Africa39 by Wole Soyinka Page A

join her.’
    A child coughed as we waited for the message. Owa Puroguramu continued softly, trying to mask her anger.
    ‘Someone pushed Sitanish writings under my office door.’ At this point she waved a Picfare exercise book, contorting her face as if the book emitted a sickening odour.
    ‘Why do you doubt the work of God’s chosen? Why are you threatening the wrath of the Almighty one upon us? He has had mercy and sent the Blessed Mother and Jesus Christ our saviour to warn us of the impending suffering to the rest of the world. He did so because he loves you. He does not want you to perish. But now you doubt him and threaten to make him turn his back on us.’
    We were quiet as we stared, wondering who had caused this outburst.
    ‘Don’t you remember Sodom and Gomorrah? How Abraham interceded with God on behalf of those two sinful cities? How we have taught you the way of the righteous and still you doubt. The end time has not come because of God’s mercy. He has listened to your prayers and fasting. Because you have interceded for today’s Sodom and Gomorrah, he is giving more time to the world. He wants more people to enter Noah’s Ark and survive the suffering spelt out in the Book of Revelation. But you still doubt his mercy and goodness.’ She waved the book, ‘You reward our merciful God with this, asking for the return of your property. This is Sitani at work and we must get rid of him.’
    At this point, the visionaries stood and walked towards us. They each carried plastic bowls and twigs, which they dipped in the holy water and sprinkled on us to cleanse us of the Sitani sitting in our midst. One of them emptied the contents of her bowl directly on my head. As the water washed over me, I shivered for a second because the sudden coldness attacked my skin. I rubbed the water from my eyes and kept my head lowered on the ground. I remembered the woman’s assertion when she said I was special. But this reminded me of my original sin that followed me wherever I went.

Alú
    Recaredo Silebo Boturu
    Time and weather did not dawdle, between thunderstorms and too much sun, the falling raindrops ringing out harmonious melodies as they hammered on the zinc roofs, a pitter-patter that filled the space. Time ran on ahead, it almost flew. Days and nights came and went. Alú kept growing. People said his birth had not been easy, that the boy had come into the world with little help from anyone. Life is unpredictable, and Alú’s mother was still in her native village when her waters broke. Since there was no clinic and no midwife, she was forced to rely on the wisdom of an elderly woman, an aunt of her mother, who was known for helping those women who defied the odds in their attempts to bring a child into the world.
    The old woman boiled up leaves and bark offered by the forest to remove the dried blood and did not charge a single franc . It was an arduous task. I cannot say exactly what the old woman did since, if truth be told, I do not know. What I do know is that it took several slaps before the baby began to bawl, before the first blast of air, burning though his little lungs like fire, finally offered itself to this life, this world.
    Alú’s town was bordered on one side by the sea and on the other by dense, dark forests. There were afternoons when it was possible to make out the humpbacked form of a rainbow impregnating the belly of the earth and the depths of the sea. The child would stop to stare and ask:
    â€˜Mamá, what’s that?’
    â€˜It’s a rainbow.’
    â€˜What’s a rainbow?’
    But no answer ever came. If Alú persisted, he was told not to ask so many questions.
    Alú’s mother, like the other mothers, the fathers, the uncles, the aunts, the grandmothers, the grandfathers and the big brothers found it difficult to explain to their children, their grandchildren, their nephews, their nieces, their little brothers and sisters what exactly a rainbow