By: Uka, Emmanuel

A story submitted for the 2018 Commonwealth short story prize

Reference number : Nigeria/27580/SSP








Kwakwa had worked for about three hours before he got tired. He dropped his working instrument and stood to catch a breath, staring around his immediate vicinity. He sluggishly walked up a nearby tree to rest and take shade from the scotching, noon sunlight. As he walked over, his muscular body supported on his two plump legs gave him a befitting stature of a full grown man. He sat under the tree indecisive of the next action to take but he was bent on achieving the task of the day even if the sun decided to fall from the sky. It has been his normal ritual from time immemorial to always, before sunrise, make it to his farmland located at the peak of a hill, some kilometers away from his home. The hill on which Kwakwa's farmland was located was such that if one stood on it, he/she would see nothing else but thick forest and, on a closer look at the bottom of the hill, a narrow footpath leading to the great river Kaye and Kwakwa's yam barn.

As he took an incredible view of nature from such a height, he wondered if there was any other place more beautiful than what he beheld. He suddenly turned to the direction of his unfinished task and heaved a sigh, regretting why he had come late to his farm that day. He was beginning to enjoy the cool breeze and the shade from the tree but he knew he wouldn't sacrifice his livelihood for a temporary pleasure. As far as Kwakwa was concerned, his survival as a human was dependent on how hard he cultivated his numerous farmlands even in the face of unfavourable weather conditions.

He stood up and walked back to his unfinished task, wearing a more determined look. He resumed work, uprooting weeds and other plants in same category with reckless abandon. With the expertise at which Kwakwa executed his task, one would wonder if he had acquired a special education on farming procedures. He seemed vitalized and this only spelt doom for the weeds on his farmland.

He had not worked for up to forty minutes when he stood up sharply and fixed his eyes firmly at a particular direction towards the forest. Kwakwa was a great hunter and had high hunting instincts. At first, he thought it was an animal that had distracted him; hence he picked up his hunting stick and got himself ready if actually his thoughts became reality. As he continued to stare at that direction, he wondered what was keeping the animal from surfacing fully into sight as opposed to the fast movement trait animals possessed. He waited patiently on the game and wished his eyes were not playing pranks on him.

After waiting for a while, Kwakwa lost interest, dropped his stick and resumed work on his farm. He knew quite well what he saw and it was a moving image but he was skeptical if it was a man or a beast. This doubt made him take turns in looking at the forest as he worked, perhaps if the movement would reoccur.
"What kind of beast has coloured skin?" Kwakwa asked rhetorically as he stared at that particular direction once again. He later forgot about the mirage and continued with his work when a distinct sound echoed to his hearing. He stopped working and listened more attentively but still in a bent position
"Hey!" The echo resounded.
Kwakwa was very familiar with the sounds of animals and birds but there was something unique in this echo which made him stand upright immediately at the second echo to decipher what it was. With a look at the narrow footpath, Kwakwas eyes met with a very strange image approaching.
He stared at the image, horrified, as the echo came from the images direction. Kwakwa was sore afraid because the image was anthropomorphic.
"What kind of coloured beast walks like a man?" He spoke out, very frightened. Kwakwa hastily packed up his working tools ready to run away. He took another look at the image, this time it was advancing closer as the echo continued. Kwakwa was sure that whatever the image was; whether man or beast, it had no good intention for him since it was looking at his direction.
"Maybe the gods are here" He spoke softly to himself and immediately took the opposite direction to the image and ran speedily down the hill into the thick forest. With the way Kwakwa dashed into the forest, he would be in the first position if he was on a race with either a cheetah or a deer.

When he got home that afternoon, he tried as much as possible to analyse all that befell him at the farm. He later came to the conclusion that the image was nothing else but the gods.
Although Kwakwa had neither seen nor interacted with the gods before, he so much believed in their existence. He believed also that they were super-natural, all-knowing and all-powerful. To him, the mysterious image justified this fact. Kwakwa also lost appetite. He was very bewildered throughout that evening and later fell asleep on his bamboo bed inside his small-sized hut built with clay and bamboo sticks and finished externally with artworks on some parts. These artworks served aesthetical purposes and depicted the Black mans culture, tradition, beliefs and custom.
Kwakwa woke up the next day long after sunrise. His hut was sited topographically on a location that made the rising sun greet him with its rays penetration through tiny holes on his raffia roofing sheet. As he opened his small-sized wooden door, constructed by tying pieces of wood together with locally made ropes, he realized it had rained the previous night. He immediately looked back at the mud floor inside his hut, taking cognizance of the wetness as a result of water droplets from the roof. Kwakwa heaved a sigh and walked out through the door. He made his way to his kitchen located adjacent to his hut. Kwakwas kitchen was constructed with the same building materials as his hut but the only difference was that the kitchens wall was dwarf. He quickly inserted a calabash plate into a medium-sized calabash water pot and drew out water, washing his face, hands and legs altogether. He brought out his chewing stick from a corner of the kitchen, puts it into his mouth and walked to the back of his hut.

