Not Always Sister Evelyn

If you asked Sister Evelyn what she thought about homosexuality, she would roll her eyes in a semi-circle, set her piercing pair of brownish red cornea on you and inhale. After that, she exhaled a fiery warning; “you will burn in hell if you thought of that even a minute in your head!“ And if she caught you reading “any of those books” she would virtually drag you by the ears, expose you before the others and declare “Listen, if anyone allowed these stuff to stay even a minute in their brain, they will be possessed by the devil!”After the scorching moment of shaming, the fellow was put on counseling for a week.

 No one enjoyed the eerie feeling of walking down the corridor on Thursday evening to meet Sister Evelyn for counseling. The dead silence that accompanied the wait in her dimly lit office, and the thick stiff look of her brown curtains were enough to make you pass out…and when she strolled out of the closet behind the curtains, she poured you a cup of hot tea, whose vapor added to the steam and pressure in the room. And then she hissed verses at you from “revelations” about the end times and about the mark of the beast. In the end you came out sweating and sobbing, and hating church. After two weeks, you learnt from your mistakes and found a better way to avoid being caught; Like covering the cover of your “Falling for seduction” novel with a “Living with Jesus” magazine page. Because somehow it seemed that even though we were warned against the devil, we were more afraid of Sister Evelyn and the apocalyptic judgment she pronounced on the head of her culprit. 

In July, the Girls Camp for the Church took off with Parents dropping off their sulking daughters at the Ave Maria Retreat Centre, into the awaiting arms of none other but Sister Evelyn and one other Deaconess Sarah, who said, the girls were in safe hands. I for one did not feel “safe” around a woman who judged me for the color of my lipstick. “Only harlots wear that thing, go wash it off in the bathroom and take out the chewing gum…”, went Sister Evelyn’s strict voice. I was off on a bad footing for this years’ camp. And I hated Mum in my heart for bringing up this whole idea in the first place. I may have had a better summer holiday if I had just run off with Dad back to the U.S.

“Well, I know some of you have already turned 18, and some of you have lived abroad and probably have some “stuff” mixed up with your faith…” she gave me a glance, “ but we are all here to drop off our preconceived ideas about what “growing up” means, what “fashion” means in fact what everything means today in the modern sense and focus on what the Bible says about “the woman”. So now, piercings red lipsticks, short skirts, shorts… she stretched the latter, obviously because that was what I was wearing for the opening gathering “have to come off your bodies even before we start this program. “ When I looked around, indeed I was the only one with shorts, so I made for the bathroom door where Deaconess Sarah stood in her own version of a modest woman’s dressing, long dotted top with a way below the knee loose skirt, and a head band.

“Yeah right, modesty indeed”

“What did you say Victoria?”

“I said thanks indeed”  

“You’re welcome. That is what Christ would have done. Our verse for this year’s conference ….” The solemn voice died in my ears as I made for the bathroom. “Mum, it’s a prison camp” I shrieked through a conflicting network connection, “ I can’t believe I’ll be without Instagram for a month” and ”oh lord!” no “gossip girls” no “lying game”, none of my favorite series for a month! No Mp3 players allowed went the last snatch from my back pocket as my earphones stringed along. 

What we did every evening of the first week was watch a movie on women in the Bible, ranging from Sarah to Ruth. Boredom gnawed at me and licked my mind dry and I began to wonder if any of what we were watching actually applied to today. I mean, talking of Ruth in the Bible, who sleeps in a field behind a man she does not know acting by faith that he will take her for a wife. Really, with all this women empowerment and self assertiveness of today’s women, who will swallow this tale?

“It’s the principle behind that never changes,” Sister Evelyn explained with all her force as if she could read my mind. “…The underlying faith of these women when it came to the promises of God! It still works. Faith works in today’s world and that is what we are going to deal with this weekend, cultivating Faith in the midst of controversy, and holding on to God in the storm. So, I want every girl to list 7 promises of God in her life and then, we will meet up after lunch to talk of the reality of God’s promises and what it means to have Faith in God’s word. 

During siesta I found something more interesting to do other than writing the promises of God. I wrote in my diary a long account of my present state of quasi in-existence. I wrote about my brother who died last year and how he loved scuba diving. If only God had saved him from drowning I would be with him this summer, I wrote a short poem on the forbidden love I felt for Frederick, a rascal who may never finish school or get a job early enough to put a ring on my finger some day. I also wrote about cancer, the disease my mum was fighting with, and though she prayed with all her might God never answered. And then, dad’s gay partner…

 When we got back together after break, I still was lost in the world of diary writing, when the rest of the girls busily handed in their “promises” on a sheet.

“Victoria?” Sister Evelyn’s shadow loomed over me, as her strong fingers whisked my diary from my lap. She flipped through, and just seeing her cross that line of privacy without notice, repulsed me! I got angered by her intrusion.

