Rebirth

It was beautiful…the magnificence of the skies was a spectacle to behold. I was awestruck, yet excited at the same time as I soared into the heights. It kept cajoling, beckoning; fusing into my being.

I was one with it and it was one with me. I had existed since eternity, once lost, but now found, found by the glory of the skies, enthralled by its endlessness.

I delved downwards, searching for an end to its depths, but it had no end. The feeling was amazing. I lost myself as I plunged into its abysmal depths, losing my breath, losing myself.

Have you ever experienced freedom, true freedom that had no boundaries, no limits, and no restrictions? This was it.

This was the moment I had always dreamed of, the day when I would soar into the skies like an eagle and lose myself.

As a kid I had heard the tales. Fairy tales people called them, but I believed. I believed with all my heart. Every night my grandfather would tell us the tales of our land, the beautiful and magnificent Ara.

As kids, most of us believed the stories, but as we grew older, we stopped believing as those who before us had stopped believing when they grew older and those before them too had stopped believing, but I never stopped believing.

The stories were a mixture of myth, adventure, and defeat, for in the stories, no one had ever reached the end of Ara.

Brave soldiers, great magicians, noble rulers, had all tried but failed. To get to the ends of Ara, travellers had to go through treacherous mountains and deep forests, filled with demons and spirits and creatures that could devour the souls of men. Even bravest men had fallen.

I never relented in my dreaming and imagination. Everyday I dreamt of myself reaching the ends of Ara. I didn’t care who had tried and failed, all I cared for was the day I would jump off the nose of Ara, the giant tortoise, and fly with its magic. Yes, the stories told us Ara was on the back of a giant tortoise flying in an endless sky.

Nobody believed the story to be true. It was absurd to think that all these men and houses, and animals, and mountains, and rivers, and seas, and forests, would be on the back of a giant flying tortoise.

I had once asked my grand father if he believed the stories he told us. ‘Child, whatever you believe in, if you believe it hard enough, is true to you,’ that was his answer. To him, they were all tales, passed to him by his father and in turn passed to his father by his father’s father from one generation to the next.

My father always got peeved by the stories. ‘Why tell children stories that are not true,’ he would tell his father. It all didn’t make sense to him. My father was a typical Ara dweller, he was a hunter and farmer like most of the men, while the women helped at the farm, cooked, and made garments.

My father thought the stories should be about the great hunters of Ara, the men who risked their lives daily to provide for their families. Left to me, there was not much to be told about men throwing spears at running meat, there was no magic in that.

My father had always wanted me to be a great hunter, like him. He had once killed a wild beast that was terrorizing the villages. He instantly became a hero amongst the village dwellers. To him, that was a story worth telling.

‘Gori my son, one day you’ll be a great hunter like me,’ he’d tell me every single day. I guess he knew the value of emphasis. He also made sure he took me hunting every single day as a child. I had become quite dexterous at hunting from a very tender age.

I was named Gori Akpata because I was born at the top of a mountain. I was sure my father had arranged that, to him that would have been a story worth telling. He always wanted to stand out in everything he did. He was a special man, I wondered where he would want his next child to be born, in the middle of a river was a very likely possibility, and I was very sure he would figure out how to do that.

I was like him in a lot of ways, the great Okutamasun, fearless, bold and stubborn. Though he was adventurous, he was also very pragmatic, while I was more open-minded.

From a tender age, I had decided to go on the adventure that would change my life and the whole land of Ara forever, and since then, I had been dreaming of the day, preparing for it. One day, I finally told my father what was on my mind, ‘next week, I will journey to the ends of Ara,’ I told him.

My father just stared at me and said nothing for a long time. Then he stood up, ‘come with me,’ he finally said. We walked on saying nothing for a long time. We went into the bushes, and then joined a path up hill.

‘Father, where are we going?’ I wanted the silence to end. I wondered what was on my father’s mind.

‘Just follow me,’ he replied.

The great Okutamasun, stern and decisive as ever…

I followed him up hill for hours until we got to the summit. Then he stopped.

