least for that moment, had forgotten the painful reality of her son beside her.
The weather was beautiful, the sun shining but not shooting out hot arrows to drain folks of energy. There was no heat after the harmattan had gone and the first heavy rains were already falling. It was the pleasant season that Okpara folks talked about: neither cold nor hot but daily moderate temperatures that made the people to work normally without being tired. South-westerly winds were blowing, the sign that it was the onset of the rainy season. The rains have succeeded in driving away the heat and farmers were happy working in their farms without their energy being sapped away by heat. The evenings were also sunlit but cool and the ohwarha had some of Okpara's hardworking and busy men this late afternoon. Amraibure, Tefe, Iniovo, Ode, Obie, and some other men were at the ohwarha joint. It was rare for them to be together like this but it happened once in a long while.
This day there was excitement in the air, and it showed on the faces of the men gathered to chat, gossip, and bounce opinion on all sorts of issues. In the local parlance, ohwarha was never a boring place; one came here to throw away boredom and recuperate from tedious work. At ohwarha, there was always a next time for the men as long as they lived and remained healthy. There would always be enough for them to talk about to while away hours without knowing.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“You always answer a question with a question?”
“Are you not an Agbon person?”
“The long-awaited day is coming,” Iniovo said.
“Yes, I heard so,” Tefe replied.
“Agbon is finally living to do what it needs to do,” Amraibure told his mates.
“We will do what our ancestors and gods expect of us,” Ode said.
They skirted around the breaking news, as if it was forbidden to talk publicly about it. It was their way of talking about an important development that was not yet public knowledge. They had all heard the news and it was at the ohwarha that Okpara's men shared news. It was at the ohwarha joint that the men enjoyed debating issues of public concern, and now they had the chance to talk excitedly about a forthcoming event of great importance to all Agbon people.
“If none of you will say it, I will say it out: we are going to have the Edjenu Festival at long last,” Iniovo announced, as he jumped from the bamboo seat with a triumphal thrust of his fists frontward.
The spritely man did an arcane dance step of joy, as his colleagues watched him. Everybody there was excited.
“We know it is no longer a rumour but the truth that Nene will proclaim it that we will be having the great festival of our time,” Tefe said, with an air of one who knew what was ahead for all of them.
“Who lives to see the Edjenu Festival has lived a meaningful life,” Iniovo told his younger fellows. “We live to be witnesses of the greatest marker of our time.”
“We will look up to our ancestors and gods to direct the affairs of the great festival,” Ode reflected.
“We will not fail the ancestors and gods,” Amraibure said in an assured manner.
“Of course, the ancestors and the gods play their roles as the invisible ones; we humans will play our roles accordingly as humans,” Iniovo said from his wealth of experience.
The day's session at the ohwarha joint remained centered on the expected proclamation of the Edjenu Festival. Today there was no time for gossip about flirting men or women, no time for the secret dalliances of their fellow men. There was no time for flimsy talk. The anticipation of the great festival captured everybody's imagination. Though they had not had the great festival for the past thirty years or so, still they knew what it entailed. They knew this was a seven-day festival, unlike smaller ones that were four-day festivals. During the Edjenu Festival, the oni-edjo masquerade would perform the final ritual dance that would exorcise evil from Agbon.
Almost everybody knew his or her role during the festival. One had to contribute to the public demands and at the same time take care of one's private demands. One had to eat and dress well and be ready to entertain visitors. But nobody knew who would dance the great mask on the festival's final day. That role was left for the person that the ancestors and gods would choose to be the representative of Agbon in reaching them. It was their duty to call the Okpara person to dance the mother-mask, the performance that would conclude the seven-day festival.
The festival was still many months away, but it was many months too far. Days were moving at a millipede's pace instead of racing blindly like an iguana bearing a life-and-death message or gliding like an eagle coasting the horizon beneath white and dark clouds. Anxious Agbon people would wish they could make days move faster for the proclamation to be done and the festival to arrive without endless waiting.
The day's session at the ohwarha joint ended late as the men discussed the possibilities ahead for them, each reflecting on his tasks towards a successful festival.
Amraibure looked to the festival as a hunter did to a great shot. Who fired the shot that brought down the elephant would be rewarded with the tusks and plenty of meat. The champion wins the trophy. Who brought down the leopard with his shot would wear the unique dress made of the leopard's skin and be acclaimed the bravest hunter of all. The victor leads the celebrating parade. Amraibure felt he should aim at the part of the beast ahead of him where it would be hit once so as to fall. He wanted to win the greatest prize that the festival had to offer anybody. He wanted to be that Agbon person, the Okpara man, to dance the mother-mask.
Okpara people would have yet another opportunity to display the greatness which God had blessed them with. They would bring the world to its market-square and entertain the crowd with stunning feats. As to what to do to ensure success, they felt very confident about pulling off a great festival. As they said, “You don't tell the deer where the grassland is. It is its home and it roams it.” They knew what to do to make the festival successful. They had to work hard and expect success.
Amraibure nourished in his mind the opportunity of wearing the mother-mask like his father had done in the last great festival. He was prepared for the task ahead. He could not be Olotu because the days of kingship had passed, but he could be the chief celebrant of the Edjenu Festival of today.
Tefe believed that he had always been a storyteller, since his memory always bristled with tales. He could go back to the very beginning of times when the earth was still young and the motherland was a virgin. He could tell what gave rise to the hill on which Ugbenu Village stood. He could picture in his mind's eye the saga of the giant Arhuaran fleeing across the Ethiope River from the tyrannical Ogiso monarch and then digging red clay to build a house for his mother. But Arhuaran died mysteriously and the mound hardened into a hill. The space intended for the giant's house became a big village that would outlast many generations of monarchs and fugitives.
Tefe could tell why the Urhiapele River passed one place and bypassed other places that would have been in its course, if it did not choose to bend here and there. The goddess of the river wanted to favour the communities that worshiped her constantly with abundant fish and clear water. Gods, he knew, favour the loyalty of worshipers.
The storyteller knew that God had gone into the skies to escape the frequent brawls of humans; he could not spend endless time solving people's problems and needed peace in his immortal life. When Tefe looked at the palm-tree, he easily understood why, more than a king, a commoner could be revered because of the many services he or she performed. He knew why Cricket was declared senior to Clay. Though Clay was junior, it wanted to intimidate Cricket to acknowledge him as senior. Cricket would not give up its right to an upstart. They then had to carry their seniority dispute to the Almighty God, who asked them to swim across a river and the first to cross over would be declared senior. Of course, as Clay swam, it dissolved in water and only Cricket could cross; hence Cricket is senior to Clay! Tefe's youthful