Kwakwa sat under a mighty iroko tree at the back of his hut. He held his ofo in his hands as he made prayers. The ofo was a symbol of power and authority and acts as an interface between the seen and unseen world. Since it was the staunch belief of the Black man in a much more supernatural realm, the ofo was used to make prayers. Kwakwa thanked the gods for the rain, the fertility of the land, blessings, protection and the gift of life. He believed the gods were the custodians of the unseen realm and they deserved his absolute reverence, worship, prayers and sacrifices which he never missed every morning before any other business of the day.
While he prayed, the fears of the ugly incident at the farm hunted him once again.

He quickly made up his mind to ask the gods why they took him by surprise in what he termed the visitation of the gods.
gods of the land. He started tenderly. I dont know your physical attributes but I know you exist. If you say you dont then the heavens, the earth, the trees, even the birds of the air and the entire creation betrays you. He paused and continued, I know you already knew about the image yesterday because youre all-knowing. He paused to catch his breath and continued, gods of the land, was that you? He asked as if expecting an instant answer and continued, I cant explain the image I saw but I know it wasnt a beast, it had the form of a man like me but a different complexion. As he prayed, he held the ofo tightly due to anxiety as though the answers he so much needed depended on how tight he held it. If it wasnt you, please protect me from this strange creature but if it was you, reveal yourself once again in a serene manner, bearing in mind that I am human. He finished his prayers, laid the ofo at the foot of the iroko tree, stood up and took a narrow path into the forest.

Kwakwa headed straight to his yam barn. How fortified ones barn was was tantamount to his wealth and as such, this was the belief of the Black man. His barn was built with bamboo sticks and tied together with locally made ropes. He had really furnished his barn with big-sized yam tubers, cocoyam, three leaved yam and potatoes, into different compartments. A look at Kwakwas yam barn commensurated with his strength and he believed in dignity of labour. He immediately repaired the few broken parts as a result of the downpour of the previous night.
After the repairs, he walked northwards to a nearby stream which empties itself into the kaye river. By this time, the sun has fully risen and was at its best. Kwakwa wandered the lonely path holding his hunting stick on his right hand. Although he had earlier prayed for the protection of the gods, he knew he also had a part to play as concerning his safety. This was another belief of the Black man. He continued on the narrow path, oblivious of what lies ahead but he believed the gods heard him and they will not fail to protect him since he hasnt angered them to deserve their wrath.

Kwakwa got to the stream and looked around before he removed his clothes. Kwakwas clothing was a collection of leaves, sewed locally to become a piece. It covered mostly his male organ but his best clothes were made from animal skin which he wore occasionally. This idea of looking around was a new development to him especially now he knew that he wasnt the only person around the neighbourhood. The stream was located on a valley, with tall, mighty economic trees surrounding it. He walked into the stream and began to wash himself. Kwakwa so much enjoyed the coldness of the water especially because it was a panacea to the extreme heat of the sun, that he soon forgot his predicaments. Since the stream was waist deep, he decided to immerse himself countless times in order to have a full of the action. It was when Kwakwa had had a nice time that he stood upright to look at the tall economic trees. He stared around all of them until he came to one in particular that had a branch very close to the ground. To him, something was actually wrong with that particular tree because he saw on the branch, a foreign member shooting out from it. He stared in absurdity and contemplated the reason behind the strange growth that doesnt resemble that of a tree and his curiosity grew. To worsen the matter, it was at the foot of this strange tree that he dropped his garments and hunting stick.

Kwakwa beheld the shock of his life when the strange growth on the tree moved and dropped on the ground. He was frightened to his bones as the image that had been hunting him was now staring at him eye ball to eye ball as it lay still on the tree branch. At this point, he wished he had not come to bath in the stream nor even prayed to the gods for their revelation. On the second thought, he wanted to run away, but there was nowhere to run to since he was stack naked and already inside the water. Kwakwa made up his mind to stand like a man and face whatever it was that would soon happen. Whether the gods came down or another personality, he decided he was not giving in to cowardice any more but that to die fighting was far better than to die on his knees begging. After all, something must definitely kill a man. This was another belief of the Black man.

