Abeng Short Story: Amalaika vs. The Council of Elders (The Palm Wine Controversy)

Abeng Short Story

Amalaika Vs. The Council of Elders 

(The Palm Wine Controversy)

copyright K. Omodele 2016

Amalaika, gazelle-like in body but dragged in spirit, chucked her son all the way to the Circle of the Council of Elders. Bursting with vexation, she beat the over-sized boy with a bamboo-cane stick as the people of the village looked on, bemused, but with sinking hearts because Amalaika's husband and her two older sons had been captured and herded away with a dozen others, most likely to the slave fort hundreds of miles to the south. So, all that was left of Amalaika's family was a young daughter and this degge-degge, thirteen-year old son.

Breathing heavy and fast, the woman shoved the dirt-crusted boy to stand and face the elders. She addressed the council.

"Greetings Elders. This one will not stop drinking - he is a drunk." She wrinkled her nose.

The leader of the council was a bald, creaky-limbed man who nevertheless harnessed the presence of a growling leopard within him.

"Woman, this man-child will be initiating rites of passage soon."

"Yes, Baba." She straightened her back. Folded her lips in a fit of restraint.

"Boys will be boys. One rotten fruit now and then will not kill monkey," the council leader said, dismissively.

"Baba, he thinks he is a man but he does not hunt; does not bring food. All he wants to do is drink palm wine, day and night."

The boy dug his chin into his chest. He didn't move or look up; not even a twitch nor hint of protest.

Amalaika pleaded. "Wise One, if YOU tell him to stop drinking, he will obey. He will have to stop."

The council leader assessed the mother. HMMMMPPPH!

Then the whole Council of Elders roped in together, grumbled amongst themselves for a moment or two, then broke their huddle.

The Wise One's voice waded through a swamp of pity.

"Woman bring the boy in seven days. I will personally take care of this matter, then."

Amalaika grabbed her son by the back of the neck like a lioness transporting her cub, and lashed him homeward with the bamboo-cane stick.

Seven days staggered by; then finally, Amalaika, pepped with anticipation, brought her son back before the council.

The boy once again dug his chin into his chest.

The Wise One growled. "Look at me when I speak to you!"

The boy looked up, head still partially bowed.

Now the old man roared. "DON'T DRINK ANY MORE PALM WINE!"

The boy shivered, nodding. "Yes Wise One." Then, he backed away.

The council nodded and grinned, clearly pleased with themselves.

Amalaika stood still, grilling the council over coals of bewilderment.

"Is that all?"

The Wise One turned to her. "Yes...What more is warranted?"

"But you could have told him that seven days ago."

One of the Elders held up his palm. "Woman, you challenge the council?"

Shaking his head, the Wise One drew the man back and then told Amalaika.

"Seven days ago I was also drinking palm wine."

My Tribe's Traditions: Once A Man, Twice A Child

copyright  K. Omodele 2015  .@TheAbeng

It's my tribe's tradition that we mind our elders; we home them, dine them, clothe them, include elders in life's events - holidays, birthdays, weddings, reunions; we cringe at the thought of placing our elders in nursing homes. In quiet moments, we read with our elders, cook with our elders, and listen, fascinated, by their old-time stories about the British, independence and the train line that ran all the way from Town to country. In our day to day, we turn garden soil for them, turn over mattresses for them, turn on TV shows for them, and twist open mango-achar* jars when arthritis done bend-up their fingers like some old-guava -tree twigs. Sometimes, we chauffer them around: shopping, visiting, appointment meeting, beauty saloning - nails, hair, and spa.

When my family gathers up, generations row like some parakeets 'bout who was the greatest West Indies cricket captain- Sobers or Lloyd?** We wind up to Sparrow, skank to Toots and the Maytals, groove with delight when Tinga Stewart tells we to "Play The Music/Jump like leggo beast!" Oh, and you should see how we all love three-step with liveliness to Percy and Benny and Sam- "Bring It All Home To Me!" Yeah- Yeah... But when we fling on dancehall,*** the elders screwface in disgust and confusion.

When I was a 'lil youth, my Granny, her sister (my Great-Aunt) and my Grandfather took care of my Great-Grandfather, Papa, in his final years. I got ancient-days images of Papa flickering through my memory; he, skin like burnt brass and hair like wool. I recall vaguely, he was fierce when it came to his mangoes, so you better had take your eyes of his mango tree.

I also remember, later, how my Uncle Stuartie (Jah Bless you, me Lion) and his wife took care of another one of my Great-Aunts when she couldn't manage living on her own any longer. And my Auntie has my Granny, who's 94 years old, and her sister, 90, taking care of them the best she can. Been doing this now for three decades, through two marriages, with a lioness heart and spirit. Sometimes despair wells up Auntie's eyes because my Granny now needs help getting dressed and my Great-Aunt keeps forgetting how to make her morning coffee. So, my younger Auntie rises early o'clock, prepares them breakfast, changes what-so-ever needs changing, washes whatever needs washing, with nuff**** love and care, honor and devotion.

One day it will be my generations' turn to care for my aunts and uncles, my parents. This is the way of our tribe. And we gon' uphold this tradition, no matter where on Earth we roam. The younger youth better had learn. This is what we do, in my family, my tribe.

*achar is spicy, pickled green (unripe) mango

**Sir Garfield Sobers from Barbados; Clive Lloyd from Guyana. Two captains of great West Indies teams, representing different eras

*** dancehall reggae is a more uptempo, faster, younger genre

**** plenty; a lot; much