Èṣù VII - The Gongs

On any other night, the sky would be dark, only softly lit by stars but tonight, it was set ablaze by guns.

The guns were immediately followed by the royal gongs which only ever sounded on three occasions – the crowning of a new king, a royal wedding and the last reason was only spoken about in hush whispers by old women who had lived long enough to witness it.

But before the end of the night, those gongs would echo through the village for the third reason.

As I walked through the narrow path that snaked through Ajiun’s farm, the loud clangs of royal gongs from Aremo’s - the crown prince - wedding were my companion. The gunshots lit up the sky, momentarily turning night into day but the blaze soon disappeared causing shadows of plantain trees to fall on my face before it became pitch black again.

The excited screams from the villagers carried on as palace guards sang the praises of Aremo and his new bride. I knew precisely how the soiree was going and how it was going to end. I could almost paint an image.

I knew young maidens were looking longingly at the new princess, secretly hoping it was them being pompously ushered into the royal household. Older women with wrinkled hands dripping with water to wet the bride’s feet and mouths with advice would be counselling the bride. Middle-aged wealthy chiefs were already half-drunk and boasting about how they handled their wives with a firm hand while covetously eyeing younger women. And finally, at the end of the night, the bride’s head would be covered with two differently-coloured aso-oke and escorted into a room where she would remain for 14 days.

I continued to follow the path until I came to a clearing where I lowered myself into a kneeling position and comfortably rested my weight on my heels. I arranged small pieces of wood and twigs around me into a small pyramid before I crushed some dry leaves over the mound and lit a match. The fire caught immediately and burned bright, bringing a warm glow to my face. I broke off a yellow plantain from the bunch in my basket and with the dagger I stole, I peeled off the skin, impaled it with a stick and raised it just above the flames. Fire danced in my eyes as I watched the plantain go from yellow to a golden brown colour.

I was so lost in the fire which, right now, was the only source of light that lit the farm, that I didn’t hear the crunch of dry leaves beneath heavy feet. The hand that pressed into my back startled me slightly, bringing me out of my reverie. From the corner of my eye, I saw Ajiun’s teal agbada stretched out proudly from his sides. He knelt and whispered behind me.

“My wife”, he slurred, “My real wife. Not…”, he paused as though trying to remember how he wanted to complete the sentence. “Not that one”.

I waited for him to explain which wife he was referring to but instead, he fumbled with the knot that held my wrapper in place while breathing heavily. I moved my head slightly as his alcohol-laden breath penetrated my senses. The knot had started to loosen and I knew it would not be long before he peeled the clothes off my body and threw me against the ground.

“My husband”, I responded to distract him from the knot but those words only seemed to motivate him because he worked faster. As his fingers continued to untie the knot, mine wrapped themselves around my dagger.

“I have been waiting for this moment since I saw you”, he exhaled as he buried his face into the back of my neck. His hand tightened around my waist and I felt him begin to move so I lodged the dagger between my back and his belly and plunged it deep into his stomach before I twisted, sharply. His body stiffened and I was about to withdraw the knife and shove it back in when I saw the hand.

The royal amulet around his wrist glinted. The hand did not belong to Ajiun.

I pushed my weight against the man behind me and he fell back, howling in pain. My eyes widened as I recognised the man on the floor as Aremo, the son of Kabiyesi whose wedding gongs were still beating from miles away.

I cursed Esu for the inability to tell voices apart.

Aremo clutched his stomach as blood spilt through his fingers and soaked through his agbada. He screamed at me but his eyes remained focused on the dagger - still dripping with his blood - which I loosely held to my side. He continued to scream and bark at me as he slowly crawled away and although I knew his voice would be drowned out by the gongs, my eyes still darted around the farm expecting his royal guards to jump out of the bushes.

The punishment for inflicting any injury on the crown prince would be grave. My father would be banished from the village, his wives would be raped before they were sold to lesser men, my Iya Agba would serve out the rest of her life in a dungeon. And me? I would be stripped naked, dragged through the village and made to walk miles while being pelted by people beneath me until I breathe my last.

The reality was bone-chilling and it loomed before me. I held my breath and waited.

But nothing happened.

I saw that Aremo was not looking out for his guards either, instead, he focused on getting away from the dagger. Maybe it was seeing him shrink in fear or the look of guilt clearly in his eyes but I knew two things tonight.

Aremo’s guards were very far away from here and this groom was planning to meet a woman and it wasn’t the one getting bombarded with marital advice.

A small smile started to form at the corners of my lips. I smeared the blade across my wrapper and licked my dry lips as I made my way towards him.

My dagger glinted.

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