There has been the equivalent sound of a tumbleweed rolling across a desert plain at the hibernating residence of Dakuluk Gwankat. Dakuluk has been away for some time to a far-flung province of Saf-Ron-Kulere, a place famous for its fertile lands and great farmers to pay homage to a long lost relative.
Dakuluk Gwankat is a man of little education and a peasant polygamist with an army of children as permitted by his native laws and customs.
As he rattles on in the bliss of procreating with his wives, Dakuluk Gwankat wakes up one day to find himself heavily pregnant overnight, with the hairs on his chest competing for space with the two large pumpkin-like breasts, littered all over his chest.
"Who did this to Dakuluk Gwankat?" Was the question lingering on the lips of the community.
"Or, has his wives suddenly become men and himself otherwise?" Many Times his wives troll him for overstretching them sexually, "now he is reaping its consequently." they said.
After eighteen months of being heavily pregnant, Dakuluk Gwankat gave birth to a male child through his mouth, in a delivery devoid of pains on an isolated cave during the medieval times, 331 Before Christ Era and christened him G
Hargreaves, meaning, born of a man.
At the time of his entrance into planet earth, a mother of all thunders struck at the foot of the mountain he was born and severely shook the earth to its foundation. However, no destruction of properties was recorded nor harm to humans but cause everyone to fall flat in an involuntary but mandatory act of respect for the new arrival. No one knew what has arrived at that time, not even his father and siblings but a demon!
Hargreaves did not come into the world as helpless as the sons and daughters of men do, but at the ripe age of thirteen, strong and healthy but knows nothing about his past.
Twelve years after his birth, the raging tide of economic misfortune blighted his father. Because of this, he vowed to tame his rampaging for procreation to please the gods of his fathers.
On the day of his return, his house leapt back to life in an electrifying euphoria that threatened to tumble it on account of something strange he brought home. Passers-by have mistaken the situation for a jamboree organized for the entire clan of Laarpiya.
Hargreaves who was always on the go was lucky to be home at that hour. He emerged from his room in white arid skin, like the one who has been exhumed from the grave, wearing his favourite electric blue tank-top and a parrot green short nikah. He was overjoyed for seeing his father come back home whole and every part of him accounted for after travelling through the dreaded wilderness of Dokan-daji and made it out alive despite its marauding rogues. To him, reuniting with his father was the best thing that has happened to him since the advent of peanut butter.
Hargreaves remembers vividly when he was thirteen and newly admitted into the school, his father embarked on a similar journey that turned out to be a bloody one; he suffered abrasions and deep machete cuts on his Skull. It was a horrible sight to behold and an unfortunate thing to happen to the breadwinner of a large family that was on the brink. This has stunted Hargreaves' advancement to the next class. Here he is again, twelve years on, embarking on the same journey, defiantly knocking his wives opposition to it. He feared that this time around, his father was never going to make it out alive; he expected the worse to happen to him but here he is, hail and hearty.
Harvreaves beat his father's wives by hurriedly spreading a mat for him at his favourite spot within his compound, underneath a canopy tree just by the entrance door to the house.
Dakuluk Gwankat sat on the mat and stretched his strain-battered legs, with a keg of cold water kept beside him.
He traded pleasantries with a crew of sweet-tempered well-wishers who thronged his house in batches to offer prayers for his safe return.
His first wife, Wolof and three others: Davou, Horop and Naroo, and oodles of children, numbering a whopping twenty-eight, all of whom have never seen the four walls of a classroom except Hargreaves, were busy dredging the content of the load dismounted from the torso of the camel.
As soon as the last batch of visitors left the house, Dakulu Gwankat gathered all of his wives and children before him and said to them, "as you have already seen for yourselves, those are little gifts from my uncle, Gilliard to you all, from the abundance of his stead, in appreciation for keeping the flames of togetherness burning bright. He also sends his undying affection to you all; that he shall, together with his family, pay us a reprisal visit at Laarpiya on the eve of Easter." Horop and the other women giggled, so were their teeming children.
Pwaspo, the youngest of his children called her father: "Naira!" As he was fondly referred to by all and sundry, dangling a leafy object at his stare. "I don't know what exactly this thing is, do you?" Dakuluk Gwankat, who looked thoroughly chastised by the brain-bending question answered, "neither do I, little one. If you desire to know more about it, wait until we have it for night food. But for now, hand it over to your mothers to do the needful with it."
On a division of labour, Naroo sanitizes and entombed the object and had it half-filled with water in a newly fashioned iron pot. Wolof fixed the pot on a tripod stone while Davou and Horop cramped underneath the pot with heavy logs and set it alight. A large cache of logs was conspicuously on stand by to forestall a break in the sustained supply of heat to the content of the pot, which was watered regularly at a time interval to keep it moist.
Dakuluk Gwankat was soon joined by his hard-working wives on the mat, backing the only two blocks of two rooms in the compound, covered with rustic corrugated iron sheets, commanding a greater view of the compound and we're soon engulfed in a spirited discussion.
