Yefon: The Red Necklace (9 page)

Even though I tied a wrapper around my chest when I was seated there, some of my keloid cicatrices were visible, and they always seemed to puzzle her. That was one of the reasons why I preferred wearing white man’s clothes. People could never stop staring at my breasts. It made me feel strange, and self-conscious, especially when it was cold and my nipples were hardening for all to see.

In the mornings, when we were on the way to the farm, we could hear the Christians recite the Rosary as if an invisible angel was holding a shotgun at their napes. “Hail Maria, you dey for gracia…” they chanted miserably as they dragged their feet to church. Later, I realized most of them had no idea what they were saying. It was obvious from the wrong words that were being used, and I always wondered what the point of prayer was if you were saying the words wrong in the first place.

The bakery car from Bamenda would drive past in the same direction right after, filling the air with the warm smell of freshly baked bread. I used to stand there staring at it and wonder what it would feel like to sit inside a car. Only missionaries and doctors drove cars, usually old Volkswagens. The cars would spray dust up our throats when they sped off to Bamenda or some other distant village for ministry. Some local children would run after the cars, singing playful songs.

One of the little boys even made his own toy car out of bamboo, and it was the talk of the town for a week or so after the incident.

During one of Uncle Lavran’s visits, he convinced Pa to go in on a joint venture that would change the money game for them.

“We would be filthy rich, and can completely separate ourselves from the Caucasians,” he explained.

And Pa bought it, so they purchased a lorry, which was used to transport people from Nso to Bamenda at two pence per passenger. It was the new talk of the town and made the memory of the little boy and his bamboo car fade into thin air! A black man who owned a lorry! Our compound was always full during that period.

I can still vividly recall the first day when the car was brought to our compound. We were officially the coolest children around. We danced proudly by our father and his brother as they were presented for all to see.

“If a child washes his hands, he can eat with kings,” Fai began, as he addressed the kinsmen that had come to celebrate with us through song and dance. This was a groundbreaking achievement as the brothers were the first people besides the priests to own a vehicle in the whole of Shisong.

Excited women pointed at them from groups of twos or threes, and I could see Ma eyeing them suspiciously. Every woman wanted to be married to either Pa or Uncle Lavran, and so the women had all braided their hair and put on perfume. Kadoh and I pointed at them while making fun of what was on their mind.

“We all know that the sun will shine on those who stand, before it shines on those who kneel under them,” Fai said, breaking for a pause as the family members nodded dutifully. “And today, the Labam brothers have shown us that they are standing under the sun!”

A round of applause echoed from every part of the compound then Fai raised his horn of palm wine to the gods and then poured some libations in front of him for the ancestors before he drank from its contents. Then, he poured the rest on the car, and we all screamed
“wilililili!”

“You have brought pride to this family,” Fai said, as he
tapped Pa on the shoulders with his walking stick.

I remember studying the faces of the adults—some looked happy and some looked like they would rather be elsewhere.

Well-wishers came from neighboring villages to see the big lorry they had heard about, and we had fun with it. Pa’s lorry really brought us all together. All my siblings, including Ndze, Sola, and yes, even Yenla, would jump in the back of the lorry against Ma’s orders and scream at the top of our lungs as Uncle Lavran drove around the dusty paths of the village. It was the one time where no one was ugly, beautiful, old, or young. We were all just siblings singing boasting songs at the back of the truck.

“
Wiro a dze fo lah lai lai’n a
,

wiro a dze for lah ker kah
,

wo wor a dze for lav, a lailain a
,

boh wa youn ji ma’ wi a”
.

This pride song boasted to the onlookers that they had nothing, and the children of our family had it all.

We were simply the best! Pa would watch proudly as we rode up and down shouting “
Ba ley ver
!” each time we saw him, and he would laugh and wave at us.

Other children looked at us and waved happily. “
Muttu! Muttu
!” they screamed as we passed, and we stood up and waved back. Standing on top of that lorry, looking into the sun, I felt on top of the world. Even Yenla would giggle when we were on the lorry. Sometimes she held my hand. Sola seemed to prefer these rides to her beauty treatments, and one day she smiled at me. Something inside of me melted at the sincerity of it.

