The Third One to Cross
“Bimpe! Tope! Funke!” my aunt’s voice pierced through the nightmarish haze in my mind. For the first time in three days, I was grateful to her for screaming this early in the morning. In the nightmare I had been floating in a sea of terrified voices whose owners seemed to suspect me; Like I did something so evil and it was coming to get us. Her scream had saved me from mind numbing terror.
“Bimpe!! Tope!! Funke!!” this time my aunt’s voice rang with a promise. If you do not get up I will come in there and beat you. We quickly shot out of bed. Bimpe and I were preparing to carry the bed back to the bedroom (we had all slept in the living room for warmth) and Funke was folding up my grandma’s wrappers that she had used as a blanket.
I knew how those wrappers would smell. Hugging my grandmother introduced you to the smell of drying palm kernels. My grandmother smelled that way because she produced oil locally from her palm trees. The last time I was here I had stayed with her while she made the oil. My grandmother put the palm kernel purée in a big pot over very hot flames and as it boiled oil came out. When the the pot contained one part purée and two parts oil, my grandmother opened it and began to fetch glistening red oil into a metal basin.
When we arrived on Tuesday, she hugged me to herself and asked about my elder ones. I told her they were at work and couldn’t make it. That was just a formality though, she knew very well that most of her grandchildren considered themselves either too grown or too married to come visit her and that all she had left was the attention of the littlest daughters of her three children. That’s not to mean I was so little. At fifteen years of age I considered myself a big girl but compared to Sister Demola who was married with two children I was quite small.
The three of us went outside with our toothbrushes and began to brush our teeth. I spied my mother out in the yard sweeping with a long broom. As we brushed, I stared at the footpath outside my grandfather’s house and a shiver crossed my spine. Yesterday, my father had gone into the village to greet people in his age group as is customary.
He came back with intriguing stories, one of them explained the guttural sounds that had kept us all awake the night before. The story was of a girl in a house not far enough from us who barked like a dog at night.
The story went like this: An old man had died peacefully in his house and his burial had been arranged by his children. All of them were successful but the most successful was their youngest brother who was said to own several houses and cars. When this young man came to bury his father, he did not come empty handed. He came with lots of money, his retinue of well wishers and his loving girlfriend.
He tore down his father’s old house and built a bungalow the type that Alákíjà village had never seen before. As planned, the burial came and went. The villagers ate meat till their teeth hurt and they had no more space in their bellies or the bellies of their children and dogs. The old man’s children and the young man’s retinue of friends too packed up and left the new shiny house for the love birds.
Then one fateful day the young man bid his lover goodbye and left her alone in the house. Few weeks later neighbors woke up to incessant barking coming from the house. Investigation proved that the young woman was the source of the barking.
The village heads went to visit her and tried to help her through traditional means but all efforts proved futile. The girl continued to bark at night and stare listlessly during the day, unable to tell anyone who her family was and from whence she came.
After brushing our teeth we ran into the house and began to sweep because we all knew that the earlier you get your chores done the earlier you eat breakfast. Breakfast was boiled yam and garden egg sauce prepared by Aunty Shola. It was delicious and spicy, with little pieces of fish stuck here and there. Over breakfast the adults discussed what their activities for the day would be and we listened with rapt attention hoping that their activities would not disrupt our plans.
Lucky for us, they decided that they were going into town to fill the gas cylinder for grandma and buy other necessities they had noticed she didn’t have anymore. They also decided that since they were not going to spend too long in town they could leave the children with grandma and leave. It was only years of practicing how to keep a straight face in times of extreme joy and fear of being discovered that stopped us from following our hearts and skipping around the dining room.
Aunty Shola prepared akara balls for us before she left, we were to eat it with the loaves of bread we had bought on the highway. She called us together and admonished us to stick close to the house. She said if the dog woman(we had given the young man’s unfortunate lover a name) had stayed at home perhaps she wouldn’t be barking now and a word is enough for the wise. We nodded our heads like good little children and they left.
We waited for thirty minutes to see if they would return saying oh I forgot something or we don’t want to go anymore. When we were satisfied that they weren’t returning anytime soon, we began to prepare the things we needed for our adventure. We emptied our backpacks of clothes and took nothing but our lunch and a few oddities. Funke carried her camera and we quietly slipped out of the compound.
The three of us walked through the bushy footpath with our heads low looking like The Three Musketeers. If you look well, our faces could tell you our stories. Bimpe is the only daughter of her parents. Aunty Shola her mother had three sons before God had pity on her and gave her a daughter. Aunty doted on her so Bimpe often behaved childlike like a little spoilt brat. Nevertheless, Bimpe was the thoughtful one among us. It was her who told us that we should keep our lunches and take it with us so we could have some sort of picnic in the forest.
