Blessing. Florence Ndiyah

daughter?’ a voice asked.

      ‘How many daughters do I have?’ Temkeu spat out.

      ‘Temkeu has spoken like a man,’ Angu stepped in. ‘There is much wisdom in your words, Temkeu. I tell you that you will not regret. Bring the seeds and let us play.’

      ‘On one condition.’ Temkeu’s words brought all eyes back to his face.

      ‘What?’

      ‘If you win I will give you Fatti only after she has cut thirteen branches from her tree.’

      ‘No problem. Let us start the game.’

      ‘But you will start paying the bride price now.’

      ‘If that is how you want it, Temkeu.’

      ‘And if I win what will I take from you?’

      ‘If you win’ – all ears opened to hear Angu’s measure for Fatti’s hand – ‘I will divide my big farm by your compound into four parts. If you win I will give you one part.’

      ‘Has everybody heard?’ Temkeu asked.

      ‘Yes, we have heard and we will put our weight behind you if Angu brings trouble tomorrow.’

      ‘Let us play.’

      ‘Wait!’ The twenty or so pairs of eyes shifted backed to Angu. ‘How many branches has Fatti cut from her tree?’

      ‘Eleven.’

      ‘Let us play.’

      The rules set, the game went underway, the game that had the capacity of bringing significant change to the Fopou family. As news of the quality of the bet reached ears around the square, more and more people stopped by to receive first-hand information on the contest of such an unprecedented scale. Though two played, it was a mammoth crowd that acknowledged the victory of one contestant about twenty minutes later.

      The superstition surrounding a new playing board had prevailed. At least one person was to go home a happier man than he had set out; one person was to add to his riches in either people or in property; one person was to be the talk of the village during the next few days. That person was Angu Matamo. He had emerged victor and with that, he had won the hand of Temkeu’s only daughter, Fatti Ashi.

      ‘Bring some palm wine so that Temkeu should drink and clear his eyes,’ Angu ordered the female trader.

      ‘How many litres?’

      ‘As many as he can drink.’

      A crowd had goaded him to play, yet he was walking home alone. A crowd had watched him play, yet he was walking home alone. A crowd had joyfully acknowledged Angu’s victory and the crowd was celebrating with Angu, while he was walking home alone. ‘I have lost, yes, but I am not going home an angry man.’ Temkeu beat his chest. ‘Why had I not even closed Fatti’s door since? What was I waiting for? That would have prevented me from openly betraying my manhood as I did when she was called for a visit to the land of the ancestors. Imagine how I used to fix my eyes on her chest like a hungry young man! I should really have closed Fatti’s door a long time ago.’ He lifted his head, looked up at the fading sun and then sighed. ‘Mefo! You showed the village my nakedness, but I will show you that I am the man and my words are heavier.’

      As soon as Temkeu arrived at his compound, he sent for Fatti.

      ‘Has night come, Papa?’ She walked in and stood in front of the figure warming himself by the fireplace.

      He stared at her for some moments. ‘Turn around.’

      She did.

      ‘Walk to my slab and back.’

      She did.

      He nodded and sipped some palm wine.

      ‘Do you know Angu Matamo?’

      ‘Yes, Papa.’

      ‘On the second market day after this one, Angu and his family and I will sit down to talk about your marriage to him, which will happen when you cut thirteen branches from your tree.’

      ‘Yes, Papa.’

      ‘You can go now.’

      Fatti stepped out as solemnly as she had stepped in. The door hissed her goodbye. Moments later, the door’s hinges cringed loudly as it was thrust violently.

      ‘You ... you ... you ... You should be ashamed! What is this I hear? I heard it on my way back from the market, but I thought it was just empty talk. Now Fatti has come and told me the same story? So you really want to sell her? Are you not ashamed? Do you not look at her age?’

      ‘Are you talking to me, Mefo. I thought you hated my voice more than any other sound. You have not talked to me for one week now. You should be happy that you first heard this news from strange voices which surely sound better than my own.’ Temkeu concealed a queer smile. ‘I do not want our neighbours to hear my voice this evening. So I beg you to leave my hut now. Go before your headache starts.’

      ‘You, Temkeu, whom I carried inside my stomach during many market weeks! Now you ask me to get out of your hut? I will not leave, and you will not marry Fatti to any man. You neglect your hammer and now you want to make easy money over Fatti’s head? She will not marry.’

      ‘Fatti is my child. You will not tell me what to do with her. I have given her to Angu, and nothing you say or do can change that.’

      ‘Look at you! Because of you I did not marry, and you again want that I live and die without having anyone to take my place? No! I will not accept it. Fatti will not marry! She will be my successor.’

      ‘It is nobody’s fault that you did not give birth to a girl. And who says that Fatti cannot be a married Mefo? Even as a married woman she can still be your successor.’

      ‘No! My successor is not to marry! Fatti is not to marry!’

      ‘That is your problem, Mefo. Fatti will marry and she will marry Angu Matamo. Just two more years and she will be Fatti Angu. Two more years – that is all you have left with her. Teach her how to be a bad wife if you want, but she will marry Angu Matamo.’

      ‘Yes, you stand there now and talk bad against me, me who failed to marry because of you.’

      ‘No, Mefo, it is not because of me that you failed to marry. I am not the one who told you to have a boy.’

      At these words Mefo breathed deeply and then said, ‘Our people say that the people who planted did so under the rain, but those who came to harvest did so when the sun was up and shining brightly. I will tell you only one thing and I will say it only one time: The day you give Fatti to marriage will be the day you forget that I am your mother.’ With those words, she strode out. She did not bang the door as she usually did under such circumstances. She left it ajar.

      That night Temkeu slept little. However, dawn brought some brightness as some neighbours got him out of bed with congratulatory messages. Though the controversy surrounding the bargain was not lost to them, the villagers revelled in pleasant thoughts of another feast in the making. A forthcoming betrothal did not just formally announce the bonding of two families and the tying of a girl’s hands, but it was also an occasion to consume exaggerated quantities of meat and palm wine and even rare commodities like whisky. By the time the sun gilded the sky, Temkeu’s mood had lightened further. When the sun started going down, he returned home from his workshop to adopt a position in front of his hut, making himself available to any passer-by who had not yet dropped by to acclaim his achievement.

      A woman with a daughter in marriage always had something to brag about. Having Angu Matamo for a son-in-law had to automatically take a mother’s joy to a higher height. With his wealth measured in farms, land and five wives, his fertility in thirty-one children and his nobility in a title, Angu’s illustriousness was never disputed.

      ‘Has night come, Mbeh?’ Nkem greeted as she walked into the compound with a cainja on her back. She unloaded