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The Stick of Fortune by Bukar Usman (Taken from Dr. Usman’s eight-story collection, The Stick of Fortune)
There lived a boy in a village. His parents were very poor, but they all lived as a happy family. Being their only son, the boy was well looked after by the parents, in spite of their modest means. One day, after he had become a fully grown-up boy, his parents called him and made a solemn remark. “We have observed,” the father began, speaking for himself and for his wife, who sat beside him, looking tenderly at her son; “We have observed that you are now big enough to get married and we think you should go and find a wife and rear your own children.” “Father,” the boy said, “you know very well we have various needs we haven’t yet met. How can I get married now?” “My son,” the father replied, “the moon does not wait for everybody who needs its light to finish their chores before it disappears from the sky.” “But the money, father! How do we get the money for the dowry?” the boy asked. “That is why your mother and I have called you,” the father said. “We regret that we are not well-to-do and, therefore, are unable to fulfil our traditional obligation to pay for your dowry. But you have our blessings as you go to seek your fortune and start your own family.” The father stretched his hand into a corner of the room and picked up a thin long stick. He slid his hand down its smooth, tough surface, which looked somewhat polished by years of use as a walking-stick. “Take this,” the man said, handing his son the stick, “This is my stick. It is all your mother and I can offer you. We give it to you as a token of goodwill. Take this stick to wherever you may go. It will help you to get married and to build your own family.” The boy took the stick from his father and thanked his parents for the goodwill. The boy’s mother had often expressed the wish that one day her son would leave the village to seek his own fortune. Now, the time for that journey had come. With the stick in his right hand, the boy set out on his journey, heading in the direction of the forest. Inside the forest, he met some people who were hunting birds. They were trying to kill a big bird which perched on a tree branch. “Young man,” they whispered, “please, let us use your stick to kill that bird over there.” The boy obliged. One of the hunters collected the stick and hurled it at the bird. As the bird fell down, the stick flung into the forest. After the hunters had searched through the thicket without finding the stick, the boy broke into a sorrowful song: No, no, no! You must compensate me for my stick: The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which may well be The means by which I’d get married. The hunters were moved by his song. And they told him, in sympathy: “We really have nothing to give you except this bird which we have hunted down with the aid of your stick.” The boy took the bird and continued on his journey. Shortly after he came out of the forest, he met the next person, a woman who was cooking food in front of her hut. When the woman saw the big bird, she exclaimed, “Young man, where did you get that bird from. It’s the very delicious type. How did you know I was looking for meat to make soup for my family? May I take a close look at your bird?” The boy gave her the bird. To his amazement, the woman placed the bird inside a bowl, brought down the hot water boiling on the fire and poured it on the bird. The boy was dumbfounded. He watched silently as the woman speedily dressed the bird and made soup with it. When she stirred the soup and tasted for salt, she smacked her lips and said, “Delicious! This is really delicious. My husband who would have paid you has travelled. What do we do, young man?” The boy’s response came through his song: No, no, no! You must compensate me for my bird: The bird the hunters gave me when they lost my stick, The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which may well be The means by which I’d get married. The woman, touched by the song, apologised to him. She said she had nothing else to give him and asked him to take the food she had cooked by way of compensation. The boy accepted the food and continued on his journey. His next encounter was with a group of farmers who were tired and very hungry. They were seated under a tree, resting, when they saw the boy passing with the food. “Hey boy!” one of them called. “May we see if it’s real food you’re carrying about like that or you’re trying to make people’s mouth water for nothing?” The boy came to where the farmers were seated and said what he was carrying was food indeed. “Let’s see,” one of the farmers insisted. He collected the food from the boy, smiled and said, “Didn’t our elders say that only the tongue can say which wild nut is sweeter than the other?” Then, he tasted the food and announced to the others looking eagerly at him that, “This is really good food!” Whereupon, all the farmers pounced on the food and voraciously ate it up. As the farmer who had first noticed and called him chewed the last piece of meat and while the rest licked their fingers, the boy took up his song: No, no, no! You must compensate me for my food: The food the woman gave me when she took my bird, The bird the hunters gave me when they lost my stick, The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which may well be The means by which I’d get married. Touched by the boy’s review of his past travails, the