Oyego! A name that sends shivers down my spine each time I hear it. It belonged to

the most notorious madman who lived in my village before the cold hands of death took him away. His birth name was Buchi but people called him Oyego because

of his esteemed love for food. He was the hostile type and had wounded many people 

on different occasions. The little children of my village found pleasure in vexing him. Singing to deride him made them happy:

     Oyego!

    Mama’s food is ready

    To our houses you must come

    Cold or hot as you want

    Today’s very big and delicious

    One big pot, you can’t gulp alone.

  The children sang this with rhythmic claps and Oyego’s hot chase with big sticks

provided the needed fun.

 I could not help becoming offended each time I remembered or heard people say that

Oyego loved me. I was very uncomfortable with such an unneeded love: love from a

madman. I wished he extended towards me the same hatred he had for many other people

in the village. His words to me were always calm and sane. He always called me by my

name anytime I walked across his house, made of bamboo sticks and thatched roof.

The elders especially teased that I had his anti-dote. They always called on me to

calm him down whenever rage took over his insanity and threatened the peace of the

clan.

 On one special occasion, Soto, my friend, was one of those that came to our house that early

morning, with the news that Oyego was  strangling a boy to death. Until he died,

Soto said he would never forget the day he swam into the snare of this man, whom everybody

in the village dreaded. Soto had climbed up and plucked a fruit from the pear tree

in front of Oyego’s house. Oyego was in his angry mood as usual and he never gave warning before he lashed out at any one who offended him. He pounced heavily on Soto, subjecting him to countless

blows, hot and spicy, with his fists.

 I had jost woken from sleep that morning and was in my shorts when they came to call me. I put on my father’s pair of slippers which was the nearest thing for shoe and followed

them, running breathlessly towards Oyego’s house. I was in front; Soto and the other

boys followed behind me. We took the shorter path that led through the stream. As we ran,

the intensity of the cry of the boy became louder. The calmness of the morning made his voice echo. I stopped suddenly, peering through a particular direction. Although the dewdrops

blurred my vision, I still managed to see Oyego feeding the boy with blows. From

the distance, filled with compassion for the boy under his torture, just two piercing

shrieks of the madman’s name did the required magic. He looked up with a turgid strength,

recognized me and hobbled away unsatisfied, into his room, leaving his victim ruffled

but alive. I turned back immediately caring not to know what offence the boy had committed to

invite Oyego’s wrath. Like the other boys, Soto was

 deeply surprised. While the others walked the boy home, Soto followed me to the

house. He kept asking me so many questions that I gave no answers to. Soon, the news

spread around the entire village. The more they talked about Oyego’s love and regard

for me, the more hatred I developed for him.

 The year I clocked twenty was very spectacular in all aspects. My joy knew no bounds. I was all out to create fun for myself. My parents were in firm support

of all the activities I wished to participate in. they were excited too to have

nurtured a child into adulthood. I had ever dreamt of such a day. And whenever it

crossed my mind that I was finally departing childhood, a paradise indeed where our

rights were no longer determined by the elders whom we dared not doubt or question, my lips tore to the molars with smiles. I had washed my hands clean,

I thought. At least on that special night, I would eat roasted yam from the same

pot with elders while the children would watch enviously with every atom of admiration.

My excitement was endless. Then, I could also converse freely with girls, in low

tones, without fear of elders sitting close by.

 The Ebitu gong had sounded the previous day, reminding everybody of the grand ceremony

slated for the day after. Alongside all others born on Nkwo day, twenty years ago,

my initiation ceremony into manhood would be through a well-organized ritual as prescribed

by our tradition. My parents had provided all the needed items: a white cock, seven

big tubers of yam, a small gallon of palm oil, a jar of palm wine and a red wrapper.

We were to tie the red wrapper with the type of red cap worn by Chiefs, as long as

we stood on the initiation ground. We had also perfected on a new dance to thrill

our guests. I expected my guests to include all my maternal cousins and other friends

I had met while fishing on the popular Nworie River.

