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‘Please, husband, I implore you,’ cried Ugoye in mock fear. ‘I do my best. It is your father who ill-treats me. And when you talk to him,’ she added seriously, ‘ask him why at his age he must run like an antelope. Last year he could not get up for days after the ceremony.?
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‘Don’t you know,’ asked Akueke looking furtively back to see if a man was near; there was no one; even so she lowered her voice, ‘don’t you know that in his younger days he used to run as Ogbazulobodo? As Obika does now.’
‘It is you people, especially the two of you, who lead him astray. He likes to think that he is stronger than any young man of today and you people encourage him. If he were my father I would let him know the truth.’
‘Is he not your husband?’ asked Adeze. ‘If he dies tomorrow are you not the one to sit in ashes in the cooking-place for seven markets? Is it you or me will wear sackcloth for one year?’
‘What am I telling you?’ asked Akueke, changing the subject. ‘My husband and his people came the other day.’
‘What did they come for?’
‘What else would they come for?’
‘So they are tired of waiting, small beasts of the bush. I thought they were waiting for you to take palm wine to beg them.’
‘Don’t abuse my husband’s people, or we shall fight,’ said Akueke pretending anger.
‘Please forgive me. I did not know that you and he had suddenly become palm oil and salt again. When are you going back to him?’
‘One market come next Oye.’
Chapter Eight
The new road which Mr Wright was building to connect Okperi with its enemy, Umuaro, had now reached its final stages. Even so it would not be finished before the onset of the rainy season if it was left to the paid gang he was using. He had thought of increasing the size of this gang but Captain Winterbottom had told him that far from authorizing any increase he was at that very moment considering a retrenchment as the Vote for Capital Works for the financial year was already largely overspent. Mr Wright had then toyed with the idea of reducing the labourers’ pay from threepence a day to something like twopence. But this would not have increased the labour force substantially; not even halving their pay would have achieved the desired result, even if Mr Wright could have found it in his heart to treat the men so meanly. In fact he had got very much attached to this gang and knew their leaders by name now. Many of them were, of course, bone lazy and could only respond to severe handling. But once you got used to them they could be quite amusing. They were as loyal as pet dogs and their ability to improvise songs was incredible. As soon as they were signed on the first day and told how much they would be paid they devised a work song. Their leader sang: ‘Lebula toro toro’ and all the others replied: ‘A day’, at the same time swinging their matchets or wielding their hoes. It was a most effective work song and they sang it for many days:
Lebula toro toro
A day
Lebula toro toro
A day
And they sang it in English too!
Anyhow there was only one alternative left to Mr Wright if he was to complete the road before June and get away from this hole of a place. He had to use unpaid labour. He asked for permission to do this, and after due consideration Captain Winterbottom gave his approval. In the letter conveying it he pointed out that it was the policy of the Administration to resort to this method only in the most exceptional circumstances… ‘The natives cannot be an exception to the aphorism that the labourer is worthy of his hire.’
Mr Wright who had come to Government Hill from his P.W.D. Road Camp about five miles away to get this reply, glanced through it, crumpled it and put it in the pocket of his khaki shorts. Like all practical types he had little respect for administrative red tape.
When the leaders of Umuaro were told to provide the necessary labour for the white man’s new, wide road they held a meeting and decided to offer the services of the two latest age groups to be admitted into full manhood: the age group that called itself Otakagu, and the one below it which was nicknamed Omumawa.
These two groups never got on well together. They were, like two successive brothers, always quarrelling. In fact it was said that the elder group who when they came of age took the name Devourer Like Leopard were so contemptuous of their younger brothers when they came of age two years later that they nicknamed them Omumawa, meaning that the man’s cloth they tied between the legs was a feint to cover small boys’ penes. It was a good joke, and so overpowered the attempt of the new group to take a more befitting name. For this reason they nursed a grudge against Otakagu, and a meeting of the two was often like the meeting of fire and gunpowder. Whenever they could, therefore, they went by separate ways; as in the case of the white man’s new road. All that Mr Wright asked for was two days in the week, and so the two age groups arranged to work separately on alternate Eke days. On these occasions the white man came over from the paid gang which he had turned into an orderly and fairly skilled force to supervise the free but undisciplined crowd from Umuaro.
Because of his familiarity with the white man’s language the carpenter, Moses Unachukwu, although very much older than the two age groups, had come forward to organize them and to take words out of the white man’s mouth for them. At first Mr Wright was inclined to distrust him, as he distrusted all uppity natives but he soon found him very useful and was now even considering giving him some little reward when the road was finished. Meanwhile Unachukwu’s reputation in Umuaro rose to unprecedented heights. It was one thing to claim to speak the white man’s tongue and quite another to be seen actually doing it. The story spread throughout the six villages. Ezeulu’s one regret was that a man of Umunneora should have this prestige. But soon, he thought, his son would earn the same or greater honour.
It was the turn of the Otakagu age group to work on the new road on the day following the Festival of the Pumpkin Leaves. Ezeulu’s second son, Obika, and his friend, Ofoedu, belonged to this group. But they had drunk so much palm wine on the day before that when all the other people went to work they were still asleep. Obika who had staggered home almost at cock-crow defied the combined effort of his mother and sister to rouse him.
It had happened on the festival day that as Obika and Ofoedu drank with the three men at the market place, one of the men had thrown a challenge to them. The conversation had turned on the amount of palm wine a good drinker could take without losing knowledge of himself.
‘It all depends on the palm tree and the tapper,’ said one of the men.
‘Yes,’ agreed his friend, Maduka. ‘It depends on the tree and the man who taps it.’
‘That is not so. It depends on the man who drinks. You may bring any tree in Umuaro and any tapper,’ said Ofoedu, ‘and I shall still drink my bellyful and go home with clear eyes.’
Obika agreed with his friend. ‘It is true that some trees are stronger than others and some tappers are better than others, but a good drinker will defeat them both.’
