The boats returned to the shores safely with the bodies of headless men. My father’s was safely fit into the boats with two of his co-workers. I didn’t dare to break the news to my mom lest I became an orphan on a Sabbath day. I tried to touch my father’s at least bond with his decayed body. He was cut in so many fashions, I knew he had been dead for days. The worms and bad odor did not respect the head of the village fishermen. They continued to devour his body until they had nothing to eat.
My Dad was known throughout the village he was called the fish headmaster. His ancestors were the sole pioneers of fishing in our village. His fame rested on his personal achievements. As a man of forty he had brought honor to his soulless ancestors having continued the family business of fishing with booming effect.
“Abena Abena!” my mother screamed.
“Yes ma,” I replied as I paced my steps faster to where she was. My mother always told me the kitchen is the woman’s office in her home. “The kitchen decides the fate of your marriage. If you are not able to cook good food for your husband he will marry someone else who will make him nicer dishes,” she’d always mention. I thought otherwise about the kitchen. It was the most boring place to me. I’d rather be with my lover in bed doing mummy and daddy.
“Go and serve my husband and make sure you come back to clean this place. I don’t want you playing around with that foolish boy,” she said lifting herself from the small stool smeared with black ash from the firewood as her wrapper gently loosened and I could see her fallen breast. She tied it quickly having raised it to her hairy armpit level also acting like nothing happened.
I looked at her retreating figure as she walked away and suddenly she turned and said squinting her face, “Make sure that boy does not open your legs. A good woman keeps herself for her husband.“
“Abena do you hear me ?” she asked raising her voice a little bit higher than the normal I was used to. I immediately became scared and she pulled my ears for a reason I’m yet to find out .
“Yes mama,” I replied.
What mama didn’t know was I was no longer keeping my legs closed. I had willingly opened them to my lover Kwaku as I really liked him and he promised to marry me. Anytime he called, I would go over to his place without hesitation because I couldn’t resist his gestures as his dark bearded face required so much attention. His kisses were full and well defined. As he bent over to grab his cutlass I would blush at him from a distance. I’d surprise him by appearing at his farm stead unnoticed. I did this everytime until we eventually did the abominable.
“Papa, can I bring your food?” I asked. Silence was his usual communication when it came to food. He’d prefer you serve his food and he wakes up to it. Although my father was highly respected in our village, he had a problem. He was best friends with palm wine. This bond seemed to be hereditary being that his ancestors had also suffered the same fate and he naturally flowed in the same grace. Papa moved to the other side of his wooden bed he began to whistle his favorite song “y3n ara asaase ni” and then he dipped his hand into the food. He chewed his food like his masticatory muscles had lost a bolt and needed some screws because of the noise he made while he chewed and sucked the life of the chicken marrow.
“Abena have I become an actor for you to watch me eat?” he asked.
“Will you get out of here and prepare my fishing tools!“ he screamed.
“Yes papa,” I replied.
Fishing was today’s definition of medicine. Every father would love for his child to become a fisherman. It was called a noble profession. Whenever you’d go you’d see all the little boys of the village linger around the shores. Either waiting to see their father’s or playing football. Whenever the boats returned and it was time to carry the fish from the nets, some would fall and the boys would act shrewdly hiding them in the bush and when the sun goes down they’d sneak out of thier parents house and go smoke the stolen fish. As the boys ate they’d begin to mock their teacher in school.
A for A-P-P-L-E
B for B-A-L-L
C for C- A-T
They liked the way their teacher dragged every word and moved her head long simultaneously.
The sun had completed its tour for the day and had now been replaced by stars. It was a cool, windy night; the swaying of trees and rustling of leaves could be heard but not seen. On this day my father left the house and never returned.
The scorching sun was happy; the effects were on my white school shirt and brown shorts. I couldn’t wait to become a senior and wear long trousers .Wearing slim fit khaki trousers with well ironed pleats was like the modern day identification in Manzini. That was your free pass to a voluptuous virgin blood . Once, I tried lying to some girls; I almost succeeded, but my khaki shorts sold me out. Simphisa was the most beautiful soul in school. Her intelligence intimidated many of the girls . I played my cards once, hoping the gods will rain luck on my mocha face . Poor me; I guess I wasn’t lucky after all… Simphisa’s father was the richest man in the village. He was known to have sent a large group of able-bodied young men to jail for trying to get to his daughter. To him, sending anyone who worked for him or tried to mess with his daughter to jail was a miniature size of an inferno on earth . Because of this, Simphisa had immunity over all; even school teachers could not touch her.
proudafricanblog.wordpress.com 