Yefon: The Red Necklace (6 page)

My first dress was lovely. It smelled new and had a flowery collar and a belt at the waist. I had it for many years and wore it with pride wherever I went. By the age of seven, I had about ten dresses, and one comb, and since my siblings never caught the bug, I was the only clothed one in a compound of naked people.

There were always awkward stares whenever I passed by, but I was used to it. Among them was Ma who stared at me until I felt like my head was going to burst from her glass coal stare.

She was not an affectionate woman at all when we were children. Left to her, none of us would be allowed to talk to Pa when he was eating, let alone sit on his lap, even though, it was a great spot to be since he would give you his leftover meat. She forced me to do everything that I hated, and if I seemed to be enjoying something too much, she would ask me to stop.

I used to wish I could have Kadoh’s mother, Ya Sero, but the gods were not so kind as to let that happen for me. Ya Sero was very warm, and friendly. She always kissed Kadoh on the cheek with her full round lips, and told her how much she loved her. The day my mother would say such to me, the world would end.

In 1947, I was a scrawny seven-year-old rabble-rouser with ten taut
motobo
^*
braids on my head. This ball like hairdo was very common among little children in my day. Pa was away on one of
his business trips and I was behind Ma’s mud hut, playing house, or play-play as we called it, with my pet
bvey
, Dini.

I was trying without success to ride around the meadow on Dini when Ma sent Yenla, the sour pup, to fetch me. I straddled Dini by the horns urging her on repeatedly, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Dini, come on. Just one ride, please na.”

Chewing idly, Dini looked like she had just smoked one of those bad cigarettes that Ma was warning my brothers about.
Bveys
have the most idiosyncratic way of chewing. Their teeth smash the food on the right side of their mouths with a long boring nonchalance until the grass is gone.

“Go and call me that truant,” Ma shouted from the front door.

Yenla began screaming my name in the long drawn out almost singsong way that village children speak when they are shouting. “Y..Yef…Yefon! Yefon! Ma..Ma..Ma is calling you!”

“I am coming!” I replied lazily, angry that my play-play had been cut short and I had to go face the worst thing in this world—Ma fixing my hair. She braided it so tight, and if I tried to react, she would give me a harsh knock on my already tensed head. It was better to just hold your peace.

Holding Dini’s back for support, I rose from the ground where I was kneeling and dusted off my calico skirt, which was brownish at the knee area.

As I idled around Dini for a few extra minutes, Ma’s impatient sharp voice snapped out, “Yefon, if I come behind there, I will beat you, eh.”

Say no more! I summoned myself to her antagonizing presence. She was eating boiled cassava, which we called
ngashingha
^*
.

“Sit down there,” she pointed with the knife she was using to peel the
ngashinga’
, and I hoped this was not the Abraham story where a child sacrifice was needed. I was ready to run away if she tried anything.

Thankfully, she only parted my thick fro into ten equal bundles and plaited it with shiny black thread, until the entire
black mass was pulled into puff-puff looking woolen balls. It hurt like three pineapples in your anus, but I dared not flinch.

“Ma, can I go and pee?” I asked, as an excuse to free myself, hoping I could steal a short break. Ma was silent for a whole minute. She plaited one full
motobo
before answering

“No.
Nyanga
^*
no di hot
,” Ma said. That slang was commonly said when you were braiding your hair. It meant that any woman could endure any beautifying process. I wasn’t Sola, and I’d rather be with my
bvey
. Ah! This woman of color!

I wish my Pa were home. He would have said, “Mami wan, let the child go and pee. Do you want her to pee on herself?” But I didn’t really have to pee, and Ma, like the mama of all bullies that she was, knew when I was lying and when I was serious. I missed Pa terribly, and I couldn’t wait for him to return home from his habitual business trips that he had thankfully reduced from three to five moons to one moon.