Regrettably, our joy was short-lived because Uncle Lavran was involved in a deadly accident driving the truck on Sabga hill only four weeks after the car had arrived at our compound. Pa was gravely affected by the loss and so was I.

Pa was silent for a long time and he aged quickly during that period. I would often make him some tea and bring it to his hut, and once, I saw him cry. I stayed with him and cried too. I had never seen a man cry before, and my heart was broken. Our tears filled the silence and we bonded in the agonizing silence.

Uncle Lavran’s widow moved from Mbiame to our compound after the funeral and Pa took care of her as if she was his wife. She later got pregnant by him but lost the child. I overhead Ya Buri and Ma rejoice over the poor widow’s
misfortune.

“What did she want to show us? Sleeping with our husband,” Ya Buri asked coldly.

I looked at these people. It was no wonder that Pa liked her. She was fun and simple. She wasn’t always screaming at the top of her voice or beating down somebody. She was soon married off to an Aladji in the Tobin area. During the wedding ceremony, I snuck out to find some children playing with an old
hikotoh
by a small cliff. Ma forbade us from owning or making the Flintstone-like, plank transportation toys, and since the festivities distracted everyone, I thought it was a good chance to see what the fuss was all about. I asked the boy who owned it, Anste, if I could try it. He looked at me dubiously, especially when his friend asked if he was sure he wanted a girl to play with his car. Anste eyed me thinking about the question.

“Please, only five minutes,” I pleaded, the child in me coming alive. I climbed on it and they pushed me down the hill. I struggled to maintain control as my heart beat quickly. It wasn’t until I heard my name being called in Ma’s sharp voice that I lost control, and crashed down the hill. The boys ran away while I got to my feet, my scrapped knee bleeding. Ma appeared on the scene with a long whip before I could grasp what happened. She pulled me away from the spectacle by the ears. I whimpered as she dragged me to the corner of her hut.

“Show me your hand!” she said.

I did, hesitantly, already anticipating the punishment I was about to receive.
Shwi
!!! The first cane strike landed on my palm. I began dancing, jumping with my hand behind my back. She pulled out the other hand.
Shwiii!!

“
Aye
!” I screamed, limping with both hands in between my legs. I felt a hot flash of heat all over, my ears ringing, and my hands vibrating like they had been electrocuted. It felt like my blood was frying, and then it was over.

“Who has cursed you?” She repeated as she lashed me. “Do you want to kill me? I will kill you first!” she yelled as I flinched from the hot whip.

“Let me catch you with those boys again and you will see what I am made of!” Ma said, walking away with an angry sigh.

Mschew!
African women are good at many things, and one of them is a long cynical sigh that they have mastered for
generations. It was a slurred smacking hiss sound that came from sucking your two front teeth. It was more of an air whistle and could go on for a whole minute. The gesture would usually be accompanied with being picked.

Through teary eyes, I spotted Sola sticking out her tongue at me, and I instantly knew she was behind all of this. What was her problem with me? Maybe we had been in opposite camps during a war in a past life. I pulled my lower eyelids with my thumbs, a sign which means, “I will show you.” I sat at the back of the house crying and wading myself in the dirt until Pa found me. Apparently I was so loud that guests at the wedding were wondering what that sound was.

“You are an
Ogbanje
!
Witch pikin!
Nine lives!” Ma screamed, when none of her other tactics were working. I cried so much my eyes were tired.

This whole show was so my mother would get in trouble. I believed my father would discipline her for hurting me. Feet dangling, I sat on the giant rock behind Ma’s
taav
, wailing loudly. I hated that my mother insulted me with a title so malevolent.
Ogbanje
children are evil children that die when they are born and come back again many times, plaguing their mothers with trouble in their lifetime.

