triumphal thrust of his fists frontward.
The spritely man did an arcane dance step of joy, as his colleagues watched him. Everybody there was excited.
“We know it is no longer a rumour but the truth that Nene will proclaim it that we will be having the great festival of our time,” Tefe said, with an air of one who knew what was ahead for all of them.
“Who lives to see the Edjenu Festival has lived a meaningful life,” Iniovo told his younger fellows. “We live to be witnesses of the greatest marker of our time.”
“We will look up to our ancestors and gods to direct the affairs of the great festival,” Ode reflected.
“We will not fail the ancestors and gods,” Amraibure said in an assured manner.
“Of course, the ancestors and the gods play their roles as the invisible ones; we humans will play our roles accordingly as humans,” Iniovo said from his wealth of experience.
The day's session at the ohwarha joint remained centered on the expected proclamation of the Edjenu Festival. Today there was no time for gossip about flirting men or women, no time for the secret dalliances of their fellow men. There was no time for flimsy talk. The anticipation of the great festival captured everybody's imagination. Though they had not had the great festival for the past thirty years or so, still they knew what it entailed. They knew this was a seven-day festival, unlike smaller ones that were four-day festivals. During the Edjenu Festival, the oni-edjo masquerade would perform the final ritual dance that would exorcise evil from Agbon.
Almost everybody knew his or her role during the festival. One had to contribute to the public demands and at the same time take care of one's private demands. One had to eat and dress well and be ready to entertain visitors. But nobody knew who would dance the great mask on the festival's final day. That role was left for the person that the ancestors and gods would choose to be the representative of Agbon in reaching them. It was their duty to call the Okpara person to dance the mother-mask, the performance that would conclude the seven-day festival.
The festival was still many months away, but it was many months too far. Days were moving at a millipede's pace instead of racing blindly like an iguana bearing a life-and-death message or gliding like an eagle coasting the horizon beneath white and dark clouds. Anxious Agbon people would wish they could make days move faster for the proclamation to be done and the festival to arrive without endless waiting.
The day's session at the ohwarha joint ended late as the men discussed the possibilities ahead for them, each reflecting on his tasks towards a successful festival.
Amraibure looked to the festival as a hunter did to a great shot. Who fired the shot that brought down the elephant would be rewarded with the tusks and plenty of meat. The champion wins the trophy. Who brought down the leopard with his shot would wear the unique dress made of the leopard's skin and be acclaimed the bravest hunter of all. The victor leads the celebrating parade. Amraibure felt he should aim at the part of the beast ahead of him where it would be hit once so as to fall. He wanted to win the greatest prize that the festival had to offer anybody. He wanted to be that Agbon person, the Okpara man, to dance the mother-mask.
Okpara people would have yet another opportunity to display the greatness which God had blessed them with. They would bring the world to its market-square and entertain the crowd with stunning feats. As to what to do to ensure success, they felt very confident about pulling off a great festival. As they said, “You don't tell the deer where the grassland is. It is its home and it roams it.” They knew what to do to make the festival successful. They had to work hard and expect success.
Amraibure nourished in his mind the opportunity of wearing the mother-mask like his father had done in the last great festival. He was prepared for the task ahead. He could not be Olotu because the days of kingship had passed, but he could be the chief celebrant of the Edjenu Festival of today.
Tefe believed that he had always been a storyteller, since his memory always bristled with tales. He could go back to the very beginning of times when the earth was still young and the motherland was a virgin. He could tell what gave rise to the hill on which Ugbenu Village stood. He could picture in his mind's eye the saga of the giant Arhuaran fleeing across the Ethiope River from the tyrannical Ogiso monarch and then digging red clay to build a house for his mother. But Arhuaran died mysteriously and the mound hardened into a hill. The space intended for the giant's house became a big village that would outlast many generations of monarchs and fugitives.
Tefe could tell why the Urhiapele River passed one place and bypassed other places that would have been in its course, if it did not choose to bend here and there. The goddess of the river wanted to favour the communities that worshiped her constantly with abundant fish and clear water. Gods, he knew, favour the loyalty of worshipers.
The storyteller knew that God had gone into the skies to escape the frequent brawls of humans; he could not spend endless time solving people's problems and needed peace in his immortal life. When Tefe looked at the palm-tree, he easily understood why, more than a king, a commoner could be revered because of the many services he or she performed. He knew why Cricket was declared senior to Clay. Though Clay was junior, it wanted to intimidate Cricket to acknowledge him as senior. Cricket would not give up its right to an upstart. They then had to carry their seniority dispute to the Almighty God, who asked them to swim across a river and the first to cross over would be declared senior. Of course, as Clay swam, it dissolved in water and only Cricket could cross; hence Cricket is senior to Clay! Tefe's youthful head was already full of tales and legends.
He acknowledged the indispensible role of his grandmother in his life. Once his grandma knew that he could tell stories, she was so elated that she worked hard to fortify his memory and voice in every possible way.
“You have to protect what is dear to you,” she used to tell herself.
She initiated her grandson into the shrine of Aridon, god of storytellers, singers, and performers. He had remained a devotee of the memory god. Before she returned to where she came from, as she referred to her imminent death, his grandma had placed her right palm on his forehead to bless him. She told him that after a great experience he should thread together the different happenings of Agbon into one story. Tefe realized that whatever she told him in the morning would happen that day always turned out right before bedtime. And so he knew that somehow someday he would tell the great story that she said he had to tell. That would be part of the great Edjenu Festival when he would tell Agbon's story for her sake.
When Obie left his family compound to build his own house as an adult male, many people expected the wood carver to go far. Nobody expected him to live and practice his woodcarving in a clustered street. However, he went farther than anybody had imagined. He got a plot on the way to the farm, where nobody had contemplated building a house. His friends and relatives who helped him in the building did not fear for his life but pitied him in that lonesome home. His was the farthest house in a lonely street, and he liked it so.
He knew that for many years to come nobody would build near his house. Folks would not build in his lonesome vicinity because they would be afraid of one thing or another. Too close to the forest and big trees on which owls would perch. The owl shook and planted fear in the hearts of many Agbon people, who saw it as a metamorphosed witch in the ugly bird's shape. Many would go to a soothsayer if they heard the owl hoot from their rooftops or nearby trees. Many times had people been in a frenzy to cut down tall trees around their homes to drive away witches from using them as their meeting places. Obie moved far out. His home was close to a mahogany tree, but he had no fear. After all, the woodcarver had to cultivate the friendship