“Just give that back”

“And where’s your list?”

“I just don’t care about the promises of God ok? If there were anything like that my Dad would not have left my mum to be with his male colleague. I would not have to see her cry every day, while I sat by her finding  ”something” to say, like “its fine, it’s alright”, and those words never fall out of my lips naturally, it never sounds true, because it’s not! It’s not alright that a God who is LOVE, just looks on at the woes and plight of those He claims He loves . You have no answers do you? You don’t even want to talk about these things: sex, homosexuality, divorce, our real issues, you never go there”

She stopped and stared, I ranted on, lost in the satisfaction of letting it all out.

“I guess Church is just a place to pretend everything is alright, clean, good with God. I was raped at 12 how about that? My elder Cousin introduced me to pornography at 14 and I am madly in love with a hopeless drug trafficker! Can your God fix all that? What do you care anyway, what do you know about all that when all you talk about is purity; you know nothing about reality, do you…?”

All eyes were glaring, not at me, but at Sister Evelyn. What was she thinking? what was she going to do? With her head slightly bowed and a quiet air blowing across her brow she breathed some words into Deaconess Catherine’s ears and beckoned me forward. I thought after that I would have my ears twitched and dragged to the back for a scolding, but instead, she addressed me in a shaky, crackly tone, “Victoria, let’s talk in my office”.

Two minutes after, I sat in the brown room (that’s how we called Sister Evelyn’s office) stirring and staring into a steaming cup of milk tea.  My eyes were moist with tears and a remorseful cloud of apology hung in my throat but I just couldn’t bring it out. I had no idea how angry, and bitter I was over Dad’s choice and mum’s current state. I didn’t even know that I was upset and tired and frustrated by my circumstances. Was there anything better? I didn’t know, did I know what I wanted?

I wasn’t sure. I just felt like I had the whole universe shoving me down a tunnel I did not want to be in, that whoever was in charge of  destiny and life, was directing things pretty wrongly and  had made a reel of options for me, that were affecting me. Or maybe I had been programmed before time to fall into these circumstances, to have to deal with so much at so young an age… I wasn’t sure I could come out of it straight and right. All these daunting family fights and rough choices, they were haunting me and they were affecting my way of thinking, my identity, and my personality. I thought church was a place to deal with that, find some answers or maybe get delivered from depression and frustration! But the longer I sat on a church pew the more I felt like the stuff said were meant for aliens that lived far off from the world I lived in, and in the end i just felt like being happy was my sole responsibility so I got to work! My life will never make full sense.” I thought.

“Your tea… it’s spilling”

“I’m sorry” I whispered. “I’m sorry for ruining the conference and speaking to you like that.”

“You shouldn’t judge God’s ways based on your parents’ lives, you should find Him for yourself” She cut in even before I finished speaking, and there again I thought that was so “churchy”, no one understood you, and the responses were always “alien”.

“I know Him already, I’ve prayed that sinners’ prayer over and over again, I’ve felt like a fool standing in front of large church congregations, praying, admitting that I was wrong so He starts over with me, and then, I was ushered in to the Kingdom of God, with my conflicting struggles, forever shut down in me. After a while, I get chased down  the corner again by the famished shadow of my past, it runs after me like a lion unleashed, and throws upon my breasts the net of its desires. I repent, I weep, I pray, I try to read the Bible... but one look at the  Holy scriptures, and all I seem to see are black prints, words, coming together like an army of Holy ants, pursuing me in Holy judgment, so I close it and scream for help from the church pews, but when I lift my voice, it  gets washed along with the “Holy Halleluyas”, it gets drowned by the fervent tongues and the perfect sermons of a Sunday afternoon.” She listened carefully as we both inhaled the tensed vapor rising from our mugs of tea.

“I have gradually learnt to save myself the trouble of telling a story that no one around would understand.” I told her,  “I feel I know God because my mum is really spiritual, and sometimes I kind of think I feel His love but I just don’t understand Him. Where was He when my brother died? Where was He when Dad ran off with his “gay partner”. Where is He when mum weeps herself to sleep? Even I would have answered half of mum’s many prayers by now….”

In the silence that reigned between the walls that witnessed our conversation and the ceiling that hang over our hurts, both of our hearts palpitated a certain hidden despair. I felt it seep through our breaths and our lowered gaze and then through her trembling lips:

“I don’t understand Him either” She murmured. I suddenly seemed awakened from a dizzy daze. These words gave me a startle, especially, coming from the “Sister Evelyn” i knew.

I just stared at her.

“I don’t have all the answers either. I’ve also been wondering how my son got possessed by “that spirit”, and went running around with his ”boyfriend”  whilst in college.  He sang in the choir since he was 6, beautifully talented... I warned him, and in despair disowned him hoping that the lord Himself would do something, but He’s still not….”

I had to hand her some tissues.