“Cry louder,” she mocked, as she tied fufu with Yenla in the kitchen. Kadoh was carrying the finished trays to the front of the house, and she looked at me sadly. “I can’t hear you,
wanle
. Scream at the top of your voice! Idiot!” Ma screamed.

When I didn’t stop, she approached me with a hot
fufu
stick.

“I will help you shut up!” Ma screamed.

My enraged chest heaved heavily, and I puffed like a swollen pig. As soon as she raised the stick to hit me, my survival instinct kicked me. Not today, I promised myself, so I seized the stick from her and hit her hard on the back. The hot
fufu
burnt Ma’s tender skin and she screamed so loud that everyone at the party came to see what all this noise was about.

I looked the guiltiest as I was literally holding the stick when everyone arrived. The guests looked like they would if they saw a mermaid walking about in Squares.

At the sound of Pa’s voice, I immediately dropped the stick. His face was firm and even though I tried to explain, no
words came out.

Ma didn’t speak to me for a long time, and I was taken to several medicine doctors to determine what was wrong with me. Every single one of them said something different. The versions varied from I was a witch, to I was cursed, to I was a tortured soul sent to torment my family. Pa didn’t speak to me about the event either. I could tell from his eyes that he was very disappointed in me, and he only told me one thing before he left to Yola for his usual travels.

“A man who pays respect to the great, paves the way for his own greatness”.

I hated it when Pa lowered his voice and spoke to me as if I were an adult. It was the only real treatment that was effective. It touched me in places where a million beatings and angry yelling never could, and he knew it.

Looking at me devotedly, he said, “Respect yourself,
wanle
, and others will respect you.”

I bowed my head, feeling ashamed of my brashness. That was the last time I ever hit my mother back. No matter how wrong or right I was, I never fought back when she beat me. I would imagine myself in another land, far away. That was how my imagination grew and took me to places I never knew existed.

-5-

VIFA VEE KILO
η
G VE BAARVI

My sixteenth birthday fell on
R
ǝǝ
vey
^*
, in April, 1956, when the millet-planting season was about to start. The days before had been spent preparing our tools, baskets, and the
re’
that would be eaten on the farm during lunch hour. Ma had even traded some of her old clay pots from Akum for a new hoe as the other one was rusted beyond repair. I was delighted because I hated the ashen taste of water from those pots of hers.

When the first rains came, we knew the gods had granted the planting season to us, and many villagers killed a ram to celebrate with their kinsmen and comrades. It was a pleasant day composed of singing, drunken people, and full pit toilets from all the unnecessary gluttony that happens when every neighbor cooks an entire ram.

My first blood came two days after the start of planting season. I clearly remember it because a suitor had just left the house a day ago, in an attempt to marry the most beautiful woman in Shisong—that would be Sola.

When my regles came, I was so embarrassed by the beet colored stain on my calico skirt that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Nobody had ever really educated me about this, and I feared that the gods were raining their vengeance on me for stealing groundnuts from Pa’s
taav
when everyone had been at the farm last week.

“Please,” I prayed to them on my knees an hour after a quick wash on the veranda behind the house, “I am sorry. I will not steal again.”

The blood did not stop gushing out the next day, so in an innocent state of panic, I confided in Kadoh who seemed to be the only one who wouldn’t judge me for my hideous sin.

“There is blood coming out from my…” I pointed nervously to my vagina, focusing my attention everywhere else but her plump face, which seemed amused by my predicament.

“Your what?” Kadoh asked, half confused. She was preparing her buckets to fetch water at the newly built water point
in the valley where she made extra cash by selling potable water to Hausa women.

“My
kikum
,
^*
” I answered, embarrassed beyond belief. I would have turned pink if I was any lighter.

Kadoh eyed me with a strange expression as if she was either going to burst out laughing or cry.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I pleaded, almost on the verge of tears.

Kadoh burst out laughing, confusing me even more. Then she went on to explain to me what had happened and took me to Ma. Even though she assured me I was not going to get in trouble, I was still afraid, but Ma wasn’t angry at all. She only counseled me gravely.