A group of schoolboys passed in front of our compound talking cheerfully about their plans for the weekend. One of them said he was going to play ball with his brothers and the other said he was going to hunt. My ears shot up like an antelope in the bush when it hears a hunter’s gun. As I watched them, I wished I was like those boys. Going to school and hunting over the weekend. It just sounded more exciting than sitting here with this witch.

Out of the blue, Ma asked me, “Is it true that you are planning to ask your father to take you to Yola because you hate me?”

Abai
! My heart began to beat faster. Yes. I do hate you, and yes I do plan on telling Pa, but how did she know? My mind was spinning and I responded quickly, “No.”

An ugly silence ensued and since I couldn’t see her countenance, I wondered about the expression on her face.

“Well,” she began when the stillness became unbearable, “If I hear that you said that to your father, you will see what I will do to you.”

“But Ma I…”

“I am not speaking to you any longer.”

My pee break came when Ya Sero and Kadoh came to visit us. Ya Sero was Pa’s second wife, and she and Ma seemed to get along fine. I think the reason they bonded so well was because Ya Sero was from Kom, a neighboring village that had been conquered by Nso in a past raid. Since she was of slave blood, my mother didn’t see her as a threat. Well, that’s s only my theory since I can’t understand how two women sleeping with the same man can be so cordial towards each other.

Do they look at each other and say, “Oh by the way, treat our husband well while I go to the market.”? I STILL, don’t get it. I never will, but that is not my cross to carry. And as much as I did not agree with this game of polygamous diplomacy and the nutty family that we had, I really loved Pa, and never questioned him.

A pang of relief swept over me when I realized Ma was going to stop fixing my hair. I took Kadoh’s hand and led her to the corner of the house where we played
eh-eh
, a common game where the players had to guess which hand and leg the other had to show.

While the mothers talked in the front, Kadoh finished my hair and I realized that I didn’t hate having my hair braided—I hated having my hair braid by Ma. Ever since that day, Kadoh braided my hair and I would help her with her laundry as payback. It was more fun than work as she told me tales of lands far away.

She was a competent and creative braider. She didn’t only use shiny thread like Ma did. Sometimes she would plait my hair in traditional cornrows with messy strands. I liked that the ends of the hair strands were unbraided and hanging free. It made me feel unique, but it wouldn’t be long before Ma caught me, and forced me in between her legs to finish my hair.

Once after Kadoh had finished braiding my hair, Ma called me over complaining about my hair.

“But, Ma, it’s the style.”

“Which stupid style?
Wanle
, sit down here and let me finish this hair. Cow.” Then, she mimicked, “It’s the style,” ending with a strong sigh to emphasize her disapproval.

I unbraided the ends again at the farm after I had finished my chores. This was the style that I wanted, and nobody could change it, I told myself.

“Come here,” Ma beckoned to me when I was tiptoeing
back into the compound. My legs were shaking, as I knew the end of this story.

“What did I tell you about this hair, eh?”

I stared at her blankly, nervously moving my feet.

“You cannot talk?” she asked, pulling my ears until my whole body swayed along, and then giving me a hard knock which usually left me limping in pain.

“Let me see this again and I will show you the lesson of Mr. No Balance.”

I have never known who or what Mr. No Balance was, but Ma sure used it a lot to mean that she would beat you severely. For whatever reason, I never stopped unbraiding the ends of my hair. I think Ma eventually got tired of beating me up.

The next day, I was walking past the compound with Kadoh, laughing and telling stories, when we saw Sola sprawled on a high bed in front of her mother’s
taav
receiving a strong pungent shea and aloe treatment with
bii
, which was a reddish powdered substance obtained from the bark of a tree used as antiseptic and skin balancing in those days.

Sola was laying face down and her mother was massaging her shin and body while Sola cried painfully.

“Shut up, stop crying. I have to make you beautiful,” Ya Buri said applying pressure on Sola’s soft back. Her back looked like it would burst if you pinched it.

“But, Ma, it hurts,” Sola’s overly girly voice complained.

“Shut up!” Ya Buri’s voice barked.

