Making Water
“Tinin! Tinin, my boy!” Paja called in Qonga.
Tinin, a skinny boy with bulging eyes and ears unfairly large for his narrow head shot out of the hut like a routed hare.
“Aya, Papa.” Welcome, papa; he shouted as he rushed to Paja. First he took Paja’s old hunting gun, rested it on the mud wall of the hut, while Paja waited with the carcass of a gazelle which slouched around his neck. It gave him pleasure to watch the little boy unbundle him whenever he returned from hunting. He stood waiting.
“Let me help you, Papa,” Tinin offered excitedly, even though he knew Paja could do it all by himself. They both enjoyed this moment. Paja stooped and allowed him ease the dead gazelle from his shoulders and together they dragged it to the fire place. It was at such moments that Paja secretly mourned his long dead wife.
“Is it male or female, Papa?”
Paja laughed crookedly, “my boy, it is a full grown male and you will have his ropopo.”
Tinin laughed mischievously. That was one of the epithets Paja had used for the testicles of gazelle, other times it was gogolo, and other such words that would make the little boy laugh until his ribs hurt. And when Tinin was a little younger Paja had told him a lot of hunting tales, and they often ended on how the gogolo or ropopo of some fully grown male animal had made a hunter the best, or a hero. Paja was a very good hunter, but trapping and shooting all manners of antelopes, including the intractable impala, was his specialty. Paja had made him believe that eating the testicles of the animals would make him grow into a big, strong man.
The fireplace had everything, an open mud stove and fire woods with wire gauze over it, and all Paja would need to skin the animal, dissect it and smoke the meat. Then they would eat the internal organs while the rest would be sold at the local market to make some money for their up-keep.
Tinin knew all Paja would let him do now was watch while he skillfully dissected the gazelle, and he had seen that a hundred times over, however, he wanted to be more useful.
“Papa, you will need some water,” he said, it sound like a suggestion and a question. In Qonga dialect it made no difference. Paja nodded and started cutting off the slit throat of the gazelle.
“I will make some water,” another intricacy in Qonga. Tinin announced and dashed into the hut he shared with Paja and came out with two empty metal buckets and a plastic bowl which Paja had bought two days earlier.
“Be with you, Papa,” he called back to Paja as he ran off through the footpath that led out of their home.
“Be quick, my boy.”
But Tinin was lost in the pounds of his feet and the chinks of his metal buckets. The water mouth, as they called the stream in Qonga, was a mile away in the valley area behind the village. The work in making water was not in the going, as everybody here would say. Making water was never easy. Tinin got to the last high ground, and from there he could see the red dusty road that went to the city, it ran just a few yards from the water mouth, and whenever a vehicle passed, the dust it raised ended on whoever was at the water mouth.
There were boys and girls of his age and their pans and buckets sprawled about the water mouth, and that made his heart sink; making water was indeed not in the going. At Boye’s well there were a few people, but he didn’t have the money to pay to Boye, didn’t expect people to be that much now at the water mouth.
Boye was the village giant; big, muscular and strong. But that was not all to him, besides being the biggest and strongest; he wiser than coconut too, like the older people would say. Seeing that the water mouth was the only source of water within miles, Boye figured that water would always be in short supply. He started off his own well, just close to the water mouth where the land was soft. He made sure he did it all by himself; digging with hoes for months until he found water that was even clearer than that at the water mouth. Then he built a mud hut close to it and lived there. Not long, people started coming to beg for water, but he told them they had to buy it. Since then anyone one who had tried to dig their own well around there was beaten silly by Boye.
Once in a while it was rumored the central government wanted to bring pipe borne water from the city, and everyone wondered what Boye would do then.
Tinin’s dream was to be like Boy. He dreamed it, and even when he ate the ropopo he thought of it; that some day he would mature into a huge man like Boye. But what he did not see was that his arms and legs were not just set for that, and that he’d be lucky to make it to fifteen.
Tinin loved dearly Paja even though he was only his maternal grandfather. His father had died of AIDS, and three years later, his mother had followed. But before she died, his mother had come over to live with her father, because the people in the neighbouring village where her husband came from accused her of killing their son and would want nothing to do with Tinin for fear that he had the virus. He was still eight when that happened, and now at eleven he still didn’t understand why one thing would kill two people at such separate times without being stopped.
Suddenly two boys started a fight at the water mouth, he ran down to help separate them. The fight was over before he got there, but in the pandemonium the tiny water-body had been badly muddled up and everyone has to wait for the mud to settle so they could scoop the clean water. He had to join the queue at the tail end.
Papa wouldn’t be happy about this, Tinin thought. Maybe he should beg someone whose turn was now to help him with some bowls to take back to Paja to wash his hands. He took his plastic bowl and walked to the water mouth. Just then a white Toyota pick-up came thundering down the dusty road. The kids often stood up to watch and count the vehicles as they passed.