The image crawled down from the tree and walked towards him. For every step it took forward, Kwakwa took many backwards. This scenario continued until the image was right at the bank of the stream, both facing each other.
Hi, the image greeted. Kwakwa was lost and absent-minded as he stared at the image from head to toe. He looked at his hair, his eyes, and his nose. His feet were covered with a fine hide material as Kwakwa thought. The image was very fair in complexion. Although he was putting on a kind of clothing, the visible parts of his skin attested to this fact. Kwakwa was exceedingly astonished at what he beheld. He knew at this point that it was not a beast as he had feared but a man; a man in his own likeness, a man very handsome and unique. Kwakwa stared at himself and then at the beautiful man again, timidity, inferior complex and mediocrity written all over his face.
White man, he murmured to himself as he gazed steadily at him.
Hi man, whats up? The Whiteman spoke again as he brought out a short white stick, magically ignited fire with another stick and lighted the former now on his lips, smoke immediately came out from his mouth to the amazement of Kwakwa.
Are you the gods? Kwakwa questioned fearfully.

Does your gods smoke cigarette? The Whiteman scoffed and continued. Am Patrick, I was calling out yesterday but you disappeared when I approached the cliff, Patrick stated as he puffed more smoke into the air.
Who are you if youre not the gods? Kwakwa grew more inquisitive.
I am a man like you, Patrick stated and paused. But not from this part of the world anyway, he finished.
Kwakwa seemed puzzled and couldnt hold it any longer.
Do you mean to say that there is another world other than this particular place? Kwakwa asked, more curiously. Patrick laughed heartily as he walked back to the tree from which he crawled down.
The world you see is so large that you cant fathom it, he replied, pulling out his leather bag from behind the tree. He picked up the strange growth that fell from the tree branch and put it into his fine leather bag.
You denied me help and consequently a pleasant sleep when you disappeared into thin air yesterday, Patrick stated and removed the thick clothe he was wearing to reveal another light clothe he wore inside. Thank God for this rain coat, he stated and folded the rain coat, put it into the bag and carried it to bank as Kwakwa watched.
Whats your name? Patrick asked as he stood at the bank.
Kwakwa, Kwakwa replied.
Are you gonna bathe all day? Move it lets go. Weve a lot of work to do already, Patrick commanded as Kwakwa immediately walked out of the water and changed into his garments.
How did you find me? Kwakwa inquired as he picked up his hunting stick.
When I came up that cliff and couldnt find you, I followed a track road into the forest all to no avail, Patrick paused and continued. I located this stream and knew that something must definitely bring you to it. I guess I was right huh? He smiled and continued smoking. Kwakwa helped Patrick carry his bag and led the way as they both embarked on the journey back home.
So why did you leave your world to this place? Kwakwa queried as they walked.
To say hi, Patrick replied ridiculously as Kwakwa immediately stopped and turned to him.
What is Hi? Kwakwa asked naively.
It means greeting, Patrick replied and continued, I came all the way to greet you and will soon be on my way. Does that make any sense to you? Patrick seemed diplomatic.
No, Kwakwa replied.
Thats the same way it doesnt make sense to me when you wouldnt allow me settle down properly before bombarding me with all sorts of questions. Patricks statement sent an instant message to Kwakwa who immediately doubled his steps as Patrick followed up. Throughout the remaining journey, they both remained silent. Patrick admired the nature and topography of the land while Kwakwa felt uneasy as he couldnt tell what Patricks actual mission was since he didnt give him a satisfactory answer. He quickly resigned to fate and made up his mind to accept and treat the White man well even if he doesnt deserve it.
This might be the handwork of the gods, he murmured to himself. Maybe they are testing me to know how hospitable Ill be to their messenger and to determine if I deserve their further blessings or not.
As far as Kwakwa was concerned, Patricks complexion was credited to the wisdom of the gods. To him, Patrick was nothing less than their messenger, if not the gods themselves.
He cheered himself up as they continued the long, mute walk, knowing that whatever might be the case, he has already passed the test he termed the assessment of the gods.

