Prologue
Year
1969
The
woman took the baby wrapped in ivory wool from her father. She nodded at him
and turned to look down at the baby; she murmured softly to her in a local
dialect. Holding the baby securely with
one hand, she walked to the far corner of the room. She bent slightly and
picked up a small wooden bowl that was on a round three-legged wooden table.
Earlier,
she had mixed all the herbs she needed for the ceremony. She used the tip of
her forefinger to scoop up a little portion of the mixture and put it into the
sleeping baby’s mouth. The mixture had been finely ground with honey so that it
would be easy for the seven-day-old baby to lick and swallow.
The
man who had brought the baby sat down on one of the straw mats littered
throughout the room. He watched as the woman, dressed only in a white cotton
wrapper secured tightly around her ample breasts and tied under her left
armpit, went through a series of rituals.
She
walked back and forth in front of the altar set up at the end of the room.
White cloths lined three sides of the walls and another white cloth was laid in
front of the altar.
After
a while, she handed the baby to the man. She took the divination tray from
beside the altar, chanting as she made some marks on it. The man stood up with
the baby. Each time she made an
invocation he raised the child in the direction she turned. They did this six
times and after the last time, the man touched the feet of the baby to the centre
of the divination tray.
In
the room, sitting quietly, was an old man in a wheelchair. His face was
weathered with age. He looked frail and was sitting slightly stooped, watching
the proceedings. His eyes were sunken in the sockets but alive with the wisdom
that came with age. The baby was his first granddaughter. He was an Ifa - priest.
He
had been indoctrinated into Ifa
Yoruba traditional worship as far back as he could remember. His father had
been an Ifa priest, likewise his
grandfather. This was a hereditary tradition that had been passed down from
father to son.
Unfortunately,
his own son had not totally committed to taking over from him after his studies
abroad – for which he cursed the white people every day. It was during his
son’s sojourn in the white man’s land that he resorted to training his cousin
as an Ifa priestess – Iyanifa. She
was the one now performing the ceremony. His son might not take over from him
one day, nevertheless he was determined that his first granddaughter would be
initiated before she was old enough to rebel.
He
had prepared for this ceremony with his assistant and had gone through every aspect
of it with her. There must not be any mistake or the repercussions would be
disastrous, not only for the child but for the family and future generations as
well.
A
bead of sweat glittered on his forehead. It was hot and humid. The only window
in the room was covered with a dark curtain, which was drawn together, leaving the
room in darkness. The only illumination was from a couple of candles lit by the
mud altar. There was a fan in the room but it was not switched on because of
the lit candles. The eerie silence in the room was only broken by the chanting.
The
invocation lasted for about two hours. Once in a while, the baby moved her
hands and licked her lips, unconsciously swallowing all the mixed concoction
that the Iyanifa had put in her mouth.
At a
point, the baby was handed to the old man and he made some incisions on the
inside of the baby’s right and left hands, the heel of her feet and the bottom
part of her stomach just below her navel. All the while she slept peacefully,
unaware of the declarations and proclamations that had been made over her life.
Outside
the room, there was celebration with drinking and eating. The baby’s mother was
attending to visitors, ensuring everyone was being catered for. She knew her
child was with the father and was fine. What she did not know was that the
future of her child was being decided in ways that would change her life
forever.
BEAUTY FOR ASHES
Out Dec 2015
Can't wait to know the end of the story
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