Nyumbani Tales by Charles Saunders

Author:Charles Saunders [Saunders, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

When Okosene Alakun returned from the guje, however, his buoyant spirits took a sudden plummet. People were clustered outside his hovel … more people than had been there since his last major argument with Ajema – or the Ajema-that-was. This crowd, however, was not the usual collection of over-curious neighbors. Okosene’s compeers did not wear the iron-studded harness of soldiers, or the crimson cloaks that marked the office of the zagi – the retainers of Shahu Nwankwo, who was the obufin, or chieftain, of Nyamem.

In the overall hierarchy of Zamfaru, the stature of the obufin of a small town like Nyamem was, at best, insignificant. Nonetheless, Nwankwo was the most powerful man in Nyamem. Thus, Okosene’s knees trembled as he approached his dwelling.

From inside, he could hear low murmurings, punctuated by an occasional burst of feminine laughter. There were smiles of amusement on the faces of the people outside as well.

It was only when he began working his way past the zagi and soldiers that Okosene noticed that one of the red-cloaked retainers carried a chicken in his arms. Given the highly agitated state of Okosene’s mind at that moment, perhaps his overlooking of the import of that chicken was forgivable.

The flash of a spear-point beneath his nose prevented Okosene from thrusting the entrance-screen aside.

“Not so fast, Alakun,” a soldier barked. “Shahu Nwankwo is still … uh … talking with your wife.”

“Talking?” Okosene repeated numbly. “What do you mean?”

At that tense moment, the obufin burst from the shabby dwelling and almost tripped over the soldier who had threatened Okosene. Nwankwo was a middle-aged man of more than medium height, with a burly build that had only recently began to surrender to the ravages of rich living.

Normally, Nwankwo’s mien was dour and imposing. But now, his cylindrical headgear sat slightly askew. The yellow-and-white patterned aba that swathed his body was disarranged. And his round, dark face was nearly bisected by a wide, white grin. At the sight of Okosene, the chieftain’s grin widened even further, and he gestured for the soldier to lower his spear.

“So, Alakun, you’re a sly one after all!” Nwankwo cried heartily. “Kwaku Anansi himself couldn’t have pulled off a neater trick. When my spies told me about it, I didn’t believe it possible, so I had to come and see for myself.

“Putting aside Big Ajema and taking up with a pretty young one, indeed! Although why you would choose to name this one ‘Ajema’ as well is beyond me. But that doesn’t matter. I’m taking her off your hands.”

“You … can’t,” Okosene managed to gasp.

Nwankwo’s smile faded.

“You know the law, Alakun,” the obufin snapped. “A chieftain can claim the wives of any citizen, as long as the price that was paid for the man’s first wife is matched. You paid one chicken for the old Ajema – not that she was worth even that much. Here’s the chicken. Your new Ajema is now mine.”

Okosene opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“Consent,” Okosene finally choked out.

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