‘My Son, Goriakpata, the son of the mountains. I have taught you to be strong and wise. Why have you decided to take up such a futile journey?’ my father looked straight into my eyes.

‘Father-’

‘Quiet! Look straight ahead,’ my father pointed to the view to the north of the hill, ‘what do you see?’

I was a bit reluctant to answer, I sensed where he was going, but I still answered anyway, ‘hills and forests.’

‘And?’

‘Rivers…’

‘What else do you see?’ he asked.

‘More forests and hills,’ I said resignedly. I was almost too sure of what he would say next.

‘Son, there is no end to the hills and the forests and the rivers…there is no such thing as the end of Ara. Can’t you see Ara has no end? Does a Circle have any end? Do you know where the rivers come from or where they go to, or are there any barriers to the sky above?’ he looked at me, silent for a while, and then continued, ‘Son, you would only wander for the rest of your life.’

I thought about what he said, and I trusted his judgement. He was a strong and wise man, and he taught me to be wise and strong also, to be able to make my own decisions, but I had made up my mind on this. If Ara had no end, then I would be a wanderer, and ply the roads of Ara for the rest of my life. Not to try is even more futile, I would eat my heart out from desperation if I failed to embark on the journey. ‘I have made up my mind,’ I reiterated my thoughts to him.

‘Very well my son, may the gods of Ara follow you, may they guide your path and protect you from evil,’ he looked away from me and stared at the landscape that stretched endlessly ahead of us.

‘Leave me and go and prepare for your journey,’ I could send the disappointment in his voice. I didn’t see him for the next six days, then he finally came home a day before my departure. We hardly said anything to each other.

That night, my sleep was tumultuous. Doubts, fears, dreams of adventure, and disaster…dreams of insanity, but I had made up my mind.

The next morning, I had packed everything I needed and was ready to embark on my journey. Outside the house, my father was already waiting for me.

‘Come here my Son,’ he stretched out his hands, and we hugged each other for almost eternity. ‘My Son journeys,’ he smiled at me, ‘you should know that I am very proud of you. It takes a real man to be bold enough to follow his dreams.’

‘Thank you father,’ a tear formed in my eyes. I tried to hold back the tears.

‘I know your mother would be very proud of you,’ I saw tears run down my father’s face. I had never seen tears in the eyes of Okutamasun. He had always told me how much he had loved my mother and still loved her even in death. My mother had died giving birth to me.

He wiped his tears. I also felt tears all over my cheeks, my face was soaked in it. I always had an aversion for crying, but I could not control the tears that now flowed down my eyes. Another lesson, even strong men cry.

As I departed, my father called me, ‘Son!’ he paused for a while, ‘If Ara does have an end, please come back and tell me.’

‘I will father. Goodbye father,’ we shook hands and hugged tightly one more time before I turned back and headed for my unpredictable journey to the end of Ara.

I was not sure if I was ever going to see my father again, but I promised myself, that no matter the cost, I was going to see him again. It was a promise I intended to keep.

‘Goodbye son,’ the great Okutamasun waved at his son, I saw pride in his eyes, a part of him would always believe in me. He also had the look that said he wasn’t so sure he was ever going to see me again either, a look of loss.

As I walked farther from my father, my mind went deeper in thought. I thought about the dangers I would face. I thought about the hardship, I thought about the pain of being away from home for too long, the pain of possibly never seeing my home again, and I thought about the three friends that had insisted on coming with me.

I had tried everything I could to dissuade them from coming, but all to no avail. My dream was also their dream, they had told me. ‘Friends are supposed to support each other,’ they had said, and they thought getting to the end of Ara and being able to fly wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

I wondered what I would do without them.

Alaba was fat, chubby and very funny. He also had strength in his weight. There was a time Alaba took on almost ten boys at the same time, and at the end of the brawl, he was sitting on all ten of them.

