Akin kicked up some mud as he walked down the narrow footpath leading to the village stream, his left hand clutching his hunting gun. The leopard skin bag he had made from a leopard he killed five moons ago dangled from his left shoulder. It had been the defining moment of his manhood and bravery, he recalled. The village and the hunters’ cult had gathered and thrown a ceremony for him, crowning him the king of hunters. He smiled as he relived the moment.
His right hand clutched a huge antelope tied by the limbs to a bamboo stick. He had gone down to the stream to wash after his game that morning. And had received a message from his best friend while at the stream that his bride-to-be, Bisoye had returned from her trip to her grandparents’ house in the next village and was waiting for him at their favorite spot.
He hurried through the damp path, hedged in on both sides by cassava stalks, wild grasses, and huge trees. The rains had come early this year and all the village paths were filled with black earth, the streams were overflowing and it was even reported that two strangers had drowned in the Ifa river the night before. Tiny sun rays filtered in through the tree branches which overshadowed the pathway providing shade.
Suddenly, Akin recalled his mother's words that morning, “Akinwande, remember what the Babalawo said, ‘you must come with Bisoye to the shrine as soon as she returns ‘“. He wondered what the diviner wanted to tell them.
“Well done, king of the hunters,” some young maidens greeted as they passed him.
He nodded hurriedly, “thank you,” he responded. He was too much in a hurry to meet his beloved, exchanging pleasantries seemed like a delay to him.
Instead of going through the market road which led to the big Egba market, he took the road that led to the village square. As he approached the open clearing that served as the village square, a black owl suddenly flew and perched on the large oak tree that stood in the middle of the square, and began to hoot. Akinwande paused in his tracks. A black owl hooting at midday was a bad omen. It meant evil.
Then he turned and continued, wondering as he walked if this had any connection with their visit to the diviner later. Soon, he could see the quaver tree that stood in front of Bisoye's house.
“Akin,” she called as he approached. She was standing beside the tree, her red adire shining with the sun, just like her smile. Akin broke out in a sprint. “Onitemi!” He called. As he neared her, he dropped his gun, bag, and antelope without thinking and picked her up in one swoop, swirling around as they giggled like children.
Then he dropped her and stared into her face, her large round eyes were the shape of her face. He smiled. He could smell the sweet fragrance he had bought from the village perfumer some weeks ago
“My love, the light that shines in my life,” he said beaming with a smile.
Bisoye laughed, “Oh Akin, you and your sweet words”.
“I came as soon as Alabi told me you were waiting for me.”
She smiled, her open teeth in full glare. “I missed you, my husband.”
“I missed you too my love, how have you been? And how are my grandparents-to-be?”
“I've been fine, mama said she wanted me to grow fat and thick before our wedding, she overfed me,” Bisoye giggled.
Ah! Mama! It's been a long time since I saw her. Yes! Yes! Before I forget_,” he hurried to where he had dropped the antelope and picked it, “I brought this for you my love.”
“Aaaah! My husband, thank you!” Bisoye exclaimed, throwing her hands over his shoulder. “Let me quickly give it to Iya to prepare Ewedu soup for tonight.” She said as she collected the meat, and quickly ran off to give it to her mother. Akin just stood there watching her and beaming with pride, an invaluable smile on his face. When she returned, she said, “Iya wants to see you and thank you personally.” Akin laughed, “let's go,” he responded and they trotted happily down to the house, hand in hand.
The next day, Akin rose with excitement. He whistled and sang as he sat on a stone behind his hut, cleaning his gun and traps. His bride was back, soon he was going with his people to pay her dowry. He was giddy with excitement. His Bisoye. His wife. His _
“Akinwande!” Someone called his name. Akin listened. “Akin!” The person called again, it was Bisoye's father. Akin wondered why his father-in-law would be at his house this early in the morning. He dropped his gun and quickly ran to the front yard. His jaw dropped as he came into full sight of Bisoye's father. He was holding the antelope Akin had gifted Bisoye the day before. This time, wrapped in a sack bag.
“My father, welcome “, Akin greeted looking steadily at the man's hand. An obvious frown glazed his face. “Father, why are _”
“Akinwande, you have to go to the shrine this morning and see Babalawo before I can allow you to go further and marry my daughter.”
“Father, but_but why?”