“I remember that last fight before he walked out of the door, he had spoken with eyes like two pellets of fire, and I saw myself consumed by those hellish pellets while he gazed over the ashes, like the guardian of hell, slithering careless pronouncements at me. I cursed him, I hurled insults at him, I pleaded, I yelled and spat in disgust, I scratched my claws through his shirt, tugged at it and yanked it loose, I twitched the fistful of his t-shirt in my hand and slapped him. I tried to squeeze his neck, but couldn't feel my bones, I tried to speak and convince him but couldn't feel my teeth, I was just an image of gabbing lips and gashing jaws, my only sound came through the “whizziness” of my choked nostrils, and when I was done ranting, he brushed me off to the ground like saw dust on a window sill, and walked off like an angel; still, I hoped that he would feel a tiny pinch of the connection that used to exist between us,  but he proved that he had no memory! and he implored me to dispose of mine for sanity sake”.

As I watched her from across the table, I remembered that I had seen that same look of anguish on my mum’s face when my Dad moved out of the house, I could remember that other look in Dad's eyes, that look that defiantly implored mum to forget everything that she had know, because he couldn't hide it anymore, he was gay!.

“From then on” went Sister Evelyn , "I sought after the shameless demon who had done this, the demon who had wrecked my house, my home and everything I hoped for and somehow, I saw the culprits all around me, I saw it in the face of every male who grinned on the bus, and in every reporter who announced gay right movements. And I began to search frantically for a lead on where my own attacker may have been hiding. And when I was well informed about the fellow who had snatched my son, I lost my mind. Even more, I lost patience seeing that he lived in such glamor and innocent bliss, that everything was at his beck and call, even my son’s body! And I couldn’t wait to strike back!” She sobbed, her chest rumbling with thunderous tears.

“It all sounds like a lullaby now, but these are stuff that have corroded my strength, and eaten away my joy, it has licked the bones of my hopes dry and buried the ghost of my dead courage, in a place I may never ever retrieve. That courage to live, that courage to give myself a second chance has eluded me for so long, even when I seem to have snatched it, it is no where to be found, it flees. And every time I stand here looking strong, busying myself with the girls of the church… all I'm actually doing is trying to get my courage back.” She sniffed,

“I’m just trying to get some escape through the tasks.  I wonder for how long I’ll carry these unanswered questions in my heart, and I wonder how come He doesn’t see all of that. I wonder what He says about my son, and I wonder why  He did not stop it all! .”

I had thought that I was going to be the one crying at the end of the day like everyone else who entered the “brown room” to be counseled by sister Evelyn but amazingly, she was the one shedding tears. She was the one confessing before me… And somehow her tears spoke a message I could relate to. I never knew I could relate to her in that broken way, that “I don’t know” state. No, not Sister Evelyn…But now as she sat gazing through the slightly drawn curtain beside her armchair, the late afternoon ray greeted her cheeks with a message of compassion I never imagined she yearned for. Her voice had always been a voice of “Thus sayest the Lord”, so I was baffled by the sight of her trembling lips and flickering eyebrows that inquired "what sayest the lord" at this moment? . In this Holy closet of secrecy I was privy to, I discovered this was not the Sister Evelyn we knew. And I felt comforted by all of this truth.”

“How was your life after your son left?” I asked.

“At the time  my son left, I was in a state of total confusion, I was in a small church group in the neighborhood, well, mostly because of the financial support they gave to struggling women like me.

But I lived my own life in the closet you know, I just made sure I kept it  from them…at a point I was touched by the love the church showed me, the familial concern and all that , I started to feel a part of the community, taking part in little community service programs, but then again the life I knew in the past even before my son was born, that life was imprinted in my memory… it appealed to my senses every now and then. I yearned to erase it all but I couldn’t, so I threw a blanket of oblivion on my conscience and just tried to juggle both lives for the benefits that each brought…but later I accepted Christ you know, got into the choir, taught the word at Sunday school, I felt somehow on track again, but with time, I felt a big blow of rejection, started struggling again with my drinking issue… I just went off…oh…” she sniffed, “ I dare not share these stuff with you…” she lowered her gaze.

“Where was this?” I inquired

“In the States…I came back home 3 years ago”

“And…”

“And I accepted Christ again, and I have taken my life more seriously now, and am trying to start all over again”

“Sister Evelyn…” the door flanked open,

“I need to speak with you for a minute” It was Deaconess Catherine at the door.

Our conversation had to come to an abrupt end. Taking a cue from Sister Evelyn’s eye signal I murmured

“I was about leaving…” and waltzed through the tiny space by the door. 

 To be continued....

