Yefon: The Red Necklace (10 page)

“You are a woman now,” she said, holding her ear to warn me. She said I ought to be careful for if a man touched me, I would become pregnant.

I was provided with a bamboo chair with a slightly deeper seating area. Before pads were common, this was how we dealt with our monthlies. Whenever, you saw a woman sitting on the chair, it was that time of the month.

You had to clean it immediately or else witches would use the blood for powerful spells, and you didn’t want to be the girl who was barren for reasons beyond the human eye.

Before I became fertile, I had seen my older sisters, aunts, and mother sitting on the chair, but when I tried to ask why, Ma, as usual, told me to stop talking.

Since I was on my period, I was excluded from most of the hard labor. I spent my time on the chair, sewing and cracking groundnuts or
ngie
. Yenla didn’t say anything beyond an acknowledging smile. Sometimes, Kadoh would come and sit with me. One time, she brought me an avocado. I tasted it and the buttery fruit was lovely.

“Hum, where did you get
pi’a
^†
from?” I asked her.

She looked at me and squinted. “
Wanle ngon
, this is the big Kadoh. Don’t ask questions, only enjoy.”

And so I did. It was very filling and since then I have always craved avocado during my period.

“So you are now a woman, eh?” Kadoh began, chewing carelessly, so I could see the greenish fruit mashed up in her mouth as she spoke. Now that we were a little older, Kadoh’s fashion sense had grown from adventurous to jaw-droppingly unique. She often wore a round wreath of colorful flowers around her head and painted her face with chalk from the quarry or used clay to make a mask. Her ears would be adorned with small sized eggplants for earrings. It was all beyond me. I had never seen this look anywhere.

I blushed, looking down at my arms, which were overly tanned. “That’s what Ma called me,” I responded, with a wide chortle. “A woman.”

“Boys will start asking you for the thing. What will you say to them?” Her deep chocolate eyes melted my heart as usual.

“What thing?” I asked immediately, feeling as insecure as a woman with a cheating husband.

Kadoh underhandedly pointed at my vagina.

“Eh, what do they want with it?” I asked. Of course I knew that men inserted themselves between women’s thighs, but feigning innocence seemed more appropriate.

Kadoh clapped her hands three times and laughed hopelessly, her head falling behind so that one could see the beautiful arrangement of flowers on her thick hair. “They will want to do it,” she said simply.

“Do what?” I asked, puzzled.

“It,” she replied, cocking her head to the side playfully.

“What is it?”

“It is
na
,” she replied, pointing at my vagina again, with her mouth this time.

“I heard that babies came from there,” I said dryly, feeling unnecessarily shy about the whole topic.

“It is funny, you know,” Kadoh said pensively. “Ask me why.” Kadoh was the only one I knew who said something to you and ended with, “ask me why”.

“Why?” I ultimately asked, and Kadoh’s pulsating eyes lit up. I have never seen an African woman who liked to talk about boys or sexuality like her, and especially in those days, it was peculiar. She was really unique.

“Because the first time it is like thunder and lightning sent in bolts to your private parts.”

Naturally I flinched and my hands jumped to cover my privates. Fire? Thunder? Lightning? I didn’t want to feel that! It sounded horrible. Why would anyone want that?

“But then, it gets better,” Kadoh explained dreamily. “It becomes as sweet as sugarcane, and it is all you think about.”

I had so many questions to ask. How exactly did it enter, and how exactly did a man know that his private part was supposed to get in there? It all seemed mystifying. My questions were never resolved because Sola strolled in casually, and we looked over to see what she wanted. Sola and I had our differences but the animosity between herself and Kadoh was like the whites and blacks in the Southern U.S. Her face glowed from the several oil treatments her mother had prepared for her, and these days, she had two new small beauty piercings on her cheeks.

“Your mother is looking for you,” Sola said without looking at us.

“Which of us?” Kadoh asked as if she was about to fight. “Don’t we have names?” she hissed wryly, and I looked away at a bush bird humming a familiar tune on its dried nest next to a window.

Sola inspected Kadoh thoroughly, her snobbish eyes looking her up and down as if she were a pig. “The fat one.”

