Prologue
Meto Michael Adoglo, was born in Nigeria to Mr. and Mrs. Adoglo. The third of four children, he graduated with a degree in Economics from École le Citoyen, Université d’Abomey-Calavi. He is in his early twenties. He is ambitious, jovial, intelligent and inspired by so many great people including hard working uncles Bayo Aina Padonou (Writer), Segun Arinze Aina (Actor), Kayode Aina (producer) and Jimi Aina (Rave TV Presenter); their contribution to Nollywood and the Nigerian entertainment industry has been an inspiration to him. Meto Michael Adoglo has been writing since 2010, he started off writing poems, pop songs and even rap lyrics but by 2014 he evolved to writing fiction, thriller even romance short stories, novels. After trying out several genres he found love in the embrace of fiction.
Time - an Entity.
The mother perhaps of all recorded data in history and the future. She counts the seconds, minutes and hours that unfold in a day. She is purpose, a schedule.
Management without her is futile. Her existence predates life and will outlive it. She is omnipresent and omniscient. She has witnessed the birth of every great achiever and counts in every situation, good or bad. She gives no breaks, supports no one.
People say time is money but time is more than money. Money lost can be recovered but time lost is never recovered, a moment lost is lost forever. Time is ever changing because change is a law of nature and nothing is independent of change or time.
The life of a man is very short but the work to be done is large and difficult therefore, not a single minute should be wasted. Every breath… every second… should be used properly and meaningfully.
15th October, 2016
Michael
My uncle Abdul Saad was a tall, slim man with brilliant dark hair that always curled into ocean waves a a peculiar birthmark shaped like a star on his forehead. A gentle and quiet soul, his facial hair was always taken care of and his beautiful brown eyes ever so persuasive. He had a charismatic aura about him; basically a woman’s man, handsome and luring. He spoke and smiled softly too. The very definition of an aristocrat.
He loved books. I never knew him to work but he was very rich. Never married and thus never gave me any cousins to play with. My only compensation was his friendship. Since I was old enough to read, each time mother and I visited, he would lend me a new story book to read. It quickly became our thing. I would return the books I had read and he would suggest newer books. I liked him because he talked to me like an adult. We discussed authors and editors, criticized books and talked about school. We also talked about girls and he gave me little tips and advice. I once asked him why he read so much and he replied, “Son, reality sucks but in my books, I am alive!’’.
We enjoyed the same kind of books although he loved every kind and genre: old or new, fantasy, fiction or thriller. Our shared favorites were reality books based on true life experiences. I told him I wanted to write a novel based on a true story one day and he looked at me, smiled and said, “I just might have one for you. Unravel the myth of a god and entity close to heart and blood. There, you will find a story.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“There’s a diary, son” he said and then he paused, looking very pensive before continuing, “Michael, when I die, what possession of mine would you like to own?”
“I don’t under...” I started to say but he interrupted me.
“Be honest kiddo, what would you like to have? I’ve got sweet rides, mansions you’d love and I own a yacht too. Come on Mike, it’s not that hard.”
“No, it isn’t.” I replied and this made him smile.
“What then?”
“I would like to have this library.”
“You love the library that much?”
“Well of course, it’s a marvel!”
He was quiet for a couple of seconds, then he looked at me and said, “It’s yours after I die.”
“Just like that? Wow. Thank you!”
After a while, I remembered he had spoken of a diary and tried to probe further but he said nothing more, he just told me I was not ready yet.
“Soon, Michael. Soon.”
I was curious to know what that odd statement meant but it did not look like I was going to get anything more from him that day, so I left it for another day, hoping ‘soon’ would be soon
Uncle Saad owned a library in his island home with a vast collection of books, his library was a marvel especially considering it was for private use. Its interior was well-decorated with antique sculptures and paintings and tall, polished shelves. A huge chandelier was centered in the middle of the room and huge windows aided cross wind flow. There was a large, wooden reading table with drawers at one side of the room, side tables with various knick-knacks and comfortable sofas tastefully arranged close to the windows and a mini-bar with a fridge at the corner of the room.