 Written By: Alice Blighton

A GOOD BOOK IS HARD TO DEFINE

 

Have you ever read a book and thought that the plot actually made no sense or that the characters were not original enough? Or maybe you will remember that novel a friend recommended as a “goodread” which utterly turned you off by the third paragraph. Personally, I have been able to read and re-read some books while others have barely been able to draw the passion of my thumb and the ardent attention of my brain. The obvious is, every reader, whether casual or passionate has their pull to certain types of books, subjects and genres FIRST before others, and what’s more? It is often dicy to pinpoint what the first pull to a book is. Some people say the Author is a compelling factor, the more famous the Author, the more likely they are to go for the book and psychologically, the more easier it is for them to end up liking the book too. Some also fall in love with a book’s title and though they may not read to the last page, the Title itself is enough for them to remember the book and recommend it to others. For some readers, it is the issue raised, the conflict built and also very importantly the impression they get by the time they get to THE END. Indeed everyone has their definition of a “good book” but the daunting fact is that “A GOOD BOOK IS HARD TO DEFINE”.  Here are however some brave friends who have dared to define what a good book is and what literature means to them. See if you agree!

 

Literature for me, is a mind trip or mental journey. Through my mind, Literature allows me to see places I have never been to, do things I have never done that I only imagine, live lives I have never had and also sometimes  understand better aspects of myself I have never thought about. Therefore for me, a GOOD BOOK opens my mind and my eyes to the exterior and interior World leading me to think differently, and most importantly, choose differently.

Julia,  from Italy

 

 
 

Literature for me, is a way to escape from everyday life, a chance to live a present, past and future or imagined reality that otherwise I could never enjoy. But most importantly, A GOOD BOOK is one that leaves a mark, that involves me and fascinates me, one that  I can read and read again and which will always have something new to tell me. Reading gives me wealth, every GOOD BOOK gives me some new feeling and emotion.

Alice, from Italy

I will say a GOOD BOOK has an effect on future life. That book is beneficial to people.  For instance if in a bad mood or not well, people should feel better and live better after reading a GOOD BOOK. But, different forms of literature have different aspects of interest and focus, and what I deem most important is that the book I read should impact me positively. The most important aspect is also the Writer and his Content. But I often don’t say that a book is GOOD or BAD. It actually depends on the need of the reader. That may also inform his choice of a book.

Gaojing, from Mongolia

 

The people and life displayed in a literature work usually lead me to reset my priorities in life. Things I once believed to be indispensable to me have been challenged and ridiculed in literature, and always for a good reason. I take my grades in school, or maybe titles in some organization for example, I used to heavily rely on them to hold confidence, and I thought I’d surely collapse without them. However, at some point during reading, I felt I’d just be fine without them. I felt emotionally richer, which means I need less emotional support from the outside world. I felt I needed less attention, compliment and admiration from other people, especially when I heard Holden say “people always clap for the wrong things” in The Catcher in The Rye. I couldn’t agree more. Since then, I don’t feel motivated that much to do things only to impress people. Literature has helped me to spend less time and energy pursuing things I don’t want. On a flip side, I’ve stopped overlooking the many forms of beauty in life and I attach more importance to them as they deserve.

Every time I understand a line in literature, my ability to appreciate, love and forgive grows an inch. And as long as a book won’t make me complain “What’s the author blabbing about!”, it is a GOOD BOOK to me.

Caroline, from China

What then is YOUR definition of a GOOD BOOK?

aliceblightonliterature
 

 

 

 

 

 

SOMEWHERE IN AMANFRA ( 2 )

Some of the men who came back from Beyin had had a change of mind. They had begun to feel that they had to make a choice of lesser evil. Both Ngutan and their own Chief Bua were Leaders who looked out for themselves first. And after the men of Amanfra were summoned to Beyin to meet Ngutan the previous week, they began to consider saying YES to Ngutan`s rule over the people of Amanfra.  Despite his tyrannical tendencies, Ngutan had managed to provide the people of Beyin with a number of basic amenities like Pipe borne Water and Electricity, such that the life of their brothers in Beyin appeared to be far more advanced and prosperous.

Moreover, these men of Amanfra felt that Ngutan`s political expertise and back up Army from Cote D`Ivoire was not one Amanfra could contend with. If there was going to be a change of power, they wanted it the peaceful way. They were not going to lose their lives in a useless battle, because after all, their Chief Bua had failed them and he did not deserve the support of the people. Since he ascended the throne seven years ago, there had been no Pipe borne Water, no tarred road and no electricity supply. The only light that shown in the Village at night was the one in the Palace and in Chief Bua`s "presidential Apartment"… The murmurs circulated at the palmwine joints: Chief Bua must step down within this period of 30 days and surrender to Ngutan`s reign over both Beyin and Amanfra.