Atupka was slim and almost fragile, but very smart. He knew all the songs of the elders, the songs that had been passed from generation to generation. He was the only one who knew all the seventy seven songs. Atupka knew about a lot of things; nature, culture, human behaviour, animals. Sometimes, he would just wander into the forest and would come back days later excited about new things he had discovered.

Eniola could not be described; he was never the same person twice. Today, he was smart, the next day, he would act stupid. One day, he knew all about the life circle of a butterfly, the next day he had never heard such a thing. Eniola could convince a goat that it was a bird, and make an eagle think it was a duck. Eniola the sly as we usually called him was also an excellent spear thrower. He once caught a green sweeper bird, one of the fastest birds of Ara, with his spear.

Together, the four of us embarked on a journey into the unknown, a journey that would forever change our lives. As we passed the last hut in the village, we knew we had crossed the threshold, from known, to unknown.

Though most of us had explored the forest before, we knew this was a journey that would take us deeper than we’d ever been, a journey that would take us to the end of the world, if we succeeded. This was where the story really began.

It started like a normal strode in the forest. Throughout the first day, nothing eventful happened. At the end of the day we chose a spot to camp, we roasted some bush meat we had caught on the way. At the fire, we talked about the adventure that lay ahead of us. We had heard different stories and wondered how many of them were true.

Seven more days passed without incidence, and we had almost reached the clearing that led to Ile Okuta, the land of the rocks. Ile Okuta we had heard was covered with rocks the size of hills. We had also heard of the dangers that lurked in Ile Okuta.

Everybody in the village had heard stories about the Ibales, the tribe of the rocks, a hostile tribe that welcomed no visitors. Rumours had it that they usually fed strangers to their beasts. None of us wanted to end up as meal to the beasts of the Ibales, yet, we knew we had to pass through Ile Okuta. It was the only way.

As we approached the edges of Ile Okuta, we knew our resilience and strength would soon be put to a test. An old village song kept playing in my head.

Read rest of story in Rebirth by Jimi Ojikutu

It was beautiful…the magnificence of the skies was a spectacle to behold. I was awestruck, yet excited at the same time as I soared into the heights. It kept cajoling, beckoning; fusing into my being.

I was one with it and it was one with me. I had existed since eternity, once lost, but now found, found by the glory of the skies, enthralled by its endlessness.

I delved downwards, searching for an end to its depths, but it had no end. The feeling was amazing. I lost myself as I plunged into its abysmal depths, losing my breath, losing myself.

Have you ever experienced freedom, true freedom that had no boundaries, no limits, and no restrictions? This was it.

This was the moment I had always dreamed of, the day when I would soar into the skies like an eagle and lose myself.

As a kid I had heard the tales. Fairy tales people called them, but I believed. I believed with all my heart. Every night my grandfather would tell us the tales of our land, the beautiful and magnificent Ara.

As kids, most of us believed the stories, but as we grew older, we stopped believing as those who before us had stopped believing when they grew older and those before them too had stopped believing, but I never stopped believing.

The stories were a mixture of myth, adventure, and defeat, for in the stories, no one had ever reached the end of Ara.

Brave soldiers, great magicians, noble rulers, had all tried but failed. To get to the ends of Ara, travellers had to go through treacherous mountains and deep forests, filled with demons and spirits and creatures that could devour the souls of men. Even bravest men had fallen.

I never relented in my dreaming and imagination. Everyday I dreamt of myself reaching the ends of Ara. I didn’t care who had tried and failed, all I cared for was the day I would jump off the nose of Ara, the giant tortoise, and fly with its magic. Yes, the stories told us Ara was on the back of a giant tortoise flying in an endless sky.

Nobody believed the story to be true. It was absurd to think that all these men and houses, and animals, and mountains, and rivers, and seas, and forests, would be on the back of a giant flying tortoise.

I had once asked my grand father if he believed the stories he told us. ‘Child, whatever you believe in, if you believe it hard enough, is true to you,’ that was his answer. To him, they were all tales, passed to him by his father and in turn passed to his father by his father’s father from one generation to the next.