He dropped the dead antelope on the ground, part of the sack bag came off and Akin could see that the stomach of the dead animal had been cut open. “This is the antelope you gave to my daughter yesterday. While my wife was taking out the insides, she found three lobes of kola nut in the intestines. This is a bad omen, Akin, we cannot eat it. You must go to the diviner and enquire about this. Something is wrong!”
Akin stood as if rooted to the spot. He remembered the owl he had seen yesterday. Then he lifted his eyes and noticed Bisoye standing at a distance, she had been tagging behind her father all this while.
“Father, the diviner asked that I come with Bisoye to the shrine, can I please go with her?”
“Okay, but I must come with you.”
Akin hurriedly picked up the antelope. “Let's go,” he said.
They arrived at the shrine when the sun was almost rising in the sky. The diviner greeted them at the entrance. “I've been waiting for you,” he said, his back turned to them, and his face towards the shrine.
The shrine was located at the heart of the sacred forest of Egba, surrounded by bamboo rods with red clothes connecting each rod to the other. Each bamboo was said to represent each family of the Egba kingdom. The shrine itself was an ancient iroko tree tied with red and white clothing, which the people referred to as the tree of life. It was believed to have been there since the creation of the world. The head of a skull hung from its trunk and wooden totems decorated the foot of the tree with a calabash filled with water in the middle.
“Greetings Baba” Akin and his father-in-law chorused. Bisoye stood behind quietly.
The diviner grunted and walked towards the shrine. Then he turned and said “Come in,” and when they were seated, he said,
“That woman you see there is going to be your death.” He was pointing at Bisoye but looking at Akin. Akin’s eyes bulged out of its sockets. He turned and looked at Bisoye, she looked pale with fear. She was staring at the diviner as if fixated on some charm. Her father shifted on his seat and almost stood up, if not for Akin's eyes that suddenly met his. Akin turned to the diviner.
“What do you mean Baba?” He asked.
“That woman was your wife in your past life and she was the one who caused your death. If you marry her again, the same fate will repeat itself.”
Akin watched the diviner with an almost angry expression. Within him, a torrent of storm was brewing, but he held himself.
“Baba, why should that be my fate in this life?”
“That is your fate Akinwande, in every life where you marry her, she will be your death. Therefore, you must choose another maiden if you want to live.”
Akin heard Bisoye sniff. He shut his eyes tightly and opened them again, it wasn't a dream.
“Baba, is there no solution to this?” Bisoye's father asked.
The diviner shook his head slowly, “Orisa has spoken” he replied.
The next morning, Bisoye and Akin stood under the quaver tree.
“Look at me Akinwande,” she said. There were bags under her eyes and they were red because of crying so much overnight. Akin kept his eyes down. “Is this the moment that changes everything?” She asked. A tear trickled down Akin's cheek, but he said nothing. “Won't you speak to me, Akin?” Bisoye asked again. This time, when Akin did not answer, she covered her face with her hands and began to weep, her body trembling profusely.
Akin turned and walked away, but he did not go home. He walked straight to the shrine like a man hypnotized and stood at the entrance.
“I see you have decided to walk your own path,” the diviner said. He was sitting at the shrine, holding a string of cowrie shells.
“The gods may have decided my fate,” Akin said. “But I will make my decision. I will walk my path, and if I die, then so be it.”
The diviner laughed a low throaty laugh, “one does not get angry at the rubbish dump and discards one's rubbish into the bush.” he said, but Akin was long gone.
“Akinwande Olumide,” the old man dressed in a black frock called.
“It is me,” Akin responded. They were standing side by side at a crossroad where three paths met. Akin looked at the man, his face was too wrinkled from much aging, and he rested his weight on a long wooden shaft with a curved, steel blade attached to one end, yet his voice seemed as clear as the wind, he spoke as one who had the strength of a thousand men.
“Iku, god of death,” Akin muttered.
“It is me,” the old man responded. “The path we are standing on is the path to the afterlife.”
“So I died?”
“Yes. The woman you married, you were told, will be the cause of your death. A short while after you were married, the king died and his son took over the throne, and demanded for your wife. Do you not remember?”
“I do.”
“I see you do not know, he was the one who ordered your assassination.”
“I know now,” Akin said. Hanging his head down.
“Do you want to be reborn?”
Akin shook his head. There was no need to come into this world again if he was only going to meet the same fate.
“Then walk with me,” the old man said walking down the path in front of them, Akin followed. Slowly, as he walked, his memories sipped through him like the slow trickling of water. Leaving behind the residues of this world and the recurring moment that threatened his continuous existence.
Mmeyene Joseph