A short story

I grew up in a quaint little village called Lamurudu. It was a quiet little village, Lamurudu; squashed up between much bigger towns somewhere close to the coast in Yorubaland.We bothered no one and no one bothered us. Our founding father was said to be Oduduwa’s bastard child who followed his father down south after he fled Mecca and so most other Yoruba s didn’t want to have much to do with us. We didn’t mind though. We just wanted to live in peace. it was in the days when the whole Yoruba nation was taken up in war and almost no one was safe. There were wars and rumours of war. Lamurudu was quiet though. Lamurudu was fun. Lamurudu had been home to me since I was born and I knew nowhere else. I was the only child of my parents and everybody agreed that I was a little spoilt. Though spoilt in a nice way. I was good natured if a little too playful and I wasn’t rude. I just tended to speak my mind. My father was a very well respected farmer in the village. He alone produced almost half of the yams sold on market days. He and his yams were indirectly responsible for the livelihood of several families in the village and it was rumored that Obatala had personally come from the sea and given my ancestors the secret of growing humongous yams and it had been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years to my father. Obatala it was rumored had also said, our family will forever always bear one child. A male child. Of course I was that male child and one day, this secret will be mine. But I had to grow up first and be a man.



I didn’t like my Father much because he felt I was incorrigibly lazy He didn’t think I was much of a man yet and I bet he thought I was never going to grow up to be much of a man,, He wanted me to get up from my mat every morning before my mother s big scary cock started to crow, walk in the dark for hours to his farm and then work for hours on the farm! I wasn’t going to have any of that. Luckily mu mother felt the same way too.

“My son will not work like a slave. He s much too young” She would shout at my Father any time he forced me to go to the farm.

“He’s almost a man! Look at him! He’ll never own any slaves at this rate” my Father would reply grumpily.

But my Mother always had her way. My Father was much too fond of her.

So, I grew up in an easy sort of way. I had to admit compared to most of my friends I had it good. I came from relatively wealthy home and I wasn’t burdened with responsibility.



Every morning I got up, well after sunrise and had a breakfast of cool mashed corn and akara, expertly fried into balls and spiced with pepper and all-what-not. Sometimes I’d get tired of akara and would demand Ölë from my Mother’s servants. They all worshiped me, especially the female servants because they knew my mother adored me and I was the heir to the family throne. I was at that age when I had just started to notice women and some of them where looking more and more enticing every day. Some of them where of marriageable age and didn’t give a damn that I was just a kid. They had too much to gain from being my wife some day. I would never forget my first encounter with Aduke. My sweet Aduke of the dancing eyes.



I t was a few moons ago, and I was down with Iba. My Father felt my Mother was overreacting and that I would get well soon but she insisted on getting the best Oluawo from Ososa to divine for me and heal me. She also insisted much to my pleasure on Aduke-of-the-dancing-eyes attending to my every need. The Oluawo came and went but left an ominous message.



“You are not a boy, my child. You are a man’’. His eyes flickering over to me forebodingly as he rattled his horn. I could see his brows crease wonderingly in the dull lights in my Mothers hut as I lay shivering on the mat.



“Your seed will go to places nobody in your village has ever been and ever will”. Your seed shall not be like you, neither shall he be like the others. He shall be like no other before him, yet exactly like many after him”. He will leave a difficult and miserable life. But he will pass on the knowledge to his seed what Obatala refused to pass on to you’’. His mother shall grow to be a queen some day. And rule over many… including you. You my son, shall however, grow up to be the greatest man from his village and you will do many terrible deeds.”



“So, he shall not die?” my Mother asked trembling from the low doorway. “Thank you my Father”.



Aduke of the dancing eyes did not say anything but I saw the fear that entered those dancing eyes as soon as the Awo came leave and concentrate their rhythm on me in a calculating way that stirred something I didn’t fully understand in my loins. That night, after my Mother had set the Awo back to Ososa no doubt with plenty of cowries in his pocket, and everyone else and gone to sleep, Aduke put out the lights and asked me in a whisper if I had gone to sleep.



“Obayemi? Sö ti sun bi?”



I pretended like I was asleep because I noticed she had been behaving strangely ever since she heard the prophecy and produced what I considered a very convincing snore.

Aduke-of-the-dancing-eyes obviously was not convinced because she promptly got into my mat with me after removing all of her clothes. She normally slept on the floor beside me. I was too shocked to react. She must have been possessed by something! A slave had absolutely no right to get so intimate with her master without being invited first. If I had forced her into intimacy, the laws demanded I either take her as a wife (and the law would give her her full rights and make sure I never maltreated her) or give her adequate compensation if she didn’t want to marry me. But a woman slave forcing her master into intimacy was another thing. She could go to jail for a very long time. Or become a slave forever without a chance of redemption. Or bearing in mind that the gods had proclaimed I would have only one child, she would be killed if she got pregnant. Of course, only after delivering the baby.



She pressed her warm naked body against me.



Before I could say “Aduke? E ha ti ri?” She had slipped my now erect manhood into her moist void. Of course I couldn’t pretend like I was asleep anymore and she didn’t seem to care. It didn’t take long, a few seconds I guess and I had my first experience of what it felt like to be a man.

Aduke-of-the-dancing-eyes chuckled to herself as she dismounted and said something about somebody who had a long way to go to be a man.

“I shall tell everyone you raped me” she whispered fiercely. It will be your word against mine. Everybody knows how much you flirt with the young girls.

It was true. I had developed quite a reputation with the girls. I eyed them with too obvious interest. Strangely I was not bothered; I was just filled with strange warmth, the warmth of manhood. Aduke-of-the dancing-eyes did not get pregnant but the story spread round my Mother’s compound. I was ripe for the taking!


To be Continued

@simmy,The story is a masterpiece,well written and the power of expression is captivating.How far have you gone on it?

nice write up, captivating!!!!