When they arrived at Kwakwas home, Patrick sat on a wooden stool Kwakwa had earlier carved out from the bark of a fallen tree. He brought out another cigarette, lit it and smoked.
So this is where you live? Patrick asked as he stared at the hut.
Yes, this is my house, Kwakwa replied looking at the cigarette on Patricks left hand.
Please dont be offended White man, how is it possible for you to produce fire from an ordinary stick and lit it on another stick? Kwakwa asked naively. Patrick smiled and puffed more smoke into the air.
You mean this stick I am smoking, huh? He asked with emphasis as Kwakwa nodded in agreement.
Its called a cigarette, Patrick explained and continued, its taken in cold weather so as to keep warm. Dont worry Kwakwa, there are a lot of things for you to learn because the world is fast developing and you cant afford to be the only primitive fellow. How do you produce fire? Patrick queried.
I strike two stones together to make fire or I drill a dry stick with my both hands through dry leaves until the smoke from it produces fire, Kwakwa replied.
Now things have changed. The use of stones is now obsolete and the use matchsticks now in vogue, Patrick stated and brought out a match box, struck a match stick on it and produced fire, all to Kwakwas surprise. To Kwakwa, it was magical. This act and other powerful exhibitions by Patrick as the days went by secured a place of a demi-god for him in Kwakwas heart and sealed Kwakwas belief about Patrick as either the gods or their messenger. Kwakwa believed that it was only the gods that had the abilities to do extra-ordinary things, especially those that beats human imagination and as such, Kwakwa held Patrick in high esteem.

Kwakwa helped Patrick erect his temporally building which Patrick described as a tent. During the construction of this tent, something spectacular happened to Kwakwa. Patrick drew a picture of the tent on an item he defined to Kwakwa as a book and a pen and showed it to Kwakwa. Patrick then gave him instructions on what to do, mostly the labour expected of him while he sat down and watched the progress of the work, giving out directives at intervals. At the end of the day and to the amazement of Kwakwa, a work that started as awkward as anything turned out to be the exact picture Patrick had earlier drawn on the paper.
Who is this? Kwakwa had murmured rhetorically to himself in astonishment. Everyday that passes by made Kwakwas inferiority complex to grow the more. As much as he tried to hide it, he knew he wasnt any match for the gods.
Patrick, on his own part also held Kwakwa in high esteem especially in his attitude to work. Kwakwa was so dedicated to his work that he can sacrifice any other thing until he accomplishes his task and to his satisfaction. This was the reason why, in the area of physical labour where strength was needed, Patrick was no match for Kwakwa. But when it has to do with smart work, the Black man was no match to the White man.

They both knew this dichotomy but worked collectively to achieve their objectives. As Kwakwa often puts it, the gods in their wisdom have created all men equal but with different abilities. To some, he bestowed with abundance of wisdom and to others abundance of strength.

Kwakwa has learnt to appreciate almost all of Patrick's properties, like the cigarette and matchstick among many others. In fact, he has so gotten himself incorporated into the White mans lifestyle that he knew all these items by name and often made use of the ones Patrick gave to him as gifts. Of one funny incident was when Kwakwa returned from the farm one fateful evening, Patrick had taken a stroll around the neighbourhood but left his radio-set on and it was very busy with the voices of so many people of whose languages Kwakwa was not familiar with. The voices continued for a long time while Patrick delayed. Kwakwa, being a hospitable man, prepared food, brought and kept it on the same wooden table where the radio-set was and politely asked they people talking from the radio-set to come and have dinner. He reasoned that they might have been tired and hungry from their lengthy talks but no one responded to neither him nor his food.
Patrick almost laughed out his eyes balls when he came back and was told the incident. He later explained to Kwakwa the concept behind the radio-set and Kwakwa got a better comprehension.
This duo so blended into each others world to the extent that on one particular night, it was raining cat and dogs while they were both discussing inside Patrick's tent. It got to a point where Kwakwa requested for a stick of cigarette from Patrick to keep himself warm too since Patrick had not stopped helping himself with a good number of sticks ever since the rain began.