 Could it be that the instincts of all birthday mates work alike? Soto was the only

birthday mate I regarded. The cordial relationship we shared from childhood had infectiously

spread into our different families. His house was a stone throw from mine. He

was also enlisted for the next night’s rituals. Many people looked on to see

how the two of us, in our red wrappers and caps, would stand side by side on the

initiation ground. My mother had once told me too, that Oyego was my birthday mate

but I dismissed all that with giggles of disinterest and mildness. No wonder on such

days, he never failed to perform, perfunctorily, something that formed head tales

at the markets, local bars and along narrow stream paths.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Soto had asked me grinning happily.

“Oh, I can’t wait for the initiation to come,” followed my quick reply. He was not

satisfied.

“No,” he disputed, “I mean before the actual time for the ceremonies.” Then I understood

he was talking about the morning hours. He had visited me and we were walking slowly,

down the path leading to their house.

“Nothing would disturb my happiness,” I told him proudly. “I’m planning to go to

a very calm place and enjoy myself before the actual time for the initiation ceremony.”

Soto continued nodding his head agreeably and slipped his hands into his trouser

pockets. I looked at him closely, expecting him to talk. When he didn’t, I continued.

I told him that the stream was the best place I had in mind. Immediately, he brought

out his hands from those pockets and held mine excitedly.

“That’s exactly my plans too!” he exclaimed. He opined that the stream would give

us the required time to reflect on our past lives and ways to better them. “We would

leave as early as we could,” he concluded.

By 7 O’clock in the morning, we had set out to the stream. Our mothers helped us

to prepare the meals we took for the picnic. We had rice and palm wine, fresh from

Udungwo, the village’s leading name in palm wine tapping. It was our first time of

visiting the stream without those big earthen pots often held cautiously on our heads,

preventing them from crashing and inviting the wrath of our mothers at home. As we

walked, we acknowledged greetings from passers-by. Some of the children that played

in the frontages pointed at us and whispered within themselves. They all knew it

was our day. The rain that fell the previous night made the clay ground a bit slippery.

We walked slowly, cautiously. We also passed Oyego’s house. His door was locked but

he sat in front, in those pieces of torn clothes he was known with. His right hand

held strongly and steered dutifully, a long chewing stick, which walked up and down,

along the wide lanes of his teeth. He smiled broadly as he noticed

 us from a considerable distance. He wanted to stand up and perhaps act something

funny but the stern look on my face sent his right senses swimming back. He could

have called me by name, if I hadn’t confronted him with brutal threat, some days

ago, when he attempted same.

The path was narrow and I walked in front. Soto didn’t observe the cold drama that

staged between me and Oyego, in those few seconds.

“He is very friendly today,” Soto observed. “I dread passing here!” he spoke in a

very low tone. His last statement tickled me. I understood his main reason for that.

His right hand still bore the indelible mark which Oyego’s brutality drew on him.

I chuckled mischievously but marched on, briskly, steadily. Again, Soto scratched

his head in mischief and teased further, “Oh, oh…may be…oh! Because…” he said many

other silly things, trying to prove that it was because of me that Oyego had played

gentle. He laughed foolishly at his own joke, jerking out of the track, into the

bush and on to the track again. I didn’t take that lightly as a joke but all the

same, refused to be angry, in order not to spoil my day. I only cautioned against

the pot of food on his head.

“Don’t throw it down, while laughing like a drunk,” I told him. His deriding laughter

continued and had gradually started getting me irritated even though I prevented

my real feelings from showing. I even felt like commanding Oyego to attack and tear

him to shreds. No, I rethought, that would go a long way proving a point which I

had ever avoided. Directly as we passed his house, Oyego sprang up, dancing and singing

aloud. 

Some should be going

Others would be coming

The same destination when we reach

Our home certainly would become

Though a beautiful day

Some still shall not be happy but cry

They that humiliated us as boys 

Hence forth shall as men recognize us

Hurray! Hear the sound! Hurray!

  He stamped his feet as he pronounced hurray. Truly, the song was highly melodious.

Soto couldn’t resist it. Still looking back, he added: “Wonderful! He possesses a

superficially sonorous voice!”