In moments like this, it was Officer Somebody who dealt directly with the people. As Chief Bua`s spokesperson, he went on a door to door address on behalf of his Chief to get the people to believe in the fight for freedom. He implored the people to get ready to stand for Amanfra and claim its autonomy and freedom from the hands of the dictatorial rule of Ngutan, and then backing his pleas with emotional historical facts, he would say

“Our predecessors settled in Amanfra after being bullied and cowed by the Chief and Warriors of Beyin to quit and surrender the large stretch of land they had discovered along the N`zi River. Our fathers embraced them as brothers but they betrayed us and took the best of the Land. Our fathers remained colonies and a sub-community because they did not fight, they did not stand for their right. But our Chief Nana Bua, has plans for this Village, he sees an Amanfra that is free from Beyin`s control, ready and able, to manage its own affairs and I implore every real Man of Amanfra to prepare himself fearlessly to defend this beloved Land so that together we can rebuild Amanfra.” After this heartwarming speech, he gave a round fisted handshake to the eldest member of each family from which they plucked a note of 50 or 20 depending on the size of the family. 

Immediately after the thorough campaigns everybody in Amanfra was smiling and dreaming again. Children went out to play hide and seek without the fear of exceeding a curfew, the young men guffawed over the palm Wine pots with the confident taste of war jokes on their tongues and the old folks played draught recounting again and again the Victories of states in their time who took up arms and fought for their land. Amanfra`s hope was soaring and why wouldn`t it? They had heard that Chief Bua`s Belgian friends were on their side and their huge Military Tracks in front of the Palace was a sign of great consolation.

By the break of day, the whole Village had heard that Whitemen were in Officer Somebody`s house. Neighbors stood around whispering in curiosity. Some of the children giggled and waved ‘Obroni ha wa yiw” to mean “How are you Whiteman?,” whilst others stood simply perplexed and petrified.. Maame Nzeh was the Star of the moment. She enjoyed the attentive eyes of the neighbors on her and she made it a point to relish the opportunity. She brought stools for them to sit, and spoke to them in ‘english’ and she was so proud when they took a respectful sip of the bottled water she served. Finally, her husband came out, prepared to show them the lands and the quarry sites. It was a matter of barter trade between the Whites and the people of Amanfra. The Belgians had shipped in the sophisticated war weapons for the battle against Beyin, now it was Amanfra`s turn to fulfull their side of the promise and give them what they desired. Officer Somebody signaled to the Old Professor`s nephew Acka, a secondary school graduate, to come along and help him with the translation and then, they drove off on the Belgian Wagon amidst the waves and acclamations of the people.

Within just five days, intensive training for the Beyin war had started. The youth of Amanfra who had not had jobs in a long while now wore tags on their chest that said they were “Army Officers”, all of them were now fighting for a place in the Village army. They had seen how the Belgian patrol team flaunted their attractive arms and as every one of the new recruits received their new pair of boots and Uniform, the hesitant ones could not resist the temptation. To the ordinary youth it was paradise to eat the kind of food the Trainees ate at the Palace after their training and orientation session, plus a note of 10 after jumping around each day was too good to be true. Many mothers cajoled their sons to join, even the mothers of the younger ones who were ordinarily not of age. And because it was not ‘allowed’ to recruit the younger ones, those mothers had to go and “see” Officer Somebody. Even the Professor went to “see” the officer to allow his nephew into the Army and before long, Chief Bua had a long line up of men who were ready to fight for Amanfra in the Battle against Beyin and the Almighty Ngutan. The longer the line got, the heavier the Pocket of the Local recruitment Officer became. It was a great time to be Officer Somebody.

Then one hot afternoon, amidst all the “ Left,Right,Left” there suddenly erupted an alarm at the far end of the Village. A man in a mask rode through the village market into the sandy public square. He clutched unto a white Sack, oozing with blood and a young boy sat before him, maneuvering the Cart. He did not stop anywhere or exchange words with anyone till he arrived in front of the Palace. By then the whole Village was shaken by the wind of alarm. Mothers snatched their children like handbags and trooped to the Palace to find out what was amiss. The forgetful ones also left theirs behind. Everyone had heard of a man carrying a sack of human parts.

“ I have the head of Ngutan’ he announced to the Palace Guards, I have captured and killed the great Ngutan and I have in this very sack the head of the man Amanfra desires to subdue.”

“Who are you, young man, one of the old advisors of Chief Bua inquired. Take off your Mask, so we can all identify the fellow that stands before us. “

"I am like the wind he said. No one ever knows from where I come and no one ever knows where I go. The day a man sees my face is the day he dies."

"Well then, let us see what you have in your sack, if indeed it is the head of the Almighty Ngutan."

"It surely is". He said,"But it is only the King that I show it to."

So the message was conveyed to Chief Bua, who had been meticulously guarded by the guards. He was in a state of mixed feelings. If this man`s claims were true, then he had won the Battle hands down but if it turned out to be a prank, it was likely to disrupt his  plan of attack. He signaled to his Chief advisor for a tete-a- tete moment. After some minutes, it was decided that men be sent to Beyin, to spy and inquire and verify, if the Almighty Ngutan was indeed no more. In the meantime, the Palace Guards kept a close eye on the man and his assistant.  After what seemed to be an endless wait, the spies returned from Beyin saying that indeed Ngutan was no more, that he was said to have been captured from his palace whilst sleeping at dusk and rumours had it that his body had been found headless in the Tano Lagoon.