My father always got peeved by the stories. ‘Why tell children stories that are not true,’ he would tell his father. It all didn’t make sense to him. My father was a typical Ara dweller, he was a hunter and farmer like most of the men, while the women helped at the farm, cooked, and made garments.

My father thought the stories should be about the great hunters of Ara, the men who risked their lives daily to provide for their families. Left to me, there was not much to be told about men throwing spears at running meat, there was no magic in that.

My father had always wanted me to be a great hunter, like him. He had once killed a wild beast that was terrorizing the villages. He instantly became a hero amongst the village dwellers. To him, that was a story worth telling.

‘Gori my son, one day you’ll be a great hunter like me,’ he’d tell me every single day. I guess he knew the value of emphasis. He also made sure he took me hunting every single day as a child. I had become quite dexterous at hunting from a very tender age.

I was named Gori Akpata because I was born at the top of a mountain. I was sure my father had arranged that, to him that would have been a story worth telling. He always wanted to stand out in everything he did. He was a special man, I wondered where he would want his next child to be born, in the middle of a river was a very likely possibility, and I was very sure he would figure out how to do that.

I was like him in a lot of ways, the great Okutamasun, fearless, bold and stubborn. Though he was adventurous, he was also very pragmatic, while I was more open-minded.

From a tender age, I had decided to go on the adventure that would change my life and the whole land of Ara forever, and since then, I had been dreaming of the day, preparing for it. One day, I finally told my father what was on my mind, ‘next week, I will journey to the ends of Ara,’ I told him.

My father just stared at me and said nothing for a long time. Then he stood up, ‘come with me,’ he finally said. We walked on saying nothing for a long time. We went into the bushes, and then joined a path up hill.

‘Father, where are we going?’ I wanted the silence to end. I wondered what was on my father’s mind.

‘Just follow me,’ he replied.

The great Okutamasun, stern and decisive as ever…

I followed him up hill for hours until we got to the summit. Then he stopped.

‘My Son, Goriakpata, the son of the mountains. I have taught you to be strong and wise. Why have you decided to take up such a futile journey?’ my father looked straight into my eyes.

‘Father-’

‘Quiet! Look straight ahead,’ my father pointed to the view to the north of the hill, ‘what do you see?’

I was a bit reluctant to answer, I sensed where he was going, but I still answered anyway, ‘hills and forests.’

‘And?’

‘Rivers…’

‘What else do you see?’ he asked.

‘More forests and hills,’ I said resignedly. I was almost too sure of what he would say next.

‘Son, there is no end to the hills and the forests and the rivers…there is no such thing as the end of Ara. Can’t you see Ara has no end? Does a Circle have any end? Do you know where the rivers come from or where they go to, or are there any barriers to the sky above?’ he looked at me, silent for a while, and then continued, ‘Son, you would only wander for the rest of your life.’

I thought about what he said, and I trusted his judgement. He was a strong and wise man, and he taught me to be wise and strong also, to be able to make my own decisions, but I had made up my mind on this. If Ara had no end, then I would be a wanderer, and ply the roads of Ara for the rest of my life. Not to try is even more futile, I would eat my heart out from desperation if I failed to embark on the journey. ‘I have made up my mind,’ I reiterated my thoughts to him.

‘Very well my son, may the gods of Ara follow you, may they guide your path and protect you from evil,’ he looked away from me and stared at the landscape that stretched endlessly ahead of us.

‘Leave me and go and prepare for your journey,’ I could send the disappointment in his voice. I didn’t see him for the next six days, then he finally came home a day before my departure. We hardly said anything to each other.

That night, my sleep was tumultuous. Doubts, fears, dreams of adventure, and disaster…dreams of insanity, but I had made up my mind.

The next morning, I had packed everything I needed and was ready to embark on my journey. Outside the house, my father was already waiting for me.

‘Come here my Son,’ he stretched out his hands, and we hugged each other for almost eternity. ‘My Son journeys,’ he smiled at me, ‘you should know that I am very proud of you. It takes a real man to be bold enough to follow his dreams.’