Before he committed suicide, Uncle Saad struck me as a very happy man, he was always smiling and he always had time to play with little children, so it came as a big shock to me when I was told he killed himself. I cried for a long time when I heard the news because we had been very close and he had been a father figure to me, but little did I know a bigger shock was to come.
Three days later, after his burial, I was standing alone at the centre of his library, the chandelier above my head, trying to wrap my mind around the fact he was gone forever; trying to understand why he would kill himself and the room seemed to start spinning. I started crying again as memories began to play back in my head.
Our family was a very little one: my mother, my two aunties Amina and Karajan and Major Du, my uncle. My father died while I was in my mother’s womb and I was trained by my mother and her sisters. I knew just members of my mother’s family as she had lost contact with my father’s family after his death.
Mum and Uncle Saad were the closest amongst their siblings which was weird because they did not grow up together. They had only met 16 years ago after Uncle Saad saved her from a hostage situation unaware she was his sister. While growing up, I heard rumors of a romance between both of them.
“Ridiculous lies!” Both of them had responded when I asked about it. They claimed people - including their siblings - misinterpreted the love they had for each other. His death really devastated her.
Head still spinning in the library, I heard my mother call out my name. I was called to the parlor and asked to sit with the adults, which felt strange because I was only sixteen and this looked like a serious meeting. Aunty Amina, Aunty Karajan, Uncle Du, who was the oldest of them all and my mother were present in the parlor. They sat still in their chairs yet I could sense an underlying friction between them. Barrister Bola, the family’s lawyer was also seated in the room.
When we were all seated he cleared his throat, picked up a document and began to read.
“Oh! that’s what this is.” I thought, “Uncle Saad’s will.”
I looked on as Barrister Bola spoke, observing my uncle and aunties, they looked different, afraid and tense. They were all hoping for a share of the money.
Barrister Bola completed a statement I wasn’t paying full attention to, I only heard mention of a hundred thousand dollars and Uncle Du jumped up and punched the air as he screamed ‘Yes!’. I felt sad and disgusted at how delighted Uncle Du looked.
“Well, the dead have no use for wealth.” I thought to myself right before I was shaken out of my thoughts at the sound of more than one voice talking at the same time.
Apparently, my mother, my aunties and my uncle were willed just cash and Uncle Du began to enquire about his dead brother’s assets but Barrister Bola told him to be patient.
“It has to be done the right way with all protocols observed.”
Uncle Du lost his smile, he was getting suspicious. Barrister Bola turned to me and said, “Finally, Michael, the statement reads that your uncle, Saad willed firstly Article A; the library to you and secondly Article B; every asset he owned. There is a something else; a diary. A really old diary… “
The barrister held out an old book to me.
“…with a note attached - Unravel the myth of a god and entity_ close to heart and blood and you shall find the key you seek.”
I took the diary from the lawyer and studied it, turning it over in my hands as I tried to remember where I had heard or seen those words before.
He continued, “When you get the key, you get your inheritance, but there is a catch. If the key is not found one year from today, Michael’s claim to Article B will be revoked and it will be donated to an orphanage of his choice.”
“What!” Uncle Du exclaimed but no one paid attention to him, his sisters were murmuring. Uncle Du repeated himself, this time with a startling higher pitch. We turned to meet his gaze and he said, “Now I know Saad was clearly insane, willing all his assets to his sixteen year old nephew only if he can solve a riddle which he definitely cannot. Shit! It’s over. Saad has succeeded in having us lose out on his huge wealth, the stingy bastard.”
At this, my mother who had been smiling from ear to ear, happy her son stood the chance to own millions suddenly lost her smile and interrupted him.
“Hey!” She shouted, confronting him, “Really? Insane? Bastard? Okay, I think he was insane to give your lazy ass a hundred grand. Your ass does not deserve a single penny.”
“Well, I suppose you feel your ass deserves all, Zaleka? I’m sure Saad gave you all, y’all were working overtime.” Uncle Du replied.