This piece of news was like soothing water in the dry throat of the King.

“But why will you go on such a dangerous quest on behalf of the people of Amanfra.” He inquired. "How did you even manage to kill the great Ngutan without any help?”

“ Well, I had help". He said. "The gods of this land heard the cries and libations of the people and appeared to me in a dream. And if you will agree with me, it will be easier for a man to be defeated by the gods and men than by men alone. Nguta could not have been defeated by your guns alone. The gods and Spirits of our Ancestors backed me in this quest.  Now my Lord can see for himself the head of his adversary.“ The whole Palace turned silent with suspense. With the nod of the King and the resounding acclamations of the Palace guards, Amanfra broke out into a fit of merriment and feasting that was ten times mightier than that of the Kundum celebrations. Ngutan had indeed been slaughtered. The dancing and eating and drinking went up till the following morning when the effect of alcohol got them yawning out of their rooms.

Even before the sun greeted their cheeks their ears received the horrible news. Their Chief had been murdered along with two of his Chamber guards and the man with Ngutan`s head was nowhere to be found. He had fled after receiving his huge compensation of 13 bags of diamond. Many speculated that he was sent by Ngutan to murder the Chief in order to avoid a Battle and gain easy control, others opined that the man was a Spiritualist from the East side of the Comoe River who used magic to dupe people and states.

Indeed, the Elders of society are regarded as authors and custodians of the land, but in a land where Elders are lost in the race for the fattest Calf, the rule of the Land is left for Faceless demons. No matter the tale Amanfra chose to believe, the unchanging fact was that Ngutan still lived and still ruled and had dispatched his men to take over the Amanfra Palace by the start of the week.

 Days after the burial of their Chief, the people of Amanfra not only suffered at the hands of Ngutan, but they suffered from their own small mindedness and greed, and from the chains of their own gullible minds. They nursed the heavy sores of their past mistakes only to cover them with bandages that reeked of the same nauseating smell of past ignorance; For somewhere in Amanfra, an Officer Somebody was collecting tolls for the memorial burial of their long gone Chief, somewhere in Amanfra, a woman rolled on the banks of the River Nzi, chanting her husband`s name, asking that the gods reinstall him in office as a Palace guard, somewhere in Amanfra, two women stood in a fight, tearing each other`s blouses into bits after a race of insults over whose turn it was to scrub the public bathroom, somewhere in Amanfra young men boozed and cursed apathetically at an old Professor’s funeral saying ”All of life is useless ”, somewhere in Amanfra, on the dusty  road leading to the refuse dump, a young boy stood boasting to his friends, “I will one day be a great Chief of Amanfra and I will be richer and more powerful than Ngutan himself and you will be my slaves.”

THE END.

Written By: Alice Blighton

Thanks for Reading !

SOMEWHERE IN AMANFRA

When the gun shots went up for the Celebration of the Kundum festival, the Women of Amanfra rolled down the husky hay mats hanging in front of their doors, turned over the dry mortars and every hollow thing  in their rooms, and told the Children to lie on their bellies.  The once joyous boom of the Ancestral guns that got the Amanfra women shinning their pots and pans in readiness for the Big  Feast of Kundum was no more. Instead of that fervent zeal of non chalance that characterized their beautiful slim black features on the eve of Amanfra`s biggest Festival, there was in this moment the reign of sullen apprehension coupled with the vexation of waiting.

The Women of Amanfra were almost alike, in the diversity of their different shades of Comportment. They knew when to indulge in flamboyant discourse and when to keep their teeth compact as a sign of reverence and restrain… and on this evening of silent wake keeping, they held a unanimous vigil in their individual homes In the hope of a turn of events. They spoke in whispers so the evil winds would not know their fears…and they were attentive. Attentive to everything around them: the sound of the wind, the croak of the frogs, the tiny flickers of the fireflies and their own shadows…because every bit of these things carried a meaning in such perilous times.

“Lie on your bellies” They repeated almost in harmony to their petrified children who yearned to ask where their fathers were and what was happening in their Village. They did not seem to understand what was being demanded of them, but they obeyed, out of fear and out of the belief they had in their mother`s words:

“If you lie on your back Papa will be defeated in Battle, so lie on your belly”, they said, plaguing the innocent minds of the younger ones with grave perplexity and worriment.