Kadoh and I, who were already muffling chuckles, held on to our laughter and ran a little farther away before erupting into loud heaps of laughter.

“Who is there?” Ya Buri asked angrily.

We shot a stone at her before running away. She began to chase us, and I quickly climbed a dusty cashew tree that was close by while Kadoh jumped in a hole that we didn’t know was there until we heard Ya Buri’s loud thumping feet.

“Yefon, I know you are there! If I catch you, I will skin you alive!”

It was hilarious seeing her wading around, arms raised like a mad woman looking for someone to pour her anger on. It was laughable. Her piercings shone through to my eyes.

“
Bvey
! You are lucky I didn’t catch you. I would have
skinned you alive. Ugly thing,
Kisham ke kingha!”

One night, during storytelling, Kadoh told us the story of some children who could turn into termites when they were playing hide and seek. We all fell on our backs laughing.

After storytelling, our mothers’ would gossip when the children had fallen asleep. I couldn’t sleep when people were gossiping and I knew that Kadoh would be awake too. Among the hot topics was speculation on whether Pa’s handsome brother, Lavran, was ever coming back.

Lavran was a corruption of the English name Lawrence. My people have a very strong accent and consequently find it very hard to pronounce certain words in English.

Kpulajey gushed about his handsomeness, and the fact that he wasn’t married. She said it so many times that even I found it odd.

“But you are married,” Ya Buri reminded Kpulajey scowling. “Let the elders not hear this.”

Kadoh and I shared a giggle as they argued. I wish I could open my eyes wider and look around, but I would get in trouble, so I could only see Kpulajey’s reaction since she was facing me.

“Is it a bad thing to try and secure a place for my unmarried sisters?” Kpulajey negotiated, fluttering her eyelashes pretentiously.

“With your witchcraft?” Ya Buri prompted.

“What did you say?” The lash fluttering had stopped. This time, her big eyes opened wide.

“That you are a witch!”

Kpulajey pounced on her and they began fighting like two mother hens, arms wobbling everywhere. Kpulajey was younger and definitely stronger, and I don’t know whether she used her witchcraft to fight, but I do know she beat Ya Buri up mercilessly, pulling out her piercings and swallowing them loudly as Ya Buri winced in pain. The other wives tried relentlessly to separate them, and as they pulled Kpulajey away, she shouted, exhaling deeply.

“It is your mother, and your father, and your grandparents who are witches. Idiot!” She snapped before leaving. I couldn’t help but giggle from the floor.

Unfortunately, Ya Buri heard me, and she stomped towards me to check if I was asleep. I felt a shadow on my face. Squeezing my eyes shut as much as I could, I held my breath as
she hovered over me. My eyelids fluttered repeatedly when she squatted over me, spraying me with a stale, fishy smell from under her old
te’
.

“This one is not sleeping!” she reported to the others, and Ma sent me to my room to sleep as punishment for eavesdropping on adult conversations. I remember crying so much for I was afraid to sleep alone when everyone else was outside. I was worried that
Juju
would catch me. I had heard stories about
Jujus
that came after the souls of children when they were alone in the dark.

Those were the good times; times when Pa was still here; times that I miss dearly and think about every day of my life.

-4-

Uncle Lavran

Uncle Lawrence came back two years after the war had ended, towards the dry season in 1947. It was also around the same time when Fon Nga’ Bifon I had just “gotten missing”. The adults conversed hush-hush about his passing, the issue of succession, and what that meant for all of us. Countless trips to the palace were made and preparations for the big succession event were in order.

Meanwhile, my sisters and cousins would hide behind the window of Pa’s hut waiting to hear the juicy details so they could be the first to spill the
gossip
tomorrow at the farm. I had no interest whatsoever, and that didn’t surprise anyone because I had become a bit of a loner and an outcast over time. It was common knowledge that I would never find a husband. I hated kitchen work and had a bad mouth and temper, even though I don’t remember what exactly I did to get so disfavored. My only gleam of light was the one-week a month when Pa was home.