‘Thank you father,’ a tear formed in my eyes. I tried to hold back the tears.

‘I know your mother would be very proud of you,’ I saw tears run down my father’s face. I had never seen tears in the eyes of Okutamasun. He had always told me how much he had loved my mother and still loved her even in death. My mother had died giving birth to me.

He wiped his tears. I also felt tears all over my cheeks, my face was soaked in it. I always had an aversion for crying, but I could not control the tears that now flowed down my eyes. Another lesson, even strong men cry.

As I departed, my father called me, ‘Son!’ he paused for a while, ‘If Ara does have an end, please come back and tell me.’

‘I will father. Goodbye father,’ we shook hands and hugged tightly one more time before I turned back and headed for my unpredictable journey to the end of Ara.

I was not sure if I was ever going to see my father again, but I promised myself, that no matter the cost, I was going to see him again. It was a promise I intended to keep.

‘Goodbye son,’ the great Okutamasun waved at his son, I saw pride in his eyes, a part of him would always believe in me. He also had the look that said he wasn’t so sure he was ever going to see me again either, a look of loss.

As I walked farther from my father, my mind went deeper in thought. I thought about the dangers I would face. I thought about the hardship, I thought about the pain of being away from home for too long, the pain of possibly never seeing my home again, and I thought about the three friends that had insisted on coming with me.

I had tried everything I could to dissuade them from coming, but all to no avail. My dream was also their dream, they had told me. ‘Friends are supposed to support each other,’ they had said, and they thought getting to the end of Ara and being able to fly wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

I wondered what I would do without them.

Alaba was fat, chubby and very funny. He also had strength in his weight. There was a time Alaba took on almost ten boys at the same time, and at the end of the brawl, he was sitting on all ten of them.

Atupka was slim and almost fragile, but very smart. He knew all the songs of the elders, the songs that had been passed from generation to generation. He was the only one who knew all the seventy seven songs. Atupka knew about a lot of things; nature, culture, human behaviour, animals. Sometimes, he would just wander into the forest and would come back days later excited about new things he had discovered.

Eniola could not be described; he was never the same person twice. Today, he was smart, the next day, he would act stupid. One day, he knew all about the life circle of a butterfly, the next day he had never heard such a thing. Eniola could convince a goat that it was a bird, and make an eagle think it was a duck. Eniola the sly as we usually called him was also an excellent spear thrower. He once caught a green sweeper bird, one of the fastest birds of Ara, with his spear.

Together, the four of us embarked on a journey into the unknown, a journey that would forever change our lives. As we passed the last hut in the village, we knew we had crossed the threshold, from known, to unknown.

Though most of us had explored the forest before, we knew this was a journey that would take us deeper than we’d ever been, a journey that would take us to the end of the world, if we succeeded. This was where the story really began.

It started like a normal strode in the forest. Throughout the first day, nothing eventful happened. At the end of the day we chose a spot to camp, we roasted some bush meat we had caught on the way. At the fire, we talked about the adventure that lay ahead of us. We had heard different stories and wondered how many of them were true.

Seven more days passed without incidence, and we had almost reached the clearing that led to Ile Okuta, the land of the rocks. Ile Okuta we had heard was covered with rocks the size of hills. We had also heard of the dangers that lurked in Ile Okuta.

Everybody in the village had heard stories about the Ibales, the tribe of the rocks, a hostile tribe that welcomed no visitors. Rumours had it that they usually fed strangers to their beasts. None of us wanted to end up as meal to the beasts of the Ibales, yet, we knew we had to pass through Ile Okuta. It was the only way.

As we approached the edges of Ile Okuta, we knew our resilience and strength would soon be put to a test. An old village song kept playing in my head.

The people of the stones

The People of Old

Fierce and Strong

Dressed all wrong

See them and Run

For they are no fun

They’ll cut you and dice you

In a boiling Pot of stew, they’ll cook you.

