Stars of the Long Night. Tanure Ojaide

as a boy, Amraibure knew that some of those skulls, especially the fresh ones, were of goats and bulls. A few older skulls scared him because they looked very human. Were they of chimpanzees or gorillas? He had heard that these animals used to be many in the forests of Agbon, but no more. Could they have been used for important communal sacrifices in the olden days? But he was not sure. He could not bring himself to ask his father whether those were skulls of humans or chimpanzees. Whoever entered the communal shrine was supposed to seal his mouth to what was seen there. Amraibure knew early in life that the Oku of the songs was any place where you kept secrets. He did not reveal what he saw and heard at the shrine because it was Oku, a conclave whose secrets should never be told outside.

      Amraibure watched closely whatever ritual was being performed. One of such was the cleansing of people, who had committed taboos so that they could be reconciled to the gods and the community. Once the penitent had admitted to breaking a taboo, the person concerned received forgiveness only after buying some drinks, kola nuts, and sometimes an animal that could be a cock or goat. There was also the yearly offering of food to the ancestors, who were mothers and fathers of the land. And, of course, sacrifices of big animals to exorcise evil spirits from hurting the community. Amraibure observed the details of whatever happened in the different shrines, family and communal ones, at which rites were performed. As the elders said of him, his eyes shone at whatever rituals were performed.

      He also had a sharp ear that took in whatever was said. As a young man, he had already known some of the arcane songs that only the old people knew. Some of such songs and chants were heard only one day in the year, sometimes once in a generation. You had to be old to know the secrets of the community, but Amraibure already knew too much for his age.

      Whenever sacrifices were performed, young Amraibure turned up. He liked the rituals involved, liked the songs, and liked doing things for elders. He volunteered to clean chickens or burn off the hair of the goat and butchering the animal. He always had for his services the wings of the chickens or the tripe and entrails of goats. He was robust and tall for his young age.

      Amraibure was not alone among the boys in doing these things, but he was often called upon to do so. Of course, his father and other elders had directed him, and he soon mastered the art, knowing what to say and what to do at the appropriate time. He would pour the libation at the ancestral shrine before taking a sip of the gin. He knew where to rub the chalk powder of worship on himself and on others.

      The elders looked at him with admiration and suspicion at the same time. He was the exemplary boy, the boy who responded without complaints to calls; he was the young one you could rely on; the young one who did not forget his task because of play. And so they liked his father as if father and son were one and praised them for their bonding as the father always took his son along to wherever he went. But the elders were uncomfortable with them too. Okpara was no longer a place where you took over from one person because of blood connection. Odibo was consciously making his son to do the things he would do after his own death, an advantage over others of Amraibure's age who were not privileged in this manner.

      Long before Amraibure's grandfather's death, the very old man had called his grandchild to his side one evening. He knew that the child was interested in the stories of old that he told him. Knowing he was already of an age when he could remember the important things, the old man told Amraibure that they had descended from a warrior lineage. He had been gladdened by this revelation of being the Olotu of his generation. From the lineage of kings was kingship inherited, he had learned. Also new warriors sprang from the lineage of warriors as strong people from the lineage of strength. He had kept this secret to himself, deep in his heart. There were things you knew about yourself or your family that were better kept away from other people, he felt. He had acquaintances but not very close friends. Because he kept to himself, people wondered what his intentions were. Even his acquaintances could not say that they knew him very well; nobody could know Amraibure very well.

      In Agbon, there were known and unknown things; in fact, the people believed that some things were unknowable. The same held for human beings in their beliefs. People knew Iniovo, Tefe, Obie, and Ode the way they did not know Amraibure, who was a mystery to those who should know him.

      Iniovo was as strong as a sun-baked unripe plantain. He was old but did not look all his years because of his spare frame. It appeared he was all muscle. His face gave no indication of old age, as he had no wrinkles. His hair was still black and had not receded from his forehead, as was the case with many other men of his age or much younger than him. There was so much vitality in him that he could throw many young men down in a wrestling match. Though he was not close to the oldest in Okpara, yet he had seen a multitude of seasons. He had witnessed changes in Okpara which were unthinkable in distant days. On his cheeks he bore a first-born's marks that were no longer fashionable. Those three short vertical lines on each cheek identified him as the first male child of his parents.

      Iniovo had stood out among Okpara elders as a knowledgeable man. He was known to tell the truth without hesitation, and those who sought his advice knew they would get an experienced contribution. He had quarrelled with his late uncle over the sale of Titi as a witch to an Izon man and had been very vocal against the practice. Many credited him with abolishing what he called a shameful practice.

      He walked fast. If one could imagine a fast-moving chameleon, he was one. He made no noise. Dressed in his wrapper, his upper body always left bare, he was the ruling council's busiest representative. As the elder spokesman, Iniovo was the sharer of the money given the elders. He was different from his predecessor, who abused the office by keeping some money for himself before sharing. Iniovo shared everything and did not keep a penny for himself.

      Iniovo did his work with dedication and a sense of joy. The council generally approved of what he proposed. He had gained much knowledge and acquired much wisdom from experience.

      Tefe grew into the position of Okpara's and, by implication of its pre-eminence, Agbon's storyteller. Nobody got appointed until he had in all but name become one. As far back as he could remember, and that was since he started living with his grandmother, he listened to and told stories. He surely imbibed what made him a storyteller from the great mother, Grandma, the spinner and singer of wonderful tales. She was the unacknowledged one, he always responded when praised for his wonderful imagination.

      They called him everybody's friend. Tefe's praise-name was “Water.” “Water has no enemy,” he answered when called.

      He was brought from Kokori to Okpara when only three years old. Once there, he played many children's games and quickly integrated into his Okpara age-group. He excelled in koto game, spinning the cone-shaped shell on hard ground and bringing it to a halt face down. He wove tough ropes for drawing water from the well and strong baskets for carrying things and foodstuffs. He led a group of youths to the forest to shoot birds and they always brought down a good number. He set traps and caught small animals that they, as children, boasted about. Nobody ever thought of him as having only one hand in Okpara because of being related from only his mother's side. After all, in Agbon, they had the saying that what affected Okpara also affected Kokori. He had Agbon blood in his whole body because Kokori and Okpara were “children” of the same ancestral couple.

      Ode lived by his hands, as people said. He wove different shapes of fine baskets, which many women craved to buy for different activities or storage. He made strong ropes for drawing water from deep wells. He also wove ropes used to climb palm trees, and no farmer had ever complained of his rope breaking and causing injury or death. He made cane armchairs from raffia palms that the old in particular liked to recline in. He was respected as a fine craftsman and was involved in communal affairs.

6

      Serious issues were seldom discussed at the ohwarha, the men's-only joint. After all, those who frequented it only came there after the day's hard work. Every work Agbon people did was hard. Producing palm oil was an energy-sapping occupation. They went on foot to the bush to look for oil-palm trees, climbed the fruitful ones with ropes to cut down the ripened bunch of palm nuts, and then climbed down. It was a perilous task as many climbers had fallen down when their ropes had suddenly broken