KACHIFO

KACHIFO
The groom arrived by noon. It was his back view I first saw. He danced in a forward and backward motion facing the many drummers he had brought to make his entry into Asiko much noisy. A group of about ten to twelve men formed a semi circle around him singing and dancing their hearts away while others carried palm wine gourds which a few drank from. Younger women of Asiko scurried away like roaches; none of them wanted to be found in the vicinity. They all ran into the house and watched the display of drunk dancing from afar through the window, giggling like school girls as the men moved closer. Then I got a glimpse of the groom.
It was heavy beard I first saw, and wrinkled skin under a cap, grey beard, Danshiki cloth made with Aran. Then I puked.
Chapter 9
Today would usher my step like a keen guard. It would trail my path for time to follow. If this day I would dine with forever. Then, let the veil of eternity be opened, the bowels of time a labyrinth. I would embrace this day for all to see.
Why did I do what I did? That was the question that would probably trail me all my life. If you knew, you would not ask me twice. I never asked myself. I knew why I did that. I had to do it.
The groom was not new, he had several other wives in his harem; but the bride was new. The brides were always new. They got married to an elderly man whom they would bear children in their tens and dozens to. They would help clean the ever untidy house disorganized by children of other wives. And when the children were old enough, the girls among them would continue the circle. The girls would be given in marriage before they learnt how to be a mother but as long as they knew how to weave a basket, grind pepper, pound yam and make Osiki stew they were ready to cross the threshold of early marriage.
The boys had a choice as long as they were not from a noble family, they could take a wife for themselves. They had the liberty of polygamy which many saw as luxury. And many young men wanted to live in luxury. If they did not move from the village in search of it, then, they took several wives and flaunted them as trophy for their counterparts. They ended up becoming old men who still took brides several years younger than their age.
Life, family and marriage in Asiko and it’s environ was a pattern. You rarely saw anything different and it was nothing to compare with the city where it was common to see a man live with just one woman for the rest of his life. It was what made Papa’s case different. After his first wife died, he married mama and acquired a family life different from what was the norm. He stuck to her alone and adopted us as his own children.
When a young man took his first wife in Asiko, the young couple usually lived in the man’s extended family house till the wife started to irritate the other women whom she lived with, who were often sister-in-laws and other female relatives of the husband. Then, they would get another wife for her husband to spite her. But in many cases, the husband woke up and decided to embrace polygamy because he felt he was old and rich enough for it. He would then move his family which had taken a new structure off the extended family house to build his own harem. Polygamy was the culture and I never wanted a part of that. I wanted life, the bright side of life. It was meant for me; it never failed to beckon.
“You will have both male and female. You will be fruitful” I heard the Mogaji prayed amidst bout of coughs. He could barely pronounce some words. Most of his teeth were out and the ones left standing were dark and weak as a result of years of improper oral hygiene. He also just took a young wife barely a month ago. There was no limit to acquiring wives; the more you did it, the greater the accolades. What a great feat!
I had clothes all over my face; I was not to be seen by anyone, except mama. I certainly did not want to see her face. I was bitter. Gall like evil venom seethed through my soul.
The groom would not kneel down when prayers were offered but the young bride would. She was regarded as the one that needed the prayers most because she was inexperience in the act of marriage.
“Iyawo stand up” they said after the prayers. I had not uttered a word all the while. I was only watching all the activities in silence. Heavy silence as thin as clouds yet, I was tempted to break it, to scream at the top of my voice, but my voice would break wouldn’t it? My voice could be swallowed up in the noises around me. Why should I break the tradition of our forefathers? They would say. Why would I refuse to be given in marriage to mama’s choice.
“May the spirits of our ancestors go with you” they all murmured what to me was more of a curse than blessing. I did not want that. Let the ancestors’ spirits have the rest it needed in peace. What bride would want ghosts in her new home? What home could a second wife think she would be part of? If to her it’s a new home, to the man it would be another trophy wife in the harem. I was to be the seventh trophy to a man that could father my parents.
The ancestors surely stayed in their graves as water was poured on the bride’s legs. It was a ritual meant to signify something good and also for mischief: mischief among the women. A bride with flat foot could be easily detected with footprints from wet feet. She would be accused of entering the house with bad foot. The ritual was said to be of good omen and it was always accompanied with singing.
I entered the house and everyone departed for his home except for a few who stayed behind, a group of seven men from my relatives, all the elders in the groom’s family, and the four chosen young men.
The four chosen young men had a task which they would be rewarded dearly for. The four were to wait by the couple’s window. All these groups were to witness the bride’s first night. That was the custom. It was not meant to be a private night nor a quiet one.
Then came the time that all had been waiting for. The group of four men was waiting for a scream: the bride’s scream. The groom’s elders were waiting for a piece of rag with blood, and the seven men from my village tarried to carry tubers of yam and a goat.
The four men were to witness the bride’s scream as she crossed the threshold of womanhood. Virginity was a thing of great honour so they were positioned at the window to witness it and confirm to the elders if indeed she was ‘met whole’ by the groom, if truly, she was a virgin. Their identities had been kept secret throughout the ceremony so they would not be bribed.
The elders were waiting for the piece of cloth stained with blood from the hymen; it was a proof of virginity but not a strong one. That was why the four men’s task came in. And once the virginity proof had been observed, tubers of yam and an ewe would be given to the seven men who were relatives from Asiko village as rewards to my parents for raising me up to be virtuous. The waiting was long for them, but cruel for me.
At last, each group got a result. They got nothing! And there was pandemonium. That night, the news spread to the villages like rapid fire.
“The woman you gave us was a well” the women from the groom’s side accused.
“She is a deep well that had been drawn from and not a wall” They were furious, and their elders seething with maddening rage and I began to wonder if they married as virgins themselves.
The four men claimed they heard the expected scream. And a piece of cloth stained with blood was brought out while the groom began to claim he did not meet with a virgin. The seven men accused the elders of not wanting to give the reward. The elders said the bride’s mother did not give to them a virtuous young maiden to marry. They accused the bride of looking quite old. If aging were a crime, all of us would die guilty. It was a confusing sight. To me it was the most pleasing. I watched it all, but not in my bridal wear.
I watched as the men from my village feigned anger in a futile attempt to cover the shame. I watched in amusement as a fight ensued among the young men when the elders began to insult women of Asiko village.
“The bride was one of them. One of those women who many men had passed through” they said.
“Bring her for the old women to see and we will believe” One of their elders suggested.
And when they brought out the bride, the cat was let out of the bag. I was not the bride. It was aunty Simia, my mother’s younger sister.