She shouldn’t have said that, I reasoned secretly. I cast my eyes down, shaking my head as Kadoh sprouted up. She reminded me of one of those buff palace guards who always seemed ready to fight and die for the tribe.

“Who exactly are you referring to?” Kadoh questioned, breathing hard, her eyes crinkling at the corners sending a harsh flicker into her eyes.

I could tell that a fight was about to break out.

“If the cap fits, wear it,” Sola answered, shifting her thin waist to the right.

Kadoh immediately went for the kill. She pounced on Sola with the speed of a cheetah and grabbed her by the neck, choking her, and a brief look of fear replaced the poised one that had been on Sola’s face a moment before. Sola struggled helplessly under Kadoh’s weight. I was petrified because Kadoh had once confided in me that her cheerfulness was a mask for the angry tiger totem
living inside of her. I couldn’t stand up from my chair to separate them, so I shouted from my chair

“Please stop!” I begged, my voice choking me as I watched Kadoh staring at Sola. Kadoh’s hands were still on Sola’s neck and her eyes were slanted as if she were a cat. It was very frightening.

“Child of thunder,” I pleaded, “heart of the gods. Please forgive her ignorance. She is not worth it.”

Kadoh looked at her for a long time, her totem flickering inside her eyes then she abruptly said, “If you are tired of life and looking for a way to end your life, it will not be by me.”

Then she let her go. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Sola sighed with a pretentious arrogance and walked away. There were tears in her eyes, and I knew she was as petrified as I felt.

I secretly wished that Kadoh had beaten her, but I knew the right thing was to try to stop it. That’s what Pa would have done if he were here. The whole thing died down eventually, but I was still traumatized about boys and sex for a very long time.

When I was alone in the pit toilet, I sometimes tried to feel myself down there, to see where the boys put their
kikum
, but I couldn’t find a place. Everywhere was closed; I was deeply troubled by that and didn’t know if it was normal or not, but I was too ashamed to ask.

Two weeks later, Pa was expected to return from Yola with my older brothers, Ndze, Fonlon, Nsame, and Vedzekov. I could barely contain my excitement as a special
bvey
was killed and roasted in preparation for Pa’s homecoming. The crackling sparks of burning firewood could be heard as the pungent smell of the gamey flavored
bvey
meat filled the air. Pieces of ribs and loins of the meat sizzled on the thin sheet of black grill, which we used in those days. A noisy chatter accompanied the busy preparations made up of the sounds of sweeping, scrubbing, cooking, and conversation.

Most of the wives worked in tandem, except for Kpulajey, who was denied access to any one’s food except hers. The wives communally spiced the meat in the yard, with Ma orchestrating the cutting and washing of the flesh as first wife. Wives usually did chores in that order. Ma’s first wife anklet shone brightly in the sun as she cooked, barking commands across the compound like an army commander.

“Put water on the fire for
fufu
,” she shouted in Yenla’s direction. Yenla fixed the fire and went on one knee to start blowing. Smoke filled the air, inciting a dry cough or two from Yenla.

Ya Sero was in charge of burning off the
bvey
’s hair, a suffocating process that smelled like burnt rubber; a very harsh smell if you ask me. Some of us had the job of sweeping the veranda and cleaning Pa’s hut. I did this happily in the hope of finding groundnuts and other snacks which one could only find in hidden corners of Pa’s residence. It almost seemed that he hid those treasures for hard-working children who weren’t too lazy to lift certain objects or sweep certain corners. At any time, a bag of salted groundnuts could lay waiting in his room.

With boiling blood in my veins and all the preparations completed, I sat by the window of my mother’s domed shaped
taav
, propping myself up on one elbow as I stared into the dark expectantly, pondering on what gift Pa would get me for my birthday this year. What could possibly outshine all the clothes, slippers, and fabrics that he had previously purchased?

People said it was not a good idea to stare into the dark alone because the spirits of the night could take away your sight, but I was sure those spirits would spare my vision this once. A person was at least allowed to miss their father. Even they would understand that.