But in actual fact no one had openly declared War against the men of Amanfra.  The former Chief of Beyin (the Capital of the Nzema Traditional Area) Nana Annor Asaman the fifth, was never known to have troubled the people of Amanfra. He was a man of peace and a gentleman of great repute, known for his gentle council and fatherly rule, and although Beyin had for a long time been the political seat of governance in the affairs of smaller regions like Amanfra, Atuabo and Abata, none of these sub-communities had been summoned to Beyin on an “Order of Urgent Inquiry” which demanded all men of the Village to be present at Fort Beyin by dusk. This was the first time, and Amanfra was indeed preoccupied with the probable outcome. Not because the men of Amanfra were cowards, but because this conflict was beyond them. It was first and foremost, a conflict of the big Lords.

This battle had as Catalyst the egocentric desires of one man who had overtaken Beyin by storm, none other than the blood thirsty warrior nephew of Nana Annor Asaman (v), who was popularly known as Ngutan by the Youth of Beyin. After his enthronement by popular approval of the already palm-corrupted Council of Elders in Beyin, he stepped in the stead of his paralyzed Uncle, Nana Annor Assaman (V) as ruler of Beyin. Ngutan, was said to have grown up with violent Ivorian militant soldiers in a war torn zone in Ivory coast. He was a cunning man whose smile faded away quickly and easily. His deep set eyes, thick brows and sharp jaw bones was said to be an intimidating sight and when angered, the veins in his face throbbed with intensity and his hands were uncontrollable. His outer features were sharp and sinister but he did well to cover it all up with sugar coated Charisma and unparalleled smartness.

And so it turned out, that after Ngutan had been enthroned, his first area of “attack” was Amanfra, for he said that the Chief of Amanfra had disobeyed the tenets of Beyin and had sold out great chunks of lands to Belgian Investors and gone as far as enthroning a Whiteman as the Development Chief of the Amanfra Area, without consulting Beyin, or in other words without Ngutan`s consent. So, Ngutan`s anger was kindled towards Amanfra like the anger of a wife, against his huband`s Concubine, and he descended on Amanfra with fiery threats and crippling defiance declaring that he would ‘raze Amanfra to the ground and dine off Bua`s Liver”.  

The majority of the people entreated Bua, the Chief of Amanfra, to go before Ngutan and plead clemency over the Charges brought against him, for there could not be a dream where there was no sleep. In other words, there would be no war if Bua avoided the circumstances for war and calmed the raging storms. But Bua, was a man of wit, who had his dignity set on high shelves. He had for so long consolidated his rule and influence along the South Western lane of the Tano River, and across continents in his trade with the West. Belgians were his predominant allies, and to many of them he had sold huge masses of Beach lands and terrains, and the favors received on account of these auspicious deals were countless. As many of the Villagers murmured in the course of their

surreptitious evening gossips, his first Son had gained admission into a prestigious university in Europe by virtue of his many international contacts and three of his nephews were said to be on the verge of leaving the country for the “ Whiteman`s Land”. And of course, who in Amanfra could ever forget the ostentatious display of wealth during Nana Bua`s 50^th Birthday celebration two months ago. The whole of Amanfra had been fed from the overflow of Nana Bua`s Kitchen but just on that one occasion, they had had a feel of wealth, but just on that one occasion… when they got the blessed chance to see a 24 inch colored TV at close range and drink from plastic bottles and cups which they took back home as souvenirs. As soon as they stepped from his paved backyard unto their brown powdery roads, they could not help but boast to the rest of their relatives that they had been to paradise and back. They prattled on about the architectural design of Nana Bua`s house, the green grass that made funny noises under one`s feet and the sheer pleasure of watching his golden ceiling fan turn in circles. Some even swore to the fact that the WCs were magic ones that flashed by themselves.

Bua was not a fool to give up his empire of influence at the mere threat of a fellow man with beard and muscles, but he was not unwise to declare his stance or plans in haste. He was a man of tact. He sent a meek reply of submission to Ngutan`s demand to “summon Amanfra`s men before him by the break of day” and then he began to plan.                                            

                                                                          { II }

As the Akan Elders say, ‘If it were left to only the snail and the Tortoise, there would be no gunshot in the Bush” The Women of Amanfra secretly wished by their lighted Candles that this whole feud between their Chief Nana Bua and the Almighty Ngutan would end, so that life in Amanfra could take on its colourful Petals again. Bua and his men on the other hand seemed engulfed in a strategic plan for the defence of Amanfra, if the need arose, that is, if Ngutan in all his pride decided to declare war on Amanfra, they were also ready to STRIKE. The  Sages predicted that Ngutan was going to subdue and enslave Amanfra after a huge Battle in which many lives were going to be lost and such rumors got the women of Amanfra clutching their lower bellies in torment.