Funke was the troublesome one among us, she is Uncle Jide’s fifth girl child. Once Funke called me to a corner of the room, pointed to her father and said that man doesn’t really like girls, stop fawning over him he’s just pretending to like you. Her words startled me and made me begin to think about the possibility of Uncle Jide being unhappy that his wife bore him five girls and no son.
Then I Tope, I was the sly one. The strategizing one, my mind worked in ways that helped me form patterns easily. The whole adventure had been my idea of sisterhood bonding activity. I just knew that the three of us would never forget the day we went exploring in the forest so I had to make sure it happened before we all become too old, too married or before grandma died and we would have no reason to come back to the village.
We walked along the footpath, sticking to the middle so the tall grasses and tiny awolowo leaves wouldn’t brush too much against us.
Bimpe stopped and said “ Shey you guys know we aren’t supposed to go far? Let’s find a place where we can sit and have our lunch” We did not object to the plan so we followed her as she lead us deeper into the forest.
Thirty minutes later we found a clearing with minimal grass. There were tree trunks lying on the ground for us to sit on. We all took our places around the clearing and brought out our lunch. Then we began to discuss about our families in ways that our parents would have never approved.
Bimpe told us about her elder brother’s refusal to return home after his NYSC service and her father’s anger at his decision. Her eldest brother who had left the house a long time ago was now married and working and seemed oblivious to the fact that her parents were expecting him to send money home from time to time.
Funke smiled bitterly as she told us about the financial problems in her family since her mother lost her job. Uncle Jide complained every day about how exhausting it was to carry all the family’s burden on his shoulders. Sometimes he took his anger out on the girls and their mother was always too powerless to interfere.
“You know what it feels like in my house these days?”
I asked them. They both shook their heads. “ it feels like we’re living in a deflated balloon. Since sister Demola left I have had no one to talk to, play with, or just have a simple conversation that doesn’t involve when I am going to wash the dishes or clean the house!”
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After my outburst, we were all sitting there in silence thinking about everything when the plaintive notes of a flute sounded nearby. I stood up and walked to my right, the dry leaves crunching at my feet. In my peripheral vision I saw Funke get up. We listened to the mournful tune for sometime in hopes that it would end but it didn’t. Goosebumps covered my arms.
I searched for the direction of the sound, turning around on my toes and realized it was coming from the footpath we had been on.
“Come on!” Funke said in an urgent whisper, she picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. I hurried towards the log where I sat and picked up the remains of my lunch. Funke threw me a dirty look, and I wondered at how easily the fluting has ruined our bonding. When I reached them Bimpe helped me put my half eaten lunch in my backpack and we began to make our way through the forest, making sure to tread quietly.
The farther we went the fainter the tune became and our heartbeats finally slowed as we reduced our strides.
“I’m tired! Let’s rest here” I said and slumped on a grass mound. My cousins sat down too, their arms brushing mine.
“Why are we running away?” Funke asked
“I don’t know” I said, considering it. Why exactly were we running away? There was nothing so fearful about a flutist. The most that could happen we would greet him/her and find our way back home.
“Let us go!” Bimpe said. We got up and slowly trudged back the way we came.
As we went we realized that there were differences in the trail. We passed a big mango tree we hadn’t seen before. We nevertheless kept walking left in hopes that we would hit the trail leading to our grandfather’s house again.
I checked my wristwatch and shouted “ three hours!”
“What is it?” Bimpe hissed, her fear was so evident, my shout must have frightened her more.
“We have spent three hours here already” I reiterated. We looked at each other, all our faces flushed with fear, our parents were going to skin us alive if we didn’t run home now.
As we ran, I remembered that the other story my father told us was about the river goddess Olokun. The villagers had told him about the goddesses erratic behavior of late. Twice she had tried to swallow indigenes who had luckily been saved by the people around. The chief priest and all the villagers were making preparation to give her a wholesome sacrifice in a few weeks time. My dad had remarked happily that we would be very far away before the villagers started their rituals.
My eyes skipped over the trees and I could have sworn there was a woman’s face smirking at us in every trunk. The farther we went the thicker the forest became, we couldn’t even find any trail anymore. When she realized we are truly lost Funke put her hand to her mouth and screamed. An echoing scream sounded in my head but no one heard it but me.
What were we going to do? How do you find your way when you get lost in the forest? I brought out my phone and switched it on but there was zero network bars on it. By that time it was getting really dark, darker than it should be at 4pm because of the shade of the trees.
Funke walked towards me, her gait was slow and dejected. Leaves were stuck in her hair and even her arms had scratch marks. I knew mine would be just as scratched, I also knew that was the least of our worries right now.
“What are we going to do?” Funke asked me, her voice quivered.
“I don’t know!” My voice was barely a whisper. I thought about my father’s disappointed face when I get home and tell him I disobeyed his orders. Hot moisture spilled down my cheek and I left it there.
At 6pm we were all seated in a clearing we found. The clearing was small but big enough for three people to lie down on the low grass if they wanted. A tree creaked above our heads, casting shadows on everything. I sat with my head buried in my knees trying to deny what was happening to us.