The night was a good time to admire our compound. All the loitering
ngwv
∂
v
s,
ngong
dogs, and
bvey
s were inside the kitchen. All you could hear was the pregnant silence of the night, the chaotic choir of crickets, and an occasional hoot of a night owl. It just seemed so peaceful that for a moment, I forgot the true reason why I was awake. My eyes skimmed past Fai Takeh’s hut at the main entrance of our compound to several farmlands and distant raffia plantations entrusted to our family generations ago.

Fai Takeh was our lineage head. He protected us and ensured that all the women in our compound married well. He also enjoyed the greater portion of the bride price given to our families. He was a very serious man, even though he was completely hilarious when he chose to be.

I remember him settling small disputes in our compound, especially concerning Kpulajey and x, or Kpulajey and y, with
Kpulajey being the intersection in most fights. The Fai had very wide eyes and a bird-like neck that sat on frail shoulders. He reminded me of an ostrich, down to the dangling flabby skin on his neck, and whenever he spoke, his neck seemed to dance along with him. Over the years, he developed a big swelling in his neck. People said that the gods had blessed him with a pouch to help his skinny neck support his head. I later found out that it was actually a goiter caused by an excess intake of salts.

In the Nso culture, if a compound prospered for at least two generations since its foundation, the title of sub-lineage head, or Shey, could be bestowed upon one of the sons of the compound, with the consent of the Fai of the parent lineage. The new Shey had the right to inherit the property, or
vitso
, of its members, or
visheer
. The Shey arranged marriages for his women and took an annual token of firewood to the Fai as a sign of subservience. After four generations, a Fai title could then be granted. I hope this little history lesson was helpful in understanding a little better how I lived.

It had just stopped raining that morning and the chalky aroma of the earth hit my nostrils, an anemic smell that reminded me of Calabar stone, which my maternal grandmother, Ya Ayeni, was fond of eating. I spotted a shiny set of eyes in the dark and I held my breath queasily.

“Oh no!” I murmured to myself, “the spirits of the night are out to get me!”

Should I scream for help to the rest of the
visheer
? No! That would be too embarrassing! I decided to exercise some faith.
A wanle ngon
like me couldn’t be afraid of the dark. Positioning myself in a fighting stance, legs spread wide open, and arms in combat position, I waited for them, looking left and right, a determined frown on my face. Let them come and let us fight today, I thought as I spat into my palms and rubbed them together. May the strongest man win this battle! Squinting my eyes, hoping to identify a restless spirit or two, I perceived three more sets of eyes.

Petrified, I swung my body off the ledge and hid in the corner, peeking anxiously out into the darkness. An ugly
bvey
meeh’d and strolled aimlessly towards the compound. Exhaling a relief similar to that of a woman expecting an engagement ring, I returned my gaze to the window only to see male shadows
approaching with several
bveys
.
Wahiawa
!!! They were back! Yay!

“Pa!” I squawked at the top of my lungs, frightening Yenla who grumbled sleepily, “Whaa-aa-aaa?” Poor stutterer I thought, sticking my tongue out at her.

“Pa is here! Pa is here!” I leaped from my bamboo bed, almost knocking the rusted bush lamp on the stool besides me over, and started for the thatched door, which wasn’t really much privacy. Pa’s deep baritone came to me from the other room.

“Kisham ke kingha!”
he called out cheerfully.

I shoved the barrier away, incurring a splinter on my left thumb, but not caring. With all the energy humanly possible at dawn, I leaped on Pa’s neck, totally engulfed by his pine scent.

“Papa ele! Yaya too!”
I sang happily, hugging him very tight.

He responded with a playful “Yaaaaah!” as he had always done for as far back as I can remember. That was my absolutely favorite thing to do. He nuzzled my
motobo
hair and tickled me frantically. I laughed so hard that I almost threw up the fried spicy grasshoppers I had eaten the night before.

“My sunshine, close your eyes,” he said to me affectionately. Almost bursting with joy, I closed my eyes. I was about to pop one eye open to see what he was trying to surprise me with when his soothing voice came again. “Red is the most powerful color in this world,” he said softly. “Do you know why?”

I nodded impatiently, still fighting with myself, trying to decide whether to open my eyes and spy or not.

“It symbolizes strength and power. He who wears red, is fearless.” His delivery was nothing short of eloquent, and I nodded eagerly. Just before I was about to spy on the gift, Pa asked me to open my eyes.