Maame Nzeh was one of the women who could have been said to have felt the sharpest pain of anxiety. Even before the Cocks gave out their disheartening crow for the start of another morning, she was staring through her tiny sieved window to find out if her husband was on his way back. She had heard through the winds of yesterday`s gossip that the talks on war had been suspended, that Almighty Ngutan had given the people of Amanfra and thereby Nana Bua, their Chief, an ultimatum. She did not know the detail but she knew that whatever resulted from this strife would hit her and her husband first.  As a palace guard in Bua`s palace and a member of his “Mazo” team: the team set up to mobilize the youth to undertake communal tasks, Maa Nzeh`s husband had for the past two years enjoyed Supernatural favors from Bua`s palace. Their Oven-sized mud hut had been extended and modified into a brick building and though it had not been fully plastered and the pink paint had not been enough to touch up on all the sides, they were by all standards the envy of Amanfra. The day they got in their rubber carpet and table top fridge, the whole of Amanfra heard of it and friends came by in groups for a chat and a sip of chilled water.  They were the first recipients of every good thing in the Village.

The first water pump was closest to their house, they owned their own set of public urinal and washroom so they did not have to trek way up to the hill in the bush as the rest of the civil villagers did in the evenings. They were privileged and they clearly lived the wise Saying of the Elders that the chick that stands by its mother gets the thigh of the Grasshopper. Maame Nzeh`s husbands closeness to Chief Bua had indeed earned the couple the so envied luxurious privileges of the court.

 

‘We are to surrender or prepare for War.” Maame Nzeh`s husband, popularly known as Officer Somebody, summarized to the anxious neighbors outside his house.

‘But our men are alright. Your hubands and Sons will return home by midday. Now be at peace and leave the rest to the Council of Elders.” He assured.

 The old Village Professor who lived in a one room shed on the left side beckoned him closer.

’Son, tell me, how does Ngutan really  look like?  Did you enter the Ancient Fort at Beyin, In fact, I have a fresh keg of palm Wine in my shed, why don`t we go in and chat man to man?’

The Officer declined, almost abhorred by the Old Professor`s infantile curiosity and trivial talk.

 

“Egya, my wife is waiting and it is you the Elders who say that the mouth that opens too wide surely invites a swarm of flies. Let us first thank the heavens for our lives, and for the safe return of our men. As for Ngutan and the affairs at Beyin, I prefer to say the least until the appropriate time. Goodnight.”

  Without doubt, the honorable Palace Guard of Amanfra had immeasurable skill and potential to protect his people, stand for what was right and defend the cause of justice. He executed his tasks with tact and considered his options carefully. He was brave, fearless and passionate,  but the only enemy that could conquer him was his greed. Earlier this year he bought an enviable motorbike and acquired his dream farmland by the Tano Lagoon where he began a large sugarcane plantation. By the end of the year, he hoped to start a poultry farm at Heman and then negotiate a good price with the Old navy Officer at Abatta for the land to build his own house; a huge house of full cement, not half brick half clay, but full cement, with Terrazzo pavement on the floor and quality Azar paint on the wall. In his mind`s eye, it looked even more glorious than Chief Bua`s Mansion. He had big plans. No wonder his palms were always greased, and when the proposals came his way he often could not find the strength to say No, no matter how dirty the deals were.

“So are you going to step down?” Maame Nzeh asked her husband when he paused to catch his breath in between mouthfuls.

“No, that is not an option. The leadership of Amanfra cannot just be dissolved because of one man`s wish. “The Officer echoed his fervent wishes.

“Indeed it can`t be!  Ngutan and his men at Beyin cannot come and laud it over us here in Amanfra, we are not their Slaves.” Maame Nzeh opined, throwing her proud chin in the air like the Queen she saw herself to be. She sat on a lower stool beside her husband removing the braids that she had fixed just three days ago. She planned on fixing a new one, a more stylish one, to go with the Kaba and slit she had sewn last week, just in case the usual women`s meeting at the Palace came on that Saturday. The Obaapa (meaning Good Woman, or Virtuous woman) was a kind of Saturday Evening Meeting organized by the old Queen Mothers of the Amanfra Palace to pass on the Values and Virtues of Womanhood from the older generation of women to the younger ones and to sensitize them on their roles in Society building. But the meeting had long lost it intended purpose and had gradually been stripped off its meaning as a result of constant bickering and rivalry among the women. All that was left of it was a Dress-Up competition in which the women displayed wigs that was the size of their pride and walked on heels that depicted the heights of their husbands` status.

Maame Nzeh went from untangling her braids to sorting her clothes. As soon as the sun came up, she would go to the River to wash. But all through the day, she kept thinking and imagining what her life would be if Ngutan invaded and subdued Amanfra. If the people of Amanfra suddenly had to serve and be subjected to the rule and dominion of Ngutan and the Chiefs at Beyin, what would her life turn into? Everything could change drastically. She may no longer be the wife of Officer Somebody and who knows, she may even end up as one of the Servants in Ngutan`s Palace. No, it could not be! She murmured a prayer amidst her husband`s loud snores, hoping that all of this life was not a flimsy dream.

PLEASE CONTINUE WITH THE SECOND PART.

Written By: Alice Blighton.