but you bring her with you for Mass sometimes. She knows about Jesus Christ,’ he stated firmly and then continued very quickly, ‘As followers of Christ we need to always trust in God. We should trust Him at all times and praise Him in all situations for He is our sovereign Lord. He is the Creator of heaven and earth. He created you and me and all people and the animals and all the nice things that we have here on earth. He is the only true God who sent His child to come and live with us and die for our sins. We should not offer animal sacrifices since Jesus already offered His life for us. Jesus died and resurrected after three days. Fatti could not have died and resurrected as the whole village claims. She was probably just asleep or maybe in a coma. She—’
Fr. Max’s nervous rattling ended as the catechist unexpectedly stepped into the office. ‘Father, sorry for interrupting but I have an important message for you.’
The two men discussed for a few minutes.
‘I have heard what you have said, Father –’ Nkem said once the catechist walked out ‘– and I accept that your words have wisdom.’ She moved forward in her seat and raised her head slightly. It was as though she had been waiting for this moment from the time she got the invitation. ‘Your words have much wisdom, Father. But you know that our ancestors lived long before you came with your God. The fact is that Fatti’s great-grandfather, who has gone ahead, sent her back from the land of the ancestors.’ With those words, Nkem put a full stop to the conversation. Her face was blank.
Fr. Max bade them goodbye, his countenance a clear expression of his disappointment.
Fatti, who understood little of what had transpired between the two adults, was simply happy to be out again in the open country. ‘Mama, can I walk around. I have not gone out of the compound for two weeks.’
‘Yes, you can go for a walk, but you have to be home before dark. You know your father does not like it when you stay out in the dark, especially as you have not completely regained your health.’
After reassuring her mother that she was going to return home early enough, Fatti wandered off into greenery. Masses of earth heaped into mounds, the hills rose one above the other with valleys twirling in-between as though following the course of a winding river. The hills were always green. Even in the dry season, when drops of water seeping into the earth were rare and the sun high and hot, green leaves and crops still dominated the scenery. Plantains, bananas, pears, tomatoes, paw-paws, mangoes, guavas – they often were so innocently green it appeared they had sworn fidelity to the colour. While some of Fatti’s brothers ploughed the fertile soils of Kombou in the French Cameroon, others ran after cows on ranches in Santa village in British Southern Cameroons. Still others stayed home in the boundary village of Nchumuluh, where the two neighbouring territories had spilled part of their herds and fertility.
After walking for a few minutes, Fatti found a seat on a cool spot under the shade of a plum tree on the comb of a hill. Over treetops and rooftops, her eyes drifted through the valley and settled on one particular area: her father’s homestead. So much had changed in her life since that eventful day. The farm and stream had become out of bounds to her. The boys now washed her clothes and they washed the pans and pots. They did a good job at washing the pots, revealing the aluminium beneath the soot better than she had ever done. She loved to hang around the pots washed by her stepbrother Totso, for they gave a vague reflection of her.
Since that day, she no longer brought food to the men; they served her. Her other stepbrother Tamu always made sure that she ate to her satisfaction. Mosa, her younger brother, took his concern to the point of providing her with her favourite fruits daily. He was ready to run up and down a guava tree for her at any moment. Mefo was the best of all. She cooked pounded potatoes and beans for her and served her more than one slice of meat. Fatti had even moved out of her mother’s hut and now slept permanently with Mefo. Though she missed her mother, she loved Mefo’s cotton mattress and was in no rush to return to her mother’s hay bed.
Fatti could not help but agree that her return from the land of the ancestors had exposed a side of life she never thought possible in her father’s lifetime. But what about Saha Tpune? Why had Mefo’s father sent her with a coded message to a dead man? Why had he picked her? What did a dead man want with her?
The questions were still plaguing her mind when sleep crept in and took control over her body. She dreamed she was playing hide and seek with a dead man.
What was intended to be a nap ended up as more than an hour of sound sleep. When she stirred it was to realise that the sun had started losing control over the sky. She quivered.
‘Fatti, oh. Fatti, oh,’ someone was hailing.
‘Ouuuuuuuuu!’ She threw back into the air as she struggled to her feet and hurriedly dusted the grass from her dress. ‘Ouuuuuuuuu! I am on the way, oh.’
She scampered down the hill, ignoring the adults she passed on the way and ignoring her favourite guava fruits offered by one of her friends. She only slowed when her soles acknowledged the slight elevation of earth at the entrance to their compound. Totso was waiting for her. His advice was grim: ‘Go to Papa’s hut before he comes for you.’
Without uttering a word, Fatti walked through the yard towards their father’s hut. The door was ajar. She could hear voices coming from inside. She crawled in to find that Mefo and her father were engaged in their favourite past time of hurling invectives at each other. If they noticed her presence, they did not make it obvious. Fatti wished she could escape unseen; after all, she would have reported to see him. Yet she dare not look at the door. Once a child had shared the same space with adults, their permission was the first key to open any door. That meant she could not walk out and neither could she walk into the quarrelling pair. She had been scared to face her father, but as she looked at him and Mefo swinging fingers in each other’s faces like two delinquent children, she became restless. She was simply eager to get the matter settled and to get out. To make the waiting bearable, she decided to close her eyes. But just then all went still. The crackling fire, only seconds ago muffled by heavy voices, now sounded like a trumpet in the heart of night. As though fearing what she might see but having no choice but to look, Fatti slowly opened her eyes.
When her gaze merged with her father’s, she knew that her liberty was over. Something in his eyes told her that all the leisure was over. She wanted to look away but she could not. She was no longer looking at her father but at herself in his eyes. The reflection she saw was not that of the girl she was but the one she used to be, the girl with twelve brothers: the one who swept the compound while the boys swept their classrooms; the one who bent over the grinding stone three times for three mothers in three huts, everyday; the one who walked long distances with short messages; the one who went to bed weak as a girl but woke up strong as a boy.
‘Do you have holes in your ears? When I push a word so it comes out through my mouth, I expect that you do the same,’ her father was yelling at her.
‘Has night come, Papa?’ Fatti said, unsure of what she had missed.
‘Did that long journey to the other world take away some of your senses? How can you come in front of adults and close your eyes? Do not tell me that you are still sick. If you are strong enough to be walking about at this hour, then you are strong enough to go to the farm. No more lying about pretending to be sick. As from tomorrow you go back to all your duties.’
‘Yes, Papa.’
‘A child cannot wake up in the morning and become an adult,’ Mefo intervened.
‘Has night come, Mefo?’ Fatti greeted.
‘Was the day good, my child?’ Without waiting for an answer
