will prepare the sacrifice and Èṣùúyẹmí will carry it to the village shrine on your behalf.”
“Èṣùúyẹmí your boy?”
Yẹmí cringed . Too many people have questioned his ability to do the job.
“His personal Òrìṣà is Èṣù, the great god who carries messages to the other Òrìṣà. If I carry your sacrifice, there is a possibility the gods might reject it. But if he does, it is amen.”
“Do not look at him with the eyes of a small boy. His personal Òrìṣà is Èṣù, the great god who carries messages to the other Òrìṣà. If I carry your sacrifice, there is a possibility the gods might reject it. But if he does, it is amen.” He laughed. “My boy is no ordinary boy.”
The man nodded in apology and left. Yẹmí, angered by his belittlement made up his mind not to reach the village shrine with the sacrifice. He will feed the edibles in the sacrifice calabash to his goats and fling whatever remains into the bush. He smirked at the thought in his head as his father left the consultation room.
*
Yẹmí returned from the futile sacrifice mission to see two figures just before they entered his father’s consultation room. He dashed to the kitchen, ate, and headed to join them. Once in, the muffled conversation of the three old men stopped. His father’s face looked sad, Bàbá Yétúndé had a bit of regret in his countenance, while the third man, Chief Ọ̀túnba, had a big smile on his face. The kind of smile culprits make when they are about to lie their way out of a crime.
“Our child.”
“Good day Chief Ọ̀túnba,” Yẹmí prostrated. He pushed himself up and fell to the ground again to greet Bàbá Yétúndé. “Good day father.”
“Your father is seated over there,” Bàbá Yétúndé laughed alone. “How are you, son of Awo?” he asked with a smile as if to cancel the stink of his dry joke.
“Fine, Bàbá.”
“Èṣùúyẹmí.” Ojúawo chewed his tongue. “Please run to the next village and get me the leaves I told you about.”
“Ha”
“Ha kí ni? Hold your tongue in your hand and run along!”
Yẹmí shrugged indignantly. As he left, he swore silently not to return that night. Before he embarked on his two day journey, Yẹmí decided to notify his better half. As he drew closer to Bàbá Yétúndé’s compound, he noticed the compound was alive and too active. Ever since Yétúndé’s mother’s death, the compound lost color. There was never noise. But now, from afar, he saw two women slicing yams in front of the kitchen.
“Good day.” He prostrated to greet Yétúndé’s aunty and the other lady whom he couldn’t recognise.
“Ha, how are you?” she accosted him with a pleasant smile.
“As healthy as a baby goat, thank you. I came to see my Yétúndé.”
“Yétúndé has severe stomach pain. She is being treated as we speak, and no one can see her now.”
“I never knew. She didn’t tell me. Ha,” he turned in circles as if contemplating whether to leave or stay. “I’ll wait until her treatment is over.”
“No, it will take longer. Just go home, I’ll send a word when she’s able to see you.”
*
Yẹmí travelled to Abúlé-odẹ, running. He’ll get the leaves and return to Yétúndé, he told himself. As he ran, all the while praying to the gods for Yétúndé’s healing, he saw young girls preparing for their passage rites. They went to the stream in troops to fill their mothers’ pot for there shall be a celebration after the successful rite of passage. Young boys had left for the bush since daybreak to hunt games for their sisters. Yẹmí didn’t bother, for his Yétúndé wasn’t going to partake of the useless rite. He slowed down to catch his breath under a group of banana trees before sprinting off.
*
“This is happy-sad news. My good friend is about to give out his daughter, the joy of every father. But, this may hurt our kids,” Ojúawo said.
“True,” Bàbá Yétúndé concurred.
“The bitter leaf is meant for eating, no matter its bitterness, the soup must be swallowed with fùfú. The needful must be done,” Ojúawo continued.
“Yes. They will thank us when they grow past this youthful exuberance.”
“Are they even youths? They are but kids.” Chief Ọ̀túnba said and Bàbá Yétúndé laughed too loudly.
“My friends, I will do as we’ve agreed. Once the sun kisses the earth, I will call down the rain on the borders and hold it for days. That will keep Èṣùúyẹmí tied down in Abúlé-odẹ. I have sisters there; he will stay with any of them.”
“Ojúawo, do that for me, and I’ll send twenty goats to your compound, after the wedding.”
“Able and worthy chief. Consider it done. You can order the goats to be brought already.”
Bàbá Yétúndé and the Chief laughed as they stood to leave.
*
The rain poured as said. On the third day, Yẹmí woke up restless. He was dying of worry for Yétúndé’s health. After leaving his aunt’s house, the rain stopped. Without a break to rest, he flew home like the curse of an angry witch – one way.
Large pots of food sat untouched in the kitchen. The mini bush in front of the compound was cleared and arranged to host a party, but the eyes that met Yẹmí’s looked like those of mourners.