According to the ways of making water, the number of vehicles that came by while you were at the water mouth determined how long one stayed. But usually the vehicles were few, so the kids spend awful lot of time to get a bucket or two without knowing it.
Then an unusual thing happened, the pick-up slowed down and stopped when it got by the water mouth and a young man, seemingly well dressed man came off the vehicle and walked down to the water mouth.
“Aya.” The kids greeted in unison, and gawked at him.
The man looked down at them like they were some strange beings, he was tall dark and his eyes weren’t particularly bright. The water mouth is a tiny hole where clear water trickled from in the most tranquil manner and collected into a small puddle. The man looked down at the tiny boy with a plastic bowl and nodded at him to release the bowl, the boy obliged.
Tinin watched the man stoop and scoop water from the water mouth with his bowl and then walked over to his pick-up. He wondered what it was like to drive a vehicle like that, and what it would be like to live in the city someday when he grew up. He liked the man’s dresses too, they looked clean. The man opened the bonnet of his pick-up and white smoke rushed out from it, to awe of the kids. The man emptied the water in the bowl into some place, dropped the bowl inside and slammed his bonnet. Then he entered his pick-up and drove off as wildly as he came.
Just then Tinin realized his bowl had gone, and he screamed, stop, stop, but that was too late. The rest of the kids also stared wide eyed. Tinin started crying.
What should he do? Should he go and tell Boye? He ran, got to Boye’s well, Boye was drawing water for some girls, he shot past him and headed home, whimpering.
He tearfully narrated his ordeal to Paja, who sat, bloody hands crossed over his knees, and listened attentively.
“Now, my boy, that sounds like something from the streets of the city,” he said grinning after Tinin was through, “ it ran like full grown gazelle with matured ropopo,” he laughed, his toothless lower gum exposed to the fullest .
Tinin was suddenly laughing.
“If I caught him I would have made sure you had his gogolo,” he said genially. “One day you will live in the city, tell me you will never be as bad as they are, my son”
“I will not be, Papa.”
Paja looked at him thoughtfully and nodded, “go to Boye’s and make some water, my boy.”
END.
J.Ifeme Elo Collections ©2009
Tinin, a skinny boy with bulging eyes and ears unfairly large for his narrow head shot out of the hut like a routed hare.
“Aya, Papa.” Welcome, papa; he shouted as he rushed to Paja. First he took Paja’s old hunting gun, rested it on the mud wall of the hut, while Paja waited with the carcass of a gazelle which slouched around his neck. It gave him pleasure to watch the little boy unbundle him whenever he returned from hunting. He stood waiting.
“Let me help you, Papa,” Tinin offered excitedly, even though he knew Paja could do it all by himself. They both enjoyed this moment. Paja stooped and allowed him ease the dead gazelle from his shoulders and together they dragged it to the fire place. It was at such moments that Paja secretly mourned his long dead wife.
“Is it male or female, Papa?”
Paja laughed crookedly, “my boy, it is a full grown male and you will have his ropopo.”
Tinin laughed mischievously. That was one of the epithets Paja had used for the testicles of gazelle, other times it was gogolo, and other such words that would make the little boy laugh until his ribs hurt. And when Tinin was a little younger Paja had told him a lot of hunting tales, and they often ended on how the gogolo or ropopo of some fully grown male animal had made a hunter the best, or a hero. Paja was a very good hunter, but trapping and shooting all manners of antelopes, including the intractable impala, was his specialty. Paja had made him believe that eating the testicles of the animals would make him grow into a big, strong man.
The fireplace had everything, an open mud stove and fire woods with wire gauze over it, and all Paja would need to skin the animal, dissect it and smoke the meat. Then they would eat the internal organs while the rest would be sold at the local market to make some money for their up-keep.
Tinin knew all Paja would let him do now was watch while he skillfully dissected the gazelle, and he had seen that a hundred times over, however, he wanted to be more useful.
“Papa, you will need some water,” he said, it sound like a suggestion and a question. In Qonga dialect it made no difference. Paja nodded and started cutting off the slit throat of the gazelle.
“I will make some water,” another intricacy in Qonga. Tinin announced and dashed into the hut he shared with Paja and came out with two empty metal buckets and a plastic bowl which Paja had bought two days earlier.
“Be with you, Papa,” he called back to Paja as he ran off through the footpath that led out of their home.
“Be quick, my boy.”
