The Gods Be Damned

Baba really liked his dog, Efon. It was a very loyal dog. It followed him everywhere – when he wanted to tap palm wine, when he went to the farm, and when he went hunting. Efon could catch grasscutters really well, and many times, Baba and I only ate meat because of him. Baba was not a very good hunter.

Efon was a member of the family, in essence. He even ate with us and slept inside the house with us. It was unheard of in our village to be so close to an animal. Other girls teased me at the stream most mornings whenever I went to fetch water and wash in the stream. They said I was the secondborn child to a dog and that the dog was my elder brother. The mocking songs were hurtful, but Baba said I should pay no mind to it because young people did not understand.

I noticed the girls' mothers try to stop them sometimes, but it was a half-hearted thing, the sort of thing you might do just for the sake of doing, like tossing grains to your fowls without thinking.

One day, Efon got sick and lay down under the banana tree in our dusty compound all day. Baba was so worried. The dog had been his companion since Mama died two years ago. He was the kind of person who loved one thing with all his being, and he was one of the only two men in the village who didn't marry more than one wife, and he never remarried after Mama died. He just found Efon and brought him home.

At night, Baba went to see the dog and bring him to sleep in the house. I watched him amble out, then listened in the darkness as the wind carried his voice from outside the hut to me.

I was already beginning to drift off, the cool night air and Baba’s singsong voice lulling me to sleep when he yelped, then came back inside holding the back of his hand.

"Efon bit me," he said, his voice sad like he had been betrayed by a friend. "He bit me. He has never done that before."

"Sorry, Baba," I replied, almost fully asleep. "Maybe he didn't mean to. Please try to sleep, sir." "That dog bit me," I heard him say before I plunged into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

******

The next day, Efon had run away, and Baba searched around for three days, coming back each time without the dog, dejected and angry. The wound at the back of his hand behaved strangely at first, swelling up with pus, but it eventually began to heal around four weeks later after we used herbs.

It was after this that, one day, I woke up to fetch water from the stream. Baba was still in bed, which was a rare thing this period. He was supposed to be on the farm. It was planting season.

“What is happening Baba,” I asked. “Are you fine?”

"It's just a little headache," he replied. He was shivering and coughing. "And the injury hurts a bit. It has happened before. I will recover."

I felt his forehead. His body was hot. I imagined dropping water on his forehead and watching it steam, the way it did when I wanted to cook. I was worried, and I planned to see Iya Fabiyi for herbs. Baba had Iba. I wanted to treat it before it got worse.

I got the herbs, and he took it throughout the day, only eating small morsels of Iyan and Egusi, but by evening, he said he was not in as much pain anymore. He could sit up. He told me that his head was itchy, and it was making him uncomfortable.

"Yes, Baba," I joked. "Maybe tomorrow, you will finally scrape off this your hair. It's too bushy, like a grasscutter."

He was still coughing too. Deep coughs that made me worry his chest would split apart. But I didn't mention it. A cough wasn't that bad.

******

The next day, I woke up, and Baba was awake. His body was still hot, and his eyes were very wide and red. He had not slept all night. He looked small and wilted, like a plant that was dying. The herbs were not working.

I had to go to the market. I decided that I would tell Iya Fabiyi about what was going on. Maybe she would know what to do.

"My child," Baba said as I was going out to the market. His voice was still strong and loud, thankfully. It gave me hope that he would recover soon.

“Baba,” I replied.

“Don’t worry about me. It’s just a little sickness. I will recover soon. Do you know why I didn’t marry another woman after your mother died? It's because of you. You're very important to me. So, don't frown so much. I will be fine.”

******

When I came back to Baba with the herbs, he was sitting up, his eyes wide. He was mumbling to the clay walls, looking at it like there were people standing there.

"Do you know that I know who killed Bisi? I know who killed my wife. They walk around the village, free and happy, while they killed a whole part of me. I hate them. If Sango and Ogun do not avenge me, then I will do it myself. I must. I must."

Listening to this crazed frenzy, I no longer recognised the person in front of me. What had happened to him? Surely this was not him, this desperate person who had madness in his eyes and talked so casually about committing sacrilege, even though it was Mama he wanted to fight for. He had repeatedly told me never to fight anyone. This was not that Baba.

“Baba,” I stammered out. “I am back from the market.”

He turned slowly, and his mad eyes looked at me, rooting me to the spot. There was no affection in those eyes, only fury. And hate.

“You!” he screamed. “You killed Bisi. You killed her and now I will kill you too.”

He rose and flew at me, a machete suddenly materialising in his hands. Looking at him then, I knew that if he caught me, I was dead. I dropped everything and ran, screaming for the other villagers to come, to help me, that my father had been struck mad and now he wanted to kill me. The only reason I was able to get away was that he moved slowly and stumbled around oddly, as though a part of his body was weighed down by a heavy load.

******

Baba died two days later, and I did not go to see him. Tola, one of the girls at the stream who helped me fetch water during this period, told me that the villagers had had to restrain Baba, who had struggled with them, telling them they were wicked for protecting his wife’s killer. They said that he had been stricken with madness by the gods.

"Why will anyone go to the gods and ask them to afflict the man with madness? He was too gentle. He never hurt anybody”.

The next day, he was so still that people thought the madness had passed, but his body was very hot. He still coughed and stared at people with dull, vacant eyes. They were afraid to come near him, and they predicted that his violent senselessness would begin again. But that night, Baba died.

I feel guilty. A child should be with her father in his final moments on this plane, but anytime I thought to go see him, I saw his eyes, filled with hate and anger and madness. I saw him bearing down on me with the cutlass. And I walked away as fast as possible.

I have no life in me anymore. Both my parents are gone, and I don’t know what to do with myself.

They buried Baba in the evil forest, lest his madness pass to other people, but subsequently, three more villagers died like Baba, including Iya Fabiyi. They were bitten by animals too.

We’re in the middle of cleansing rites for the village, trying to appease the gods to spare us from their fury. But I don’t care! They can strike me all they want. I don’t care anymore!

Glossary:

1. Baba - A title used to address one's father or a father figure or elderly man among the Yoruba people of South-Western Nigeria.

2. Iba - This describes fever or feverish condition amongst the Yoruba people of South-Western Nigeria.

3. Iyan & Egusi – This is a common Yoruba delicacy made up of pounded yam & melon soup.

4. Sango - The god of thunder according to Yoruba mythology.

5. Ogun - The god of Iron according to Yoruba mythology.

‍