I simply pretended deaf to Soto’s commendation. Also, I considered whatever Oyego

sang useless and bothered not to dig for their meanings. I detested everything that

concerned him.

“I heard he’s also twenty today,” Soto said after a deep breath of admiration. I

sighed disgustedly rather and wagged my father’s big cutlass in front punctiliously,

like a soldier in thirst of war, quickening my steps to reach the stream.

  The stream was strictly demarcated into two main parts. We made straight to the

male side. It was a bit far, and different from that other side, where anybody could

go and fetch water for domestic use. It was our first attempt at visiting this side

of the stream or even trying to bathe in it. Soto had suggested that we ate later,

after we must have exhaustively enjoyed a wonderful bathing session. I agreed. Little

did it occur to me that my life’s greatest misfortune would be on such a day, which

I set elegantly for myself!

From the lush vegetation surrounding the stream, few frogs successfully made some

entertaining leaps into the waters. I watched, from the distance, as the waves undulated

pleasantly in it. And occasionally, those leaves that fell into it caused ripples

and attracted me more. We dropped everything we arrived with at the foot of the big

oil bean tree, by the river side. Convinced that it was only male adults that could

come closer to that part of the stream, we pulled off our clothes, flung them carelessly

and over excitedly raced to the awaiting arms of the stream, splashing with a sudden drop.

 We met two other men in the stream. They had come earlier than we did. They were

also older but smallish. I took special interest in them because they were good swimmers.

We couldn’t even attempt some of the styles they introduced. Soon, they were set

to go. It was fun competing with Soto on who first reached certain areas in the stream.

As we swam, we sang happily, old but popular songs (which we could not have sung

in our parents’ presence) condemning the many restrictions which children suffered.

We had swum for one and half hours. All our discussions pointedly revealed that we

had for a long time, dreamt for such a change of status.

“I’m tired,” I suddenly gasped at last.

“Must it be this soon?” Soto asked, feigning strength and splashed on the water again.

“Let’s try out another activity,” I told him. A wry smile flared up my face. Soto

laughed exceedingly. He fell into the waters.

“I know your mind is on that food,” he teased. “If not, what other activity are you

talking about?”

He caught my trick. I nodded slowly, regarding his thoughtfulness. I didn’t see a

better reason why I should continue swimming while the fresh palm-wine, from Udungwo,

still lay unattended to. Mba! I had started moving out of the stream when my sight

suddenly caught an object, at the tree where we kept our items. It was a man, fully

squatted but backing us. His left hand was stationary while his right hand walked

a constant distance from the ‘ground’, perhaps into his mouth. Initially shocked,

I invited Soto’s attention. The surrounding bushes could not guarantee perfect vision.

I only pointed in the direction and never talked. Soto shrugged in utmost disbelief,

trembling seriously. His lips were parted; no words were heard.

‘There is trouble,” I whispered. He nodded and we exchanged glances at each other.

  While we gaped helplessly at the being, it suddenly sprang up. Dah! His feet landed

on the ground. He faced us.

“Hey!” exclaimed Soto, in a reflex. I didn’t want to believe it. I slowly wiped my

hands over my face, to be free of disillusionment. Yes! It was Oyego again, completely

wrapped in my clothes. On his head was my hat made with local raffia staws. His right

hand clutched to my father’s cutlass. A perfect outfit, just the way I wore them

to the stream! Oyego smiled ravishingly, waving his hands happily like a president

would in the pose of acknowledging cheers from his citizens.

“I told you to be going. I told you that I would be coming…” Among other ‘silly’

things he rattled, those were the few that filtered into my ears. I had hid my bushy

‘manhood’ in cupped hands. This interested the madman greatly.

“For how long will you hide your ojuju? He asked. And like a masquerade, he danced

shortly to a crescendo. “I had seen it long ago before you noticed my presence.”