Yẹmí met his father in a sombre mood, the old man sat in front of his consultation room with his face in his hands, but Yẹmí was too concerned about Yétúndé to bother. He dropped the leaves in the shrine and sprang out.
Bàbá Yétúndé’s house was as cold as silence. Large pots of food sat untouched in the kitchen. The mini bush in front of the compound was cleared and arranged to host a party, but the eyes that met Yẹmí’s looked like those of mourners.
Yẹmí ran towards Yétúndé’s room like a masquerade, dropping the calabash of herbs he’d prepared for her. The women in the room didn’t let him in, so he went to Bàbá Yétúndé, whose eyes were leaking hot water. He tried to talk, but the old man didn’t flinch, he was too busy soaking his bùbá with tears.
Counting his teeth with his tongue, Yẹmí decoded the unbearable. His heart ran under his feet and each step he took home felt like he was pulling the burden of the whole village – the living, and the dead. When Yẹmí got home, his father was waiting with explanations.
“Three days ago, Chief Ọ̀túnba and Bàbá Yétúndé came here to ask a favour of me,” he sucked his teeth. “Chief Ọ̀túnba wants Yétúndé for his fourth wife. And knowing fully well what you two shared, he knew you won’t take that well. Even Yétúndé, won’t want to leave if you were around to talk to her. So, he told me to send you away and call the rain down for three days.”
Yẹmí’s legs quivered and gave in. His whole mass dropped to the bare floor.
“I knew it will hurt you, but as elders, we must do the needful, so I obliged and called the rain to keep you away until the ceremony is over.”
“But,” Yẹmí managed to say. “What has this got to do with Yétúndé’s death? She was ill before I left. I guess if I was around to cook her some herbs she wouldn’t have died.”
Ojúawo twitched his lips and looked into the dark clouds just recovering from his forceful rain call. “Chief Ọ̀túnba got her circumcised. She was never ill.” He scanned his son’s eyes. “She refused to get circumcised. She begged to see you. Claimed she would die should the knife touch her skin. We thought she was being a child and trying to threaten us to give in. But, she died before they could wash the knife used to cut her. She w—”
After hearing this, Yẹmí became deaf to the words falling from his father’s mouth. He stood up from the floor and ran into the forest by the village shrine – the same forest that was his and Yétúndé’s love sanctuary.
*
Just before the sun announced the dawn of the new day, before the lilies by the lake sprout open to say hello and good day to each other, before the broad banana leaves stretch and let dew drops run down gleefully, before anything and everything, a crack broke the forest’s silence. The crack was from the giant egg that occupied the spot where a perturbed boy once folded himself to moan his loss. It was at the foot of an ìrókò tree posing tall in all its splendour and strength. Its leafless branches housed many animals: monkeys, birds of every kind, moths, and snakes too; everyone in its own quarters. When the animals heard the first crack that broke the forest’s silence, they looked at the giant egg, all of them halting their breathing. A louder crack, then woosh! The egg cracked totally, and every animal fled for dear life: the monkeys frantically jumped from branch to branch, yelping as they ran; hissing snakes fell to the ground and dragged themselves away into holes; birds took off into the sky flying haphazardly and causing a cacophony; the lilies retired into a close. The day was ruined for the inhabitants of the forest. The creature pushed itself up and walked away from the ìrókò tree with its heavy tail sweeping behind it like a third leg. As it walked, leaves which it stepped on withered.
*
Fourteen days after Yẹmí ran out of his father’s compound with swollen heart, Ojúawo still didn’t stop searching for his son. He sent the youth to ransack every corner of the village to no avail. Tired, they dropped their oil-lamps at Ojúawo’s feet and told him to bury Yẹmí’s clothing in place of his corpse, for he must be dead. His son is not dead, this he knew for sure, although his location is faint, shrouded deep under heavy clouds. The boy could have made an incantation to hide his location, but the Ifá divination chain confirmed his son is somewhere in the village. Ojúawo could bare anything, he could perform any ritual no matter how dirty or bloody, but he couldn’t think of burying his son. So, that fateful morning, he took to the forest to find Yemí. The night met him in the forest, chanting incantations and begging the spirits of his mother’s mothers to help him find his son.
When the news got to the village, the whole villagers were befuddled and fear swept the land like the rippling of a vexed ocean.
Just when he was about to give up and return home, a big black bird descended on him with furry. His eyes locked with that of the creature and he felt cold with familiarity. But before he could think, the black bird landed on his head and, with a swing, his head fell off. The creature flapped its mighty wings, flying away from the fallen mutilated body.
When the news got to the village, the whole villagers were befuddled and fear swept the land like the rippling of a vexed ocean. Ojúawo was buried the next night, and all the elders gathered to send his spirit to the land of the ancestors. After the burial rite, Chief Ọ̀túnba assembled all the elders in the palace, for he was greatly distressed over the death of his accomplice.