Funke walked a distance away and when she returned she told us we wouldn’t believe what she had seen. There was a river very close by.
“How come we can not hear the sound of the water flowing?” I asked her
“That is because it is not flowing” she said looking just as puzzled as me. What kind of river doesn’t flow?
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That’s how twilight passed, the moon came out in full force and that flute was being played again. If I was asked to describe the tune I would have said that it sounded like a story. A story of pain, suffering and death. I shivered inside my red dress. I felt so alone surrounded by two other people who must have been feeling like they were by themselves too.
Then a voice joined the tune, a haunting female voice and Funke crawled towards me, dragging Bimpe along. We all sat huddled together as we listen. For hours the woman sang, into the night. After sometime we put together snatches of the song, the woman was actually singing:
Ęni kęta
ti yòó fo odó náà kòjá kú
Ęni kęta
ti yòó fo odò náà kòjá kú
Ęni kęta kú
We were terrified and could barely understand Yoruba so we kept listening so we could make out the words and then maybe we would be able to know what the song meant.
“I think I know what it means” Bimpe said. I and Funke looked hopefully at her. “ my mother always says Ęnikęni ti o ba funrugbin ibi yoo ká buburu meaning Anyone who sows evil will reap evil so Eni means ONE.
“Of course! and Kęta means THIRD” Funke snapped at her in a who wouldn’t know that? way.
“The third one” I said intrigued “ Odó means river so The third one to cross the river” I looked at Funke “what does Kú mean?”
Funke looked at me, in the darkness i could only see the outline of her face “ Kú means DIES. That’s what she is singing The third one to cross the river dies.”
Bimpe hugged me tighter “what are we going to do? She asked
“Maybe we shouldn’t cross, maybe we should just stay here” I volunteered.
Funke shook her head, “No one knows we are here, we could starve to death or get bitten by snakes or other wild animals. I suggest we sleep, tomorrow morning we will decide what to do.” She concluded.
For a while after we extricate ourselves from each other, feeling the need to be seperated that the meaning of the song triggered in us. The big question ran through my mind Who was going to be the third one to cross? I didn’t know the answer to that but I knew I didn’t want to die.
My stomach grumbled and I remembered I still had part of my lunch. I took it out and shared it among the three of us. The bread had become very dry so I needed water to drink. I asked my cousins, Bimpe had none remaining but Funke had some water left.
After rummaging in her bag she produced the almost empty water bottle. I drank from it and spat.
“Did you fetch this water from the river?!” I asked disgusted
“I may have put a little spit” she shrugged
“ wasn’t expecting to share”
I eyed the little water remaining in the bottle and drank it. At least her spit was not poisonous.
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The pain woke me up, I lay there groaning as the tree creaked above us. The wind was picking up as if it was going to rain. Behind me, something fell from the tree and Bimpe gave a guttural scream. I struggled up from the ground, my belly hurt so much that I could barely walk. When I got to Bimpe I saw that a heavy log had fallen on her legs. She was twisting this way and that, unable to even touch them.
“Shhhh, sorry sorry” I told her, tears spilled down my cheeks. I held one leg and rubbed it as softly as I could. We both groaned from our pains. Still Funke didn’t wake up. I wasn’t surprised that she was sleeping heavily despite the noise because I had crushed five of my sleeping pills inside her bread and akara sandwich. She would be lucky if she woke up before tomorrow afternoon. I had hoped that by then I would have crossed the river safely.
Morning did not come early enough for I and Bimpe. By 8am Funke stirred and I went over to her. When I reached her I saw that her eyes were puffy and she looked Ill. I knelt before her drowning in my own guilt.
“I’m sorry Funke, I did something bad to you” I cried “ I gave you an overdose of my sleeping pills”
Funke looked at me for a moment saying nothing, her eyes fell to the arm I was using to clutch at my still hurting stomach and she looked away. I was dumbfounded.
“What did you do to me!!” I screamed at her.
“I put Aloe Vera in the water, plenty Aloe Vera. That’s why it was tasting bad” she said, twisting her hands in her lap.
“Then what of Bimpe? Why did this happen to her?” I asked.
“Bimpe caused it for herself, I caught her when she placed the log of wood above me when she thought I was asleep “ Funke smirked and said “ When I knew she had fallen asleep I took it and placed it above her.
I looked at Bimpe who I had helped sit up on the tree. Her mouth was twisted in pain and tears still spilled down her cheeks. I didn’t know if I should pity her. I didn’t even know what to think about our behavior. I felt so ashamed that at the slightest threat of death all of us had chosen to sacrifice the other person to stay alive.
“Bimpe!! Tope!! Funke!!” my aunt’s voice echoed in the forest. She was not a far distance away. I and Funke stared at ourselves. We were no longer scared of the beating we would likely receive. What were we going to tell our parents?
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