The attitude of Dakuluk and his wives remains a mystery to Gandola; the cordial relationship that existed between them, devoid of the usual strife characterized by a typical polygamous family like their next-door neighbours who always settle their misunderstandings with their fists.
Sometimes, Hargreaves thinks his father was an alchemist of the affairs of the heart, and sometimes he gives the credit to his wives for choosing to remain peaceful even in the dire situation that they found themselves in.
The doe-eyed children gambol mercilessly around; hurling themselves into the air in merriment. Pwaspo was fouled in the process and grazed her knee. She let out a terrifying distress cry that temporarily shifted attention to her.
Her father was not happy with the rough play they involved themselves in, so he lashed out at her saying, "haven't I warned you not to dart about violently? Now here you are crying shamelessly with your mouth wide open like me eating food."
Her mother, Naroo, rushed to her rescue, lavishing her with love and tenderness. "Children," she said, " will always be children," but Dakuluk was not impressed: "Leave her alone," he said, "do not waste good manners on her." But seeing the severity of her condition, Dakuluk Gwankat bolted into his inner room and reappeared with a wooden tureen containing herbal concoction. Using the tip of his right finger, he daubed it unsparingly on the wounded part of her body and it instantly lulls the ravaging pains Pwaspo could not endure.
While the household of Dakuluk Gwankat continued in its bustling spirit, their neighbours have to wrap their minds in chains so they don't lose it to the celebratory mood in it.
Naroo opened the pot and examined its content. But mere eye examination was not enough to tell whether it's done or not. Using a wooden fork, Naroo stabbed her victim and lift a shred of it out of the pot into her mouth and then passed a chunk of it also to Horop. Horoo immediately sank her teeth into the mystery handed over to her with a closed eye and munched it with relish, feeling its juicy impact trickle down her taste buds. However, this feeling did not last for too long; the after taste has transfigured Horop's merry mood to the likeness of the one that has swallowed a bitter pill; her facial expression sends mixed messages to the rest.
With his two hands supporting his chin, Dakuluk Gwankat Gulped a mouthful of saliva down his throat, with anxiety taken over him. He watches on with a blinking eye and a glistening forehead.
While all these were happening, Harvreaves stood by the sidelines with a toothpick in his mouth, swept away in hysteria. He knew what the object of contention is and was tempted to tell but his conscience tapped him and said to him, "remember, in your custom and tradition, it is forbidden for anyone considered to be a child to correct their parent or the elderly publicly because tradition believed they have been here before you, therefore, knows more than you." So, Hargreaves cocked up his mouth. However, he knew that sooner than later, he would have to make that bold confession to save the day despite its accompanying consequences.
The paparazzi around the Bourne fire was a thing to behold; Naroo was so excited one could think she gave birth to it personally. In the thick of the confusion, Hargreaves dropped the chilling revelation about the object that has been simmering away for ages in the pot.
"Amma," he said, " it's a cabbage,"
"it's a what?" inquired Naroo curiou
sly.
"Cabbage amma. Cabbage is not a hard thing that should be cooked for too long; it's best served steamed or better still, eaten in its raw form, but this, amma," Hargreaves
pointing to the pot, " has lost its value and no longer fit for consumption.
The hullabaloo caused by the cabbage has now degenerated to a category one disappointment. Naroo and her squad thought the leafy thing would take an unusually long time to cook due to its rotund nature. Despite the glaring truth, Naroo remained adamant and refused to accept defeat.
"Why should a child born of a man teach an experienced woman how to do things in the kitchen?" She questioned Dakuluk, going ballistic; protesting vehemently while Dakuluk Gwankat sat and watch with kin interest the unfolding drama.
Naroo spews all manners of intimidating words from her snapping jaws, all in a bid to establish dominance in her kitchen. "I will trash any little rascal that refused to show me some respect around here, have I make myself abundantly clear?" Demanded Naroo, casting ugly looks at Hargreaves,with her two hands firmly planted on her waistline.
"Yes, amma," chorused the children in solidarity with Hargreaves.
Dakuluk Gwankat urged his warring wife to sheet her sword, "the boy seems to have superior knowledge about this 'cabaj' of a thing," he said. Vanghor was happy with the support he got from his father.
While the fracas lasts, the faces worn by the members of Dakuluk's household was a sorry one.
"It's amazing what this bulbous creature has caused within the shortest period; it's a recipe for disaster," ranted Dakuluk Gwankat. " I must admit that I have behaved a little bit like a headless chicken for not wanting to know more about the 'cabaj'. Though I have troubled my uncle enough with too many questions and was afraid not to ask further questions so as not to upset him, lest he change his mind and collect back those goods I thought to be 'too precious' he absents mindedly dolled out for me. Little do I knew it was going to result in this." Dakuluk Gwankat coughs and spat distastefully on the ground to show his disgust. He ducked his hand into his pocket and came up with a large kola nut and splits it into two and dunk one portion of it into his mouth and crushed it with anger as if revenging the bitter trail left by the cabbage. Naroo and the other women couldn't help but laughed until their husband's anger mounted to an unbearable level. "Come with me," said Dakuluk Gwankat to his son, Hargreaves, and off they went.