( Episode 1 of a new story) ASUA ATO UFOK ( THE ENEMY IS FROM WITHIN) By Gabriel Ette
The herbalist lifted up his head to look at the woman whose only son was laid on the mat before him. He just concluded giving him a liquid to drink and as he observed the reaction of the patient- a boy of about 17 years old, too tall for his age, handsome and fair. He lifted up his eyes and fixed them on the woman supplicating before him. Dede, nwam nnyien, nde ebekpa, nnu nno ked ami she lamented telling the herbalist to help her, that she is a widow and that she lived only for this sick child.
The herbalist finally cleared his throat and addressed the woman. "Nwan ajen, he said; usio ilip ama ato ufok isikokpo esim ejied" ( when the diarrhea is rooted in household poisoning, it defies every palliative). As he said so, he stood up from the wooden stool which he sat upon. A log of wood hewed with an axe and fashioned into a stool. As he stood up, the boy Ukonne heaved and as he exhaled, he dropped his neck side ways. He foamed in the mouth and gave up the ghost.
His mother, Ndoko Anwewen, did not need to consult a sorcerer to understand what just happened. She knew that her Sun has just set at noon day. Her late husband's genealogy had just recorded a final full stop for she was past menopause. She let out a very loud scream and collapsed on the still warm corpse of her late only son and child. The scream was so long and loud that the herbalist feared for her too. As she recovered her breath, she sprang to her feet and grasped the herbalist by his feet and said No, No Dede no. My son must not die. How can the only palm nut get lost in the fire? I maybe a widow, but I came to you as a father. Can a man be alive and the masquerade beat up his child to the point of tearing off his clothes from his body? No don't tell me that there's nothing you can do. Suddenly she let go of the herbalist and fell again on her son's body as she sobbed her very life away.
As he witnessed the agony of the widow, the village herbalist popularly called Udo Nwa sighed. A tear dropped from his old eyes onto his wrinkled face. He murmured; but why? How can a fellow human do this to another human. No fear of the reprisals of the gods, no human empathy. It's bad. Well our fathers said that the man who pulls down another's house, does not make residence in the anthill. As he said that he left the widow with the body of her son. Inside his sprawling backyard, he called on his sons to prepare the pier so they could help convey the corpse of the young man back to her husband's home at Ikot Akpakpan.
The four sons of the herbalist, having prepared a plank, helped lift the now very cold body of the late Ukonne Anwewen onto the pier. They then lifted the hearse onto their father's bicycle. The mother submitted one of her wrappers which they threw over the body. As they wheeled the body out of the old herbalist's compound, an owl hooted from the forest close by the herbalist's house. With that Ndoko Anwewen howled, she lamented. As she followed the corpse of her only son back to their family compound. Her lamentation was a potpourri of sorts. At times she sang, at times she giggled, at other times she wailed. Often times, the pall bearers had to look back in sympathy as they feared for her sanity. Everyone in the village knew that she dotted over her late son. Though no one uttered a word of it, everyone felt that at the demise of her son, her days may no longer be long.
(to be continued)
(to be continued)
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