This was the first time I had heard him openly allude to an illicit relationship between Uncle Saad and my mother. Suddenly, the exchange of words erupted into a fight and they had to be separated. I was quiet throughout the exchange, focused only on trying to understand Uncle Saad’s motive for willing it all to me and the contract clause.
After the long day, when everyone had calmed down a bit and gone home, mother decided we would stay at Uncle Saad’s for the main time, so I went to the library with the diary. I opened the door to the library and locked it behind me, walked in and sat at Uncle Saad’s table thinking about how old the diary looked, then I opened it and began to read.
Standing still, filled with emotions and my heart incomplete; I hear the drizzle of the rain like a memory. It falls soft and warm, continuously tapping on my roof and walls. From the shelter of my mind, through the windows of my eyes, I gaze beyond the rain drops and drenched streets to Nigeria where my heart lies. My mind is distracted and my thoughts are many miles away; they lie with you when you are asleep, they kiss you when you start your day.
I spend my days writing poems I no longer believe in.
I have come to doubt all I once held true and now I stand alone without beliefs.
The only truth I know is you, my princess.
I have been apart from you for so long and I miss you so!
My sole purpose in life has been to find you since I lost you but days quickly turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years.
Decades and centuries have passed but I linger in time and emerge anew like a phoenix rising from its ashes.
My spirit, bound to Africa continues to be reborn and I stay true to my goal, for survival means nothing without you.
We wanted life, to live free in beautiful Africa.
Western Nigeria,
West Africa
1800s
Nature ruled, the air was pure and breathable with the fragrance of the wild trees and flowers of its great forests. Birds flew to heights humans envied and animals ran free in the wild. Every living thing owned the most special gift ever given; Freedom.
We were known as the Ogun clan and our society was like no other. We had no king, no monarchy, the people ruled and decisions were taken by the elders.
“Life is a beautiful story.” my father once said.
Peace reigned supreme in all surrounding villages. Our men hunted and our women farmed the lands, harvesting fruits and crops while craftsmen, either male or female made the tools we used to hunt and farm and other tools for day to day activities.
My first parents were unable to have children and soon became very worried. My father sought advice from his friend, Maguni who advised him to seek help from the goddess Osun.
“Have your wife prepare her best dish and wine as appeasement for the goddess. Follow River Yewa until you meet the great tree, she shall ask you a question and the answer is always the same regardless of the question” Maguni instructed him.
So alone in the dark of the night, my father and mother set out in a canoe and paddled their way into the great River Yewa. They glided almost effortlessly along the river that seemed unending until it began to get misty. In the mist, they could barely see the vicinity but they clearly saw a huge dead tree ahead on a small island in the center of the river. They had arrived.
My father docked and secured his canoe and stood beside my mother with the food and wine at what seemed to be an entrance to the great tree. My mother was terrified, but my dad held her and gave her courage. The great tree shook his branches, yawning and opening his bright eyes.
“Who goes there?” he asked, in a loud baritone voice. “I hear her whimpering and it greatly displeases me.”
“We are sorry great tree of Yewa, we come seeking the help of Mother Yewa, Osun.” My father replied.
The great tree regarded them a while longer before saying “You must answer a riddle before the mother may see you.” Father nodded.
“ I have been around for ages, alas I am only a month older. Who am I?”
“The moon.”
“You may enter.” The great tree said, swiftly opening the door.
They entered and kept the food and wine where they saw other items had been deposited. A wooden bowl made from African timber stood ahead, filled with sparkling water; the tears of mothers.
Maguni had prepared them well. My mother walked up to the bowl, knelt in front of it and cried into it. She cried out loud, pouring out her pain in her native Yoruba language. Her tears dripped off her cheeks into the sacred wooden bowl and after she had finished, Osun, the Yoruba Orisha of love and sweet water, also known as the goddess of fertility, spoke to her in a sweet motherly tone,
“It is well my daughter. Your seed will grow and become a family tree of sweet fruits - but the first harvest is mine. When the child is born, you shall bring your placenta and the cloth used to wipe the blood from your labor to me because the harvest is mine. Your grandkids will be mine. Your lineage will be mine”
Thus my spirit was born as Osun granted their wishes.