I remember cowering in fear with all the other kids as the old men sang the song to us. It served its purpose quite well, and kept us from venturing too far into the forests.

We had passed the first few rocks and had not said a word to each other. We were yet to see any Ibale person. Only the rocks stared at us, ‘Where are the rock people?’ Alaba said with apprehension in his voice. He must have hated the silence. I guess he just wanted them out of Ile Okuta, and away from the rock people.

The rest of us stayed silent. There was nothing much to say, and besides, we did not want any sound to attract any inhabitant the place might have. We intended travelling through without incidence too. We knew what any incidence could lead to.

As we walked on, I could not help but marvel at the beauty and enormity of the terrain. Giant rocks stretched on for miles and miles unending. Everything seemed to possess a peculiar oneness. Everything that was there seemed to have the same colour…dull, drab and sullen, as if the god’s out of pure fun sucked the life out of it and left it for dead. Everything about it was eerie and creepy. The reptiles scampered about, almost transparent in the dull rocky background.

Sometimes it only seemed as if a cloud of dust just moved by. The trees were gaunt and stone-like. They looked like old men bent by age. Even the birds were dark and stone eyed. Everything there looked sinister and dark.

We had walked for miles unending without incidence and the land mass still seemed to stretch on to infinity.

Looking at my friends, I could not help but be afraid for us. They looked distant and forlorn, man and dust had become one and they were beginning to also look like the rocks. I was beginning to really worry for our lives. I could not help but feel guilty for putting my friends through the torture. ‘Are you okay,’ I asked them.

They just nodded at me without saying a word. They looked like corpses walking aimlessly in the land of the living.

Alaba stopped; I knew it was only a matter of time before his weight caught up with him. It was only his strength that had taken him this far. ‘I can’t,’ was all he said.

‘You can’t what,’ Eniola replied him impatiently.

‘It’s okay Eniola. Alaba, are you tired, we can rest here,’ I knew nerves were flaring and I had to calm them down, and besides I thought we needed to rest.

‘I can’t go on,’ Alaba said, ‘this does not make any sense. We have been walking unending for over seven days and we have not even seen the edges of Ara. How can all this even be on the back of a giant tortoise?’ he stopped talking and sat on the floor. He looked up at us envisaging a response; we all just stared back at him. When none of us said anything, he continued, ‘Gori, I admire your courage, I envy your dreams, I yearn for your insight into things; but don’t you see the futility in this quest. Man can not fly, flight is for birds. Even if the world had an edge, I am sure any man that jumped from it would plunge to his death,’ he paused, expecting someone to say something, but he only got silence in return.

I felt sorry for him. I felt guilty for putting them through this, yet I had not forced any of them to come. All I could muster was, ‘I’m sorry.’

There was a pause for a while, then Alaba replied, ‘don’t be sorry. I should be sorry for myself for giving up so easily, but you must understand this is not easy for me. I am sorry Gori, for giving up on you…and myself,’ he buried his face in his hands, ‘I just can’t go on.’

Atupka and Eniola both kept staring at Alaba, saying nothing.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to go. I wish you the best of luck and I hope you find the edge of the world,’ Alaba picked up his bag and nodded his head, ‘this quest is not for me.’ He then turned his back and went the way we had come, back to the village. That was the end of the journey for Alaba.

We all stared at him as his figure got smaller as time elapsed, until he completely disappeared into the dust, man and dust becoming one.

The silence continued; it was like a weight that pressed down on us like one of the huge rocks of Ile Okuta. It was becoming unbearable; I just had to say something though I didn’t know what exactly to say. ‘Does anyone else want to leave,’ I paused, but there was only silence, ‘I assure you this would not be an easy journey. Its just about seven days going back, and it would not make any sense going further and then turn back. I would not allow anybody to do that-’

‘Keep quite,’ Eniola snapped, ‘what is wrong with you. I am sure the journey is taking its toll on you too. Who said anything about quitting? If you believe we are on a flying tortoise; all the forests, the hills, the mountains, the rivers, the animals, the men, all these are on a flying tortoise,’ he looked deep into my eyes, with an intense look in his eyes, ‘then we are.’

