We were roasting little yams inside the burning fire my mother had set up in the farm. I and Sorochi, my younger brother. Mother has been working in the sun tirelessly. She stood from her digging spot and smiled at the way we giggled and raised local fireworks. She was not angry with us even though we did not even dig up to ten cassava round-beds before getting tired. It was planting season. Schools closed in April and mother journeyed to Port Harcourt to pick Sorochi and me. I sensed that it was not our help that she needed. She valued our company. “You children have been with your teachers and city neighbours, let us go to the village so that you can stay with me, visit my sisters and know your cousins… fish ponds are there in the village too.” She said when she came to pick us. My younger brother became very excited when he heard fish ponds. Same as me. He was seven years-old at that time and I was eleven but we didn’t often visit our village unlike our older ones.

The ponds were where we fetched drinking water during farm work. They were of different sizes and had different colours of water in them. We took our bath with other children when the sun was very hot in some of the large ponds. The ones we drank from, mother said was very healthy no matter the colour of the water. “Most of the leaves that fall into the ponds from surrounding trees are medicines.” She explained. Later, I joined her to cut long dried woods into twos and pack them tightly on the bicycle carriage before we started going home. We were happily tired and dark of charcoal.

My father came back home while we were taking our bath. He was coming from the Chiefs meeting with the King of my place. He walked very fast with a red cap on his head and a walking-stick going up and down many times. As we prepared egusi soup for dinner, he told my mother to hurry so that they can eat and rest before going to the wake-keep of one dead woman. The foo-foo was ready from yesterday, mother just had to warm it in a hot water and squeeze it till it becomes very soft before serving. I was not always able to learn the making of foo-foo since I might be sleeping after farm work. But my mother never gets tired. Farming and cooking of three-square meal a day was the villagers’ way of life. No fridge to store anything. Every food was cooked and eaten there and then or within two nights. While I was giving her things she needed in the kitchen from the room, I asked her about the wake-keep.

‘Mummy so you and Daddy will not sleep till tomorrow morning, how will you cope? You are tired.’

‘It is not a problem. I will be awake because of the noise.’ She answered.

‘What noise? Crying kind of noise?’

‘Yes. A lot of crying, our native songs will be raised by women but the youths and children can set up disco music somewhere for fun. There are even more wake-keep coming up before the Oha chief priests close the year.’

‘What is Oha and how can they close the year. How?’ I asked seriously.

‘They are few selected old chief priests that guide the customs of our village and lead the way during the worship of the gods. Once they close the year in August, no one will hold burial, wedding or any other kind of ceremony till they open it in October.’

‘Hmmm. That is serious Mummy.’ I commented before going to serve my father’s food in two stainless plates on a stainless tray.

Later, as we ate, I heard, “So you two have not learnt how to swallow foo-foo?” My father bemoaned from the verandah where he was eating. Sorochi was with him. Immediately, he called on me. ‘Oluchi! Oluchi come here1’ I rushed to him. We had already eaten the yam my mother boiled for us earlier. We were used to rice and bread and everything chewable in town. We didn’t know how to enjoy soup and garri or foo-foo, matte-of-factly. My father moulded a ball of foo-foo and dipped it into the thick egusi soup.

“Thank God you came for this holiday; you must learn how to swallow before you go back to your brothers and sisters. They have raised you in that city so wrongly. Open your mouth Sorochi!” He ordered. Sorochi did but could not swallow so he vomited it. I chuckled. Then Daddy said, “You are my son, swallow I will give you big meat.” He dipped another foo-foo ball into the soup and landed it in his mouth. Sorochi swallowed with a struggle. He swallowed up to five balls before Daddy gave him a good lump of meat and sent him to Mummy to eat more.

It was my turn. I feared how to....
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