farmers expressed their regrets and pleaded with him to take their matchet in compensation for his food. The boy accepted the matchet and continued on his journey. Next, he came across a group of masons digging out a giant stone from the site where they had come to lay the foundation of a mud house. When they saw the boy with the matchet, they asked whether he could give them the matchet to clear the area. “We were looking for a matchet before we decided to dig out this rock which had broken the handles of our diggers. Please let us use your matchet to clear the area.” The boy obliged them. After about an hour, they were about finishing the bush clearing in readiness for the foundation when the matchet was damaged beyond repairs. Again, as he rehashed his ordeal, the boy insisted he must be compensated: No, no, no! You must compensate me for my matchet: The matchet the farmers gave me when they took my food, The food the woman gave me when she took my bird, The bird the hunters gave me when they lost my stick, The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which may well be The means by which I’d get married. The boy’s review of his past travail made the masons to offer him their damaged implements in compensation for his matchet. “Take the two diggers along with your damaged matchet. You might see someone who would pay you for the diggers and then you can use the money to buy another matchet. Please, take these from us as we have no money to pay you.” The boy accepted the implements and continued on his journey. When he reached a river, he dropped the broken implements on the banks of the river and waded into the river to drink some water. Then, he saw a man paddling his canoe across from the other side of the river. When the man reached where he was, he saw the implements and cried with excitement: “God bless the person who kept these pieces of iron here. I have been looking for raw materials to flatten in my hearth and mould an iron staff for my father.” “I’m the owner of the tools,” the boy announced, when he saw the man picking them up. “Very well then,” the man said, “I am the blacksmith who lives across the river. Would you mind following me to my workshop. I need to use your iron to mould the staff. One of my customers would be bringing money for me today. I’ll pay you from the money which he would bring.” The boy and the man entered the canoe and the man paddled them across the river. At his workshop, the man turned the boy’s damaged tools into red-hot iron and moulded them into a sword for his father. Immediately the man finished moulding the sword and as the boy was looking forward to being paid, an elderly man walked in to announce that the man whom the blacksmith was expecting to bring money for him had died. The boy looked very concerned and sad, more for his own plight than for the problems of any other person. As soon as the elderly man left, he asked for compensation for his implements which the blacksmith had melted and moulded into a sword. Ignoring the blacksmith’s explanations and claims that it was an act of God that his debtor had to diesuddenly, the boy burst into his song, recounting his past ordeal: No, no, no! You must compensate me for my iron tools: The tools the masons gave me when they damaged my matchet, The matchet the farmers gave me when they took my food, The food the woman gave me when she took my bird, The bird the hunters gave me when they lost my stick, The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which may well be The means by which I’d get married. The blacksmith was sorry for what had happened but said that “I can’t give you the sword. I moulded it as a gift to my father who would require it tomorrow for an important function.” He put his hand into a small bag and brought out a piece of jewellery. “This is really expensive, but it’s your luck. You can take it as compensation for your iron tools which my hearth had melted into a sword.” The boy took the jewellery and left the blacksmith. He traced his way back to the bank of the river. The canoe by which he had come with the blacksmith was no longer there, but there was a much bigger canoe into which some colourfully-dressed people were entering. He undestood from the conversations around him that the riverine settlement was having its annual festival. It usually lasted for three days and it just started that day. The following day was the day all the clan heads, each brandishing the sword, would parade themselves across the village square. Now, the boy understood why the blacksmith desperately wanted that sword for his father. Having heard that paddling people across the river was free because of the festival, the boy stepped into the canoe, seating next to a clan head who was going to buy certain things for the festival. Immediately the canoe, paddled by some young men, started crossing the water, the boy brought out his jewellery, displaying it for all to see. Someone stretched her hand across the clan head and collected it from the boy’s hand. It was the wife of the clan head. “Mdirki, you promised to buy a beautiful jewellery for me to wear during the festival. This is the type I want, this is exactly the one I want!” “Who told you the boy is selling it?” the clan head asked his wife. “She can buy it,” the boy uttered enthusiastically. The clan head took the jewellery from his wife and faced the boy, “Are you sure you’re not a thief?” “I am not a thief, sir!” the boy said, opening his hand to collect back his jewellery.