“It is such a shame that we have lost our chief priest and even his son to take over his duties is nowhere to be found,” Ọ̀túnba addressed the council.
“What is this?” an impatient chief asked. He pulled his right ear saying, “I hope this is not what I’m thinking? Ọ̀túnba, you want to steal the position of a dead man whose body is barely cold?”
“Hold your mouth! Who is talking about stealing anybody’s role? What I was trying to say, before that loud-mouth interrupted, is that our land is vulnerable to evil spirits, and we need cleansing. You know, em...I mean we need to atone for sins of our fathers and their own fathers. I don't know if anyone understands me?”
“True,” another chief said. “Very true.”
“But why do we need cleansing as a village?” Loud Mouth countered. “If someone has dipped his hands in evil things, he should seek personal cleansing.”
“Oh shut up,” Ọ̀túnba bellowed.
“No, you shut up. It is the guilty that run before they are chased. Evil man”
Chief Ọ̀túnba pounced on him and the other elders jumped up to separate the two.
*
While the whole village buried Ojúawo, Bàbá Yétúndé grieved his daughter. The poor man had not left his house since her death. He took to talking to the wall as if it were Yétúndé. He also reincarnated his wife and talked to her, too. His sister tried to comfort him but he scared her to her husband’s house. Everyone in the village thought he had gone amok, but whatever they did to help, he made futile. When Ọ̀túnba visited, he chased him away with a double-edged cutlass he’d been filing for days.
That evening, he was eating dinner with his wife and daughter who were in the wall. He fed them the food and cried when they didn't swallow. There was a heavy breeze that seemed to be causing havoc outside, and Bàbá Yétúndé grabbed his knife to see what was happening, but what he saw mortified him: a huge birdlike creature descending. Then the animal flapped its wings and started walking towards him, it had the body of a man, but the head and wings of an unknown bird, with a tail, too. Bàbá Yétúndé’s leg felt glued to the ground. Before the beast sliced off his head, Bàbá Yétúndé released hot piss.
When Chief Ọ̀túnba heard of Bàbá Yétúndé’s death, he knew whatever came for his accomplices would come for him in no time. He paid the best witch doctors to fortify his house. After the fortification, he decided to leave the village. He hired two priests to follow him, one on his right and the other on his left, he himself was chanting, and atoning for sins.
When the creature came, the priests disappeared into the winds. Chief Ọ̀túnba fell to the floor and started begging for mercy without raising his head to see the creature. The creature chopped off his head in his kneeling position. Blood oozed from his slit neck till a pool was formed around his body.
*
Èṣùúyẹmí cleaned off the feathers from his arm after he changed form. The forest had become his home. He watched the youths comb it down in his search. Now the sacrifice was complete. He brought out the other two heads, placed them on the floor in a triangle. He drew a circle around it and threw in the other items: yangi stones, snails, palm oil, special pepper, and bitter kola. He blew air through his mouth three times to the left, and then to the right.
“A whole moon without Yétúndé is like ten decades. I’d rather be half dead with her in my arms than be among foolish mortals without her scent soothing my nostrils.”
“Èṣù láàlú. Ògiri òkò. Èṣù òdàrà. Akérégbayé.” Èṣù, the honor of the city. He who is as hard as a rock. One who can do and undo. Small but mighty. “I have come again. These are what you asked of me. Can I see my love now? I have suffered in this cruel world enough. A whole moon without Yétúndé is like ten decades. I’d rather be half dead with her in my arms than be among foolish mortals without her scent soothing my nostrils.
“Please take this filthy breath from me and let me be reunited with my love in the spirit world where you have kept her safe for me. Èṣù oníbodè,” the gateman of the spirit world. “Let me in. And as agreed, I will be your servant of death till eternity is over. I will return here to do whatever task you have for me. Please hold up your end of the bargain. Èṣù òdárè. Láàlú. Take me now. Take me please.”
The body-less heads caught fire and a wild wind sent trees spinning and bowing. After a few minutes of spiritual turbulence, the forest experienced calmness and tranquillity, just like Èṣùúyẹmí’s soul, reuniting with Yétúndé’s. Peace at last; but for now.
John Otroyin is a Nigerian Baritone and Writer. He is passionate about Opera and adores Jessye Norman. He is a finalist for Black Pheonix Inc and NHCP short story competitions. His works are published in African Writers Magazine, Touchstone, Praxis Magazine, Agbowó, AfroAnthologySeries, Kalahari Review, Light Post, and elsewhere. He holds a certificate of Creative writing from Wesleyan university, Connecticut (MOOC). He is an alumnus of Ake and Short Story Day Africa writing workshops. John is a freelance writer for Music Estate and Lets Write Inc. He writes from Lagos on johnpens.wordpress.com, and lives online @john_otroyin.