Atupka smiled, and we all laughed.

Eniola continued, ‘we are in this with you, are we not,’ he turned to Atupka.

‘Yes we are,’ Atupka replied.

‘And if I hear you say anything about being sorry, or quitting, I would feed you to the rocks,’ we all laughed, Eniola was just unbelievable.

‘Thank you,’ was all I could say.

‘Darkness approaches, lets find a place to rest,’ Atupka said, he seemed to be in deep thought, but that was Atupka, he was always in deep thought and didn’t say much except he was trying to explain some phenomenon or talking about one of his new discoveries.

We found a place to rest our heads for that night. I was plagued by nightmares as I slept, I got to the edge of the world, and looked down to the endless abyss I was about to jump into. I thought I was going to fly when I jumped, but instead, I plunged, deep into endless space. I seemed to have fallen for an eternity before I landed hard on solid ground. I looked around and it was the Land of the Rocks, Ile Okuta. The rocks started to take human form, and they started approaching me, taunting and stretching.

I started running, running from the rocky forms that had started pursuing me. I looked into the face of one of the human rocks that was close in my pursuit. It was Alaba’s face I saw, and he was laughing and mocking, ‘I told you, now the men of the rocks will get you and cut you and dice you, into a pot of stew, they’ll cook you,’ he kept on taunting as the chase continued.

‘Hahahahahahahaha!’ Alaba kept laughing, his voice echoing all over the rocky terrain.

‘HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!’ the stone men laughed along.

‘We’ll cut you, we’ll dice you, in a pot of stew, we’ll cook you,’ they all chanted.

‘In a pot of stew, we’ll cook you…’

‘In a pot of stew, we’ll cook you…’

‘Cook you…’

‘Cook you…’

‘Dice you…’

‘Cut you…’

‘Cook you…’

‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!’

‘Cook you…’

‘Nooooooo!’ I jerked out of my sleep, trembling, drenched in sweat. I could still hear the chanting of the rock people in my head, but as I looked around, I knew my nightmare had followed me into the real world.

Staring down at me were the dust caked faces of the rock men.

‘Cut you…’ I could hear the chant from my nightmare re-echo in my head. As I looked around at the men clad in brown dried leather, the possibility of being cut, and diced, and cooked became real.

They had Eniola and Atupka tied up in a corner, well guarded. Then I was also bundled and tied up. We were led to an unknown destination, sheep led to the slaughter. I wondered if this was the end of it all. Would we end our adventure in a pot of hot stew, I wondered.

For the first time, I knew what it was like to be a prey, or more appropriately to be a meal as we were soon going to be. The men of the rock were all strongly built and they held spears made of wood and metal with sharp rocks at their tips. The rock men looked very similar to the rocks that surrounded them, rugged, jagged, roughened, and dusty.

For almost two hours, we journeyed through the sand and rock not knowing what our fate would be. Throughout the journey the men of the rock sang in dialects we couldn’t even understand. Even their language sounded tough and rigid, like the rock.

Finally, we got to an opening of a cave. The cave opened on the outside of a steep rock enclosure digging deep into the earth, and all we could see inside was darkness, pure utter darkness. Our hopes had finally being sealed, this was definitely the end of the road, I thought.

They took us deep into the cave where we saw others like them. They all stared at us curiously. We must have looked very strange to them, I was sure they were salivating; we were going to be their next meal.

The cave had other caves joining it intricately like an interconnected maze. It was like nature itself, everything was linked to everything else. Each network must have stretched for miles because it took us a while before we got to a small empty cave where we were dumped and a large boulder was rolled over the entrance, locking us inside. We, the meal, definitely had no way to escape.

In the absolute darkness, we awaited our fates.

‘Gori…Eniola, this is amazing,’ Atupka whispered.

‘What is amazing?’ Eniola replied annoyed, ‘I also didn’t see anything amusing in all of this.’

Read more

https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/jimiojikutu