#wordfeastchallenge Day 12 Results for Saturday: Team KennIfe wrote Story 1 Looming Shadows- 40 votes. Team Jerrida wrote Story 2 The wait- 3 votes. Voting for todays challenge ends 9am Nigerian time tomorrow. Please dont forget to put down a reason for your votes. Thank you so much. Theme for today is WAR (IN AN AFRICAN SETTING). STORY 1 SACRIFICE Sowunmi picked his buba, flung it across his shoulder and fled. On his porch lay his young wife, mutilated and left for dead. The warriors of Ajenifunja had come for their revenge, and even the innocent would not be spared. Oba Adeyemo of Bamire village had just ascended the throne of his father. His predecessor was known to have trampled neighboring communities, taken the wives of hapless men, and carted away livestock as spoil from his enemies. The stories had been told in whispers under the moonlight: ‘Enikeni ko gbodo te ese Oba Adelabi m’ole’ meaning that no one was allowed to cross the king’s path. But he had died, and news had reached his enemies that the new king was a greenhorn. Adeyemo didn’t believe in violence, neither did he regard the deities of the land. Being the only son, his father had summoned him from the city, towards his demise, to rule in his stead, and he had reluctantly agreed. Three months after his coronation, the wars began. As houses went ablaze, and villagers fled for dear lives, Sowunmi kept running. His father, Soyinka the priest, had foreseen this great evil many years ago, and had taught him what to do when it came. He had only been a boy. Leaping over dead bodies flung carelessly across the streets, Sowunmi made his way to the now abandoned shrine. He took the nine pebbles of war, set them down, and lifted the priest’s staff. ‘Ajenifuja o!!! Ile mo o loni o!’ He cried with a loud voice. This was the only way, and for Bamire, he was ready. By nightfall, all the warriors of Ajenifuja had fallen with their eyes rolled back in their heads, but so also had Sowunmi, for he had cast the sacrificial spell to save his land. STORY 2: REWRITTEN “Torch the place! They belong to the dust tonight! Show no mercy!” For most of my kith and kin, their last sights are flashes of steel, before their heads permanently lose contact with the rest of their bodies. Blood assumes the role of paint on our mud-houses, and the cries of babies being smashed on the wall at intervals serve as music for the bloodbath. The Ndandwes leave a trail of butchered bodies in their wake. Houses transform to ash in a matter of seconds, and the sands welcome streams of blood. I run with my wife Foulata and my son Ignosi, but we can only go so far. In no time we are surrounded by Ndandwes, seven in number, their menacing faces lit by the flames which engulf our homes. The leader of the pack is Umbopa, a reminder of a grave mistake the Kukuana warriors made thirty rains ago. We had invaded Ndandwe and had killed their men, sparing their children. How foolish we had been! Umbopa had lost an eye back then, and now I stare into a space nearly as hollow as his heart. “Tear them apart!” Umbopa screams. But I don’t plan to roll over for these savages. I draw out my “Assegai” (short spear) from beside my waist, while handing Ignosi to his mother. I bring down three Ndandwes with two strikes, but unlike those past rains, I am old and outnumbered, and Umbopa halts my moves with an axe. I am held down as he walks towards me and gourges out my eyes. At least I don’t have to watch Foulata being ravaged by these demons, and Ignosi cut into pieces. My blindness signifies the darkness upon us. New pages of history are being written, and they won’t include the Kukuanas.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 19:19:33 +0000
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