But Tinin was lost in the pounds of his feet and the chinks of his metal buckets. The water mouth, as they called the stream in Qonga, was a mile away in the valley area behind the village. The work in making water was not in the going, as everybody here would say. Making water was never easy. Tinin got to the last high ground, and from there he could see the red dusty road that went to the city, it ran just a few yards from the water mouth, and whenever a vehicle passed, the dust it raised ended on whoever was at the water mouth.
There were boys and girls of his age and their pans and buckets sprawled about the water mouth, and that made his heart sink; making water was indeed not in the going. At Boye’s well there were a few people, but he didn’t have the money to pay to Boye, didn’t expect people to be that much now at the water mouth.
Boye was the village giant; big, muscular and strong. But that was not all to him, besides being the biggest and strongest; he wiser than coconut too, like the older people would say. Seeing that the water mouth was the only source of water within miles, Boye figured that water would always be in short supply. He started off his own well, just close to the water mouth where the land was soft. He made sure he did it all by himself; digging with hoes for months until he found water that was even clearer than that at the water mouth. Then he built a mud hut close to it and lived there. Not long, people started coming to beg for water, but he told them they had to buy it. Since then anyone one who had tried to dig their own well around there was beaten silly by Boye.
Once in a while it was rumored the central government wanted to bring pipe borne water from the city, and everyone wondered what Boye would do then.
Tinin’s dream was to be like Boy. He dreamed it, and even when he ate the ropopo he thought of it; that some day he would mature into a huge man like Boye. But what he did not see was that his arms and legs were not just set for that, and that he’d be lucky to make it to fifteen.
Tinin loved dearly Paja even though he was only his maternal grandfather. His father had died of AIDS, and three years later, his mother had followed. But before she died, his mother had come over to live with her father, because the people in the neighbouring village where her husband came from accused her of killing their son and would want nothing to do with Tinin for fear that he had the virus. He was still eight when that happened, and now at eleven he still didn’t understand why one thing would kill two people at such separate times without being stopped.
Suddenly two boys started a fight at the water mouth, he ran down to help separate them. The fight was over before he got there, but in the pandemonium the tiny water-body had been badly muddled up and everyone has to wait for the mud to settle so they could scoop the clean water. He had to join the queue at the tail end.
Papa wouldn’t be happy about this, Tinin thought. Maybe he should beg someone whose turn was now to help him with some bowls to take back to Paja to wash his hands. He took his plastic bowl and walked to the water mouth. Just then a white Toyota pick-up came thundering down the dusty road. The kids often stood up to watch and count the vehicles as they passed.
According to the ways of making water, the number of vehicles that came by while you were at the water mouth determined how long one stayed. But usually the vehicles were few, so the kids spend awful lot of time to get a bucket or two without knowing it.
Then an unusual thing happened, the pick-up slowed down and stopped when it got by the water mouth and a young man, seemingly well dressed man came off the vehicle and walked down to the water mouth.
“Aya.” The kids greeted in unison, and gawked at him.
The man looked down at them like they were some strange beings, he was tall dark and his eyes weren’t particularly bright. The water mouth is a tiny hole where clear water trickled from in the most tranquil manner and collected into a small puddle. The man looked down at the tiny boy with a plastic bowl and nodded at him to release the bowl, the boy obliged.
Tinin watched the man stoop and scoop water from the water mouth with his bowl and then walked over to his pick-up. He wondered what it was like to drive a vehicle like that, and what it would be like to live in the city someday when he grew up. He liked the man’s dresses too, they looked clean. The man opened the bonnet of his pick-up and white smoke rushed out from it, to awe of the kids. The man emptied the water in the bowl into some place, dropped the bowl inside and slammed his bonnet. Then he entered his pick-up and drove off as wildly as he came.
Just then Tinin realized his bowl had gone, and he screamed, stop, stop, but that was too late. The rest of the kids also stared wide eyed. Tinin started crying.
What should he do? Should he go and tell Boye? He ran, got to Boye’s well, Boye was drawing water for some girls, he shot past him and headed home, whimpering.
He tearfully narrated his ordeal to Paja, who sat, bloody hands crossed over his knees, and listened attentively.
“Now, my boy, that sounds like something from the streets of the city,” he said grinning after Tinin was through, “ it ran like full grown gazelle with matured ropopo,” he laughed, his toothless lower gum exposed to the fullest .
Tinin was suddenly laughing.
“If I caught him I would have made sure you had his gogolo,” he said genially. “One day you will live in the city, tell me you will never be as bad as they are, my son”
“I will not be, Papa.”
Paja looked at him thoughtfully and nodded, “go to Boye’s and make some water, my boy.”
END.
J.Ifeme Elo Collections ©2009
"he was wiser than coconut too"
ReplyDeleteAhh this made me laugh, don't think I've ever heard that before. lovely story.
@48: i actually woke up laughing. It happened in my dream.
ReplyDelete