However, Patrick received a warm reception into the Black mans world, he was an adventurer and very optimistic, always thrilled by new discoveries which led him on the resolute mission to discover the Black mans world.
Kwakwa perceived Patrick as very intelligent based on Patrick's constant exhibition of expertise and professionalism in almost everything. This made him, Patrick, literally the commander-in-chief in a Black mans world but Kwakwa seemed not to be disturbed, at least not yet, since Patrick had not exhibited any mischievous trait. But sooner or later, mischief on the part of one party would make the other cry foul and this certainty was smoothly breeding underneath.
Like its the human nature, Kwakwa became ill one morning and lay down inside his hut when Patrick came to see him.
"Whats wrong with you?" Patrick asked.
"Am sick" Kwakwa replied after much hesitation.
But you wouldn't had fallen sick in the first place, Patrick stated.
What do you mean by that? Kwakwa questioned angrily. Even beast fall sick talk more of human beings, he stated.
"You work and don't rest and I've always warned you about it," Patrick stated and continued, "Secondly, you have little or no value for your body, which is also bad and out of order. Now, you're sick," Patrick finished.
"Why wouldn't I be sick when I practically do all the work and you drink tea and coffee all day?" Kwakwa raged.
"But there is always a resting time, isn't there?" Patrick replied emotionally.
"Of what need is a break time to me when I know I'll still continue and finish the job alone?" Kwakwa queried arrogantly.
"But the body needs its own rest so that it doesn't break down," Patrick stated, sighed and continued, "Just like I envisaged, my fears has become reality." He finished as both remained silent.
"Please get well soon," Patrick wished him and left.

For the several days that followed after Kwakwa had recovered fully from his sickness, they both kept at a distance. Kwakwa developed a higgledy-piggledy attitude to work and this affected their union. The days were characterized by anger, bitterness, disagreements, and consistent misunderstanding between them. On one occasion, Patrick was having tea for breakfast when Kwakwa passed by and they greeted casually.
"So the reason why he takes tea every morning is so as not to have sufficient strength to work?", Kwakwa asked rhetorically. "I must go back and take tea too." He walked back to his hut, had tea and went back to the farm where he worked tirelessly. When he retired to his bed that night, He remembered the morning incident and smiled. He also remembered an account where Patrick told him that his food contains mainly carbohydrate which gives strength and that him, Patrick, was not comfortable eating mainly carbohydrates.
Thats the way the gods made it. Patrick had replied when Kwakwa queried about the choice of food.
"Stupidity of the gods" Kwakwa murmured as he reminisces. He could no longer understand why the gods should create one full of strength and the other deficient of strength.

However, these ugly encounters and many others did not auger well with them as regards their friendship and relationship. One day, Patrick decided to take the bull by the horn and call Kwakwa to a meeting table for the sole purpose of peace making after several other attempts had failed.
"Whats behind all these attitudes of yours?" Patrick had asked politely. Kwakwa was silent at first, later shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward.
"Patrick, can I ask you a simple question?" Kwakwa enquired, frowning as Patrick Immediately obliged and he continued, "When are you going back to wherever you came from?" Kwakwa asked as Patrick was speechless because he wanted this reconciliation so badly but Kwakwa's question meted a big blow to him which he didn't find funny at all.
"So this is all there is to it, huh?" Patrick managed to ask and continued; "all the drama you've put up so far was just about this huh? So the butterfly now thinks himself a bird?" Patrick asked as Kwakwa jumped to his feet.
"On the contrary, that proverb should be directed to you, Kwakwa spoke angrily and continued; I am a Black man and this is my land. Youve already overstayed your welcome a long time ago, Mr. White man and its high time you left. You've exploited, dominated and enslaved me enough!" Kwakwa fumed while Patrick simply scoffed.
"Its that what you call it, exploitation, domination and enslavement?" Patrick queried.

"Yes, and my days of ignorance are over," Kwakwa stated arrogantly.
"You didn't see it as a learning process? You didn't see it as an impartation of the right attitudinal paradigm which is paramount in the measurement of the full stature of manhood? You didn't see it as a juxtaposition to harness strength from weakness?" Patrick questioned as Kwakwa was adamant till the meeting ended.

On the day Patrick was leaving, he made a statement that was well credited to posterity.
"Thank you Mr. Black man, at least for teaching me hard work, I am so grateful," he finished, picked up his bag and left.

Moments has passed into seconds, seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, years into a century or two since the White man left yet the Black man has continued to live in a world of abase paradigm which has made his counterparts from other parts of the world wonder if the Black man is a Black man because he is dark-skinned or because he has black located inside his head.
The White man, with the hard work he learnt from the Black man coupled with his own smart work has built a paradise on earth! But unfortunately, the Black man learnt nothing from the White man. Who knows if there's still time to learn? Who knows if he will ever learn? Who knows if he could turn back the hands of time? Or if time could wait? What a tragedy! He has continued to struggle in order to meet up with a status quo which measures at infinity! What a double tragedy!