“This jewellery is worth a thousand cowries,” the clan head’s wife interjected. “You heard her! How did you get such an expensive jewellery?” asked the clan head. The boy responded through a tearful song:
No, no, no! You must pay me for my jewellery: The jewellery the blacksmith gave me when he took my iron tools The tools the masons gave me when they damaged my matchet, The matchet the farmers gave me when they took my food, The food the woman gave me when she took my bird, The bird the hunters gave me when they lost my stick, The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which may well be The means by which I’d get married. After listening to the boy’s song, one of the people paddling the canoe said, “This boy is not a thief. I saw him and the blacksmith when they came off the canoe this afternoon. The blacksmith was holding some iron tools and the boy was following him.” The clan head looked at the boy: “That’s true, sir,” the boy said, “The blacksmith melted my iron tools to make a sword which his father would use at the square tomorrow.” “I see!” the clan head said. “You’re right about the sword because that’s one of the things I’m going to buy in the nearby town. Maybe I should compensate you for embarrassing you, young man, by buying this jewellery for my wife. How much would you sell it?” The boy thought for a while and said, “I believe it is worth much more than what your wife had said it was worth, but you can pay me the one thousand cowries she had suggested.” “It’s alright,” the clan head said, “but I can only pay you after my return. May I suggest that once we touch ground on the other side, you’d wait at the riverside shed while my wife and I move into the town to buy some items. On our way back, we all will return to the village so that I can pay you your money.” The boy said the arrangement was okay by him and waited, as arranged. It was late in the evening when the clan head, his wife and the boy got a canoe which took them across the river. Having secretly determined through a messenger that it was the blacksmith indeed who had given the boy the jewellery, the clan head brought out a bag containing one thousand cowries and gave to the boy. The boy took the bag and quickly located a host in the village to spend the night with him. It was already dark and he didn’t want to cross the river, carrying so much money. The following morning, as he was about to go, he overheard a conversation to the effect that the following day, being the last day of the festival, was the day for “The dance of the maidens.” It was the one day in the year when all the spinsters in the village danced at the square for every eligible bachelor to see and make his choice. Any bachelor who saw a maiden he liked walked straight to her to dance before her. If two or more suitors came out to dance before one maiden, she would hold the hand of the one she fancied most and ignore the others. When the spinster is sure that she liked the lucky bachelor (who had walked out from the crowd to dance before her or whose hand she held), she would shout the name of her parents or guardians. The latter would emerge from the crowd to demand a token dowry. And if the suitor had on him the amount demanded, he and the girl would instantly be married. The boy decided to stay in that village to witness the dance of the maidens. “With my bag of money safely kept with the host, it would be nice if I can also pick a wife from here. That would be wonderful.” On the day of the maiden’s dance, the boy stood enthusiastically among the crowd, watching the maidens as they danced by. Soon, he saw a girl he liked very much. After two eligible bachelors had stepped out of the crowd to dance in front of their choice girls, the boy dashed out of the crowd to dance vigorously before the beautiful maiden of his fancy. The maiden was smiling as they danced but the boy had a look of anxiety on his face. However, when the maiden, in a sweet voice, called out the names of her parents, thereby inviting them to come forward to ask for the dowry, the boy’s face broke into a broad smile. The girl’s parents asked for fifty cowries as the dowry. Immediately, the boy counted out fifty cowries from his pocket and paid them. As the crowd hailed joyously, a fat man who had not come out to dance before the boy’s maiden, because he had no money for the dowry, jealously ran into the square, shouting, “This boy is a stranger. Our tradition forbids him from going with her! The dance of the maidens is not for strangers. It is for the young men of this village only.” The crowd was silent. The drummers stopped their beat. To comfort her, the bride’s parents held her hands. Everyone was looking at the boy to say a word. As usual, he responded through his song: No, no, no! You must let me go with my wife: The wife whose dowry I paid with my money, The money the clan head gave me when he bought my jewellery, The jewellery the blacksmith gave me when he took my iron tools The tools the masons gave me when they damaged my matchet, The matchet the farmers gave me when they took my food, The food the woman gave me when she took my bird, The bird the hunters gave me when they lost my stick, The stick my mama ‘n papa gave me for protection and as my inheritance, The stick which has now been The means by which I’d gotten married. There was an uproar after the boy’s song. “Give him his wife, give him his wife! Away with the tradition, give him his wife!” The crowd was restive. Other clan heads came out to the centre of the square to address the issue raised by the fat son of the soil. Among them was the clan head who had bought the boy’s jewellery. He spoke on behalf of the other clan heads. “I know this young man,” he began, talking loudly for the crowd to hear. “He is a hard-working fortune-seeker. He inherited only a stick and today he has several cowries to his credit. I think he can look after our daughter well, and that should matter more to us than what we imagine our tradition says.” The clan head turned to face the fat fellow. “Whose son are you, young man?” The fat man proudly mentioned his father’s name. “Oooooh! Very good. You’re the boy whose mother is from the village across the river.” The fat fellow said yes. “I am a clan head, I cannot lie. Go and ask your father and he would tell you he and I picked our wives several years ago from that village across the river, when they were holding their dance of the maidens. Nobody denied us our wives, how can we deny this young man?”
The crowd cheered ecstatically at the decision of the clan heads. The drummers resumed their beat and the boy danced joyfully with his wife. The day after, the boy, his beautiful wife and his bag of money were ferried across the river on his triumphant journey back to his village. “We will buy a big farm when we get to my village,” he told his wife. “I’ll be the richest farmer in the village and make you always happy.” His wife smiled cheerfully. |