He laughed cohesively aloud, retreating backwards in solid steps. I didn’t still

know what to do. I looked at Soto. His arms crossed to his chest, and mouth hanging

helplessly agape, left his overall appearance nothing more than a moron. I picked

another glance at Oyego. Finely fitted in my clothes, delicious smiles moisturized

his lips. And me, Adam, in that sharp contrast, nagged in birthday suit. Streaks

of tears were already dripping down the crunchy path of my face. My heart’s content

boiled as I calculated, in split seconds, on how to tame the roaring tempest about

to devour me. Again, I thought of my clothes, and that I kept them in the same place

with Soto’s. Then, how could Oyego have singled out only mine and worn? About all

these, I felt bitter. How humiliating the story would be that Oyego wore my

 clothes round the entire village! What about those jobless village gossips? They

would still scratch to discover that I was left helplessly naked at the stream. Gosh!

This couldn’t be concieved as love or joke anymore. Damn such a madman’s love. Devilish

thoughts were beginning to fill me to the brim. I stepped out and gave a hot chase.

Oyego fled.

 Soto was part of the race. He had first gone and worn his clothes, but recklessly.

He wore his trouser inside out; and his shirt flapped, properly unbuttoned. He ran

behind me screaming greatly. My intention was to round Oyego up within the serene

shores of the stream. The closer I tried to reach him, the more effort he committed

at increasing the distance. Gradually, we had entered the main track to the village. I was still naked but at the moment, shame was out of the game.

And my ojuju, as the race got tougher, jogged relentlessly amidst its thick surrounding

bush.

 “Somebody help! Somebody help get him down!” Soto shouted behind me, flinging his

arms helplessly. Most of the villagers, especially children, were already trooping

out, to decipher exactly what was happening. They filed along the path and moped

like spectators in a field event. Some of the elders had also started proceeding

from their broods, attracted by the noise generated. As Soto screamed behind me,

Oyego also shouted in front, but for help.

 At that junction where three foot paths met, some of my village youths teamed up

and held me down. They gathered plantain leaves and covered my waist. My hat which

Oyego wore, didn’t allow the youth recognize him. And he continued running. I was

exasperated, angry and humiliated. I could not talk but kept pointing bitterly at

Oyego till he was out of sight. I looked at my clothes as they ran with Oyego. I

cried. My struggle to break loose to continue the chase was hampered, futile. It

went a long way convincing the youths that I was really insane. Some even slapped

me to be calm. They carried me shoulder high. Up there, I scanned around for Soto.

No trace of him was smelled. He had long fled, afraid of being caught too and proclaimed

mad. I turned back and saw my parents with some of my invited guests. They mooched

along, crossing their arms to their chests as though already bereaved. My mother

wailed aloud, cursing the gods for painting black a day her son should be

 celebrating.

 I wished I could reach out to her and tell her the truth- that I was sane and well!

Calmness was the only weapon I fought with because all I did at the moment potrayed

insane. There in front, the children stamped their feet, chanting such songs usually

sung for Oyego. And behind, those highly placed elders walked slowly consoling my

father. One of them said: “The gods certainly have questions to answer as regards

the sudden outburst of madness on our cherished young men.”

  “Yes Papa Nduka.” Another promoted, “something should be done now that the issue

has not gone very deep into our bones!” declared another chief who, removing his red cap,

shrugged wearily and posited, “It’s only the sick that waits until his testicles

are touched before he gets aroused.” He chuckled in a way that signified sadness

rather than joy and spat out, “Tufia! Not after such terrible disturbances entertained

from Oyego. No, something must be done!”

I tried to say something but the boys hit me to be calm. Tears flowed down my cheeks

as my teeth ground with thick humiliation. Like the obedient lamb  taken to the slaughter,

my lips were further sealed by the uncertainties beclouding our destination. Which

sane man would be there to explain to them, when we reached, how it actually started

till such a moment?  Soto was that only sane man but for fear, had abandoned me to

my rotten fate when I needed him most.

 A second’s delay was already disastrous. I thought of myself and hated it for such

mess it had brought itself. I thought of my world and cursed it for being thus unfair.

I thought of my parents and my guests: I felt dearly sorry for such an undeserving

shame I hugged them with. Then I thought of Oyego and felt like feeding his meat

to the vultures that flew across the sky that moment. We were already a stone throw 

from Okido’s house. He was the village’s best known reformatory. I thought of life

and it stank!    

.