with anticipation as all eyes focused on the balcony. And then the Chief appeared, waving the red horsetail lazily in the air.
‘The Chief is now present,’ a royal guard announced.
‘Long live the Chief,’ the crowd roared in greeting, jostling with frantic energy, causing the dust in the air to thicken.
The Chief climbed gingerly onto a tall handsomely-carved stool, from where he looked upon the crowd. His robe was more colourful than anything he had ever worn, and his belly folded over the rope around his waist. Behind him were the royal guards, and on either side of him stood a number of lesser chiefs wearing colourful beads around their necks.
‘This great meeting was convened by the Chief,’ the guard continued, ‘to read out the rights and obligations of Ese, who lost her husband months ago. She has become a widow.’ He paused. ‘And now the Chief will speak.’
‘Long live the Chief,’ the crowd chorused again.
The Chief cleared his throat. He did not bother to enquire if I was in the gathering. He did not bother to summon me forward. He spoke from high up, going directly to the purpose of the meeting.
‘People of our great village,’ he began, ‘Ese is now a widow, and, in our tradition, a widow must remarry within six months or lose custody of her children.’ He paused. ‘In Ese’s case, she has only one child, a boy. So if she fails to remarry as prescribed by our laws, she will lose custody of the boy to his eldest paternal uncle.’ Again he paused, and he cleared his throat.
I clutched Noah’s hand. I was finding it difficult to breathe. I felt as if I was in a bad dream. I wanted to scream in protest, but I was too stunned by the proceedings to utter a word.
The Chief continued.
‘Ese’s duty is to remarry as prescribed by our laws. If she fails to do so, she must give up the boy. This is the purpose for which I convened this meeting. I thank you all for coming.’
The meeting was over.
The Chief climbed down from the stool, brandishing the horsetail. The crowd began to disperse. I tried to push through to the front, to make my case before the Chief. But it was as if I was swimming against the tide; my effort was useless. Fearing that Noah would be crushed, I began to retreat with the crowd and decided that I would visit the palace at another, more opportune, time, to lay my case before the Chief.
‘It is very simple,’ I told myself. First, Noah was my son and there was no way anyone would take him away from me. Second, I could not remarry when I had not fallen in love with any man. Moreover, I was not aware of any such law instructing me to remarry within a specific time and never had I seen it enforced before. This was the case I would make before the Chief.
*
We walked away hurriedly, isolated from everyone by a wall of dust. On getting home, I checked the calendar in our living room, which was roughly marked with charcoal, and I realised that Tanto had been gone for five months and two weeks. I had only two weeks left to comply with the law, or else my son would be taken into the custody of Jaja, his eldest paternal uncle. Jaja was a very mean man. A shiver ran through me at the thought of losing Noah to him.
‘Mother, are they going to take me away from you?’ Noah asked. ‘Are you going to marry another man?’
I turned away from the calendar and held out my hand to him. ‘No one will ever take you away from me, and I will not marry another man,’ I reassured him.
‘Yesterday I saw four boys,’ he said, shuffling his feet.
‘Where did you see them?’ I was curious.
‘On the outskirts of the village.’
I released his hand and I bent down and glared into his face. ‘Have I not warned you never to go that far?’ I asked. ‘Have I not?’
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ he said, squeezing his face into a frown.
‘You’re sorry? Tell me, why did you go there?’
‘My friends said we should go there to pick mangos.’
‘Have mangos become food for you? Don’t I feed you well enough?’
He gazed up at me with imploring eyes, saying nothing.
‘Answer me!’ I snapped. Then I sighed and softened my voice. ‘Look, I’ve warned you before; it’s not safe for you to go that far. Stop allowing your friends to tell you where to go and what to do. You should have a mind of your own.’
He pouted. ‘I’m sorry, Mother, I won’t do it again,’ he said and took my hand.
‘I will be very angry with you next time, you know that?’
He nodded. ‘I know, Mother, I will not make you angry.’
‘So what boys did you see?’ I asked, pulling a stool over to sit down.
He sat next to me. ‘The boys who live in the abandoned building on the outskirts. They told me they have no parents. One of them is about my age, the others are a bit older. Mother, how come they don’t have parents?’
‘They’re orphans. Their parents are dead,’ I replied warily.
‘And how come they live on the outskirts and not in the village?’
‘Well, it’s either that they ran away from the homes of their relatives or that they were thrown out.’
‘Why? Why would they run away from home or get thrown out to live in an abandoned building?’ he asked in a sad voice.
I knew that the answer to his question would sadden him more. So I rose and pulled him up. ‘Please stop worrying about the orphans,’ I said. ‘Let’s go to the kitchen, I will make us something to eat.’
In the kitchen, busying myself noisily to discourage him from asking more questions, my mind became preoccupied with the Chief’s words. I imagined that he must have been drunk when he spoke at the gathering. How could he ever think of taking my son away from me or forcing me into marriage? A quiet, bitter laugh escaped me.
*
Noah pressed further after we had eaten. ‘Mother, tell me more about the orphans,’ he said to me.
I remained silent for a moment, and then I decided to tell him all that he needed to know. ‘What is it you want to know about them?’
We were seated by the lantern. A moth circled, disappeared from view and then flickered back again.
‘I want to know why they ran away from home,’ he said, then reached out to slap the moth away.
‘Don’t worry about the moth,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s playing with fire.’
A brief smiled passed across his face. He knew the consequences of playing with fire. When he was five he had stuck his finger in the lantern when I was not looking. He had screamed in pain, causing me to jump in fear. He never tried it again.
‘Why did they run away from home?’ he asked, looking expectantly at me.
I leaned back and fixed my eyes on the lantern. ‘In the tradition of our village,’ I began, ‘young orphans are believed to be evil children responsible for their parents’ deaths. By tradition, they’re taken into care by their maternal family and are treated as taboo. They cannot eat with or play with other children, and they’re made to work as slaves for their own family. Because they’re treated very badly, some run away from home. In other instances, if the family they are living with suffer any misfortune, the orphans are blamed for it and can be tortured and thrown out. Whatever the reason for their leaving, they end up in the abandoned building on the outskirts.’
‘Will they live there for ever?’ he asked.
‘They’d probably live there until they’re a bit older, then go away and not come back. At one point or another, every orphan either runs away from