Story Time, Once Again!
happy Wednesday everyone, Just a short post here. Hope the week has been good so far? I’ve got another part of the story of Ruth, (just in case anyone wondered). So say hello to some more from Ngozi and Emeka. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
ps please excuse the extra dots, spelling errors and etc. Its still in work in progress! and if the story doesn’t make sense, feel free to backtrack to the first few chapters I posted at an earlier date!
The Story Of Ruth
Emeka smiled to himself as the beautiful stranger named Ngozi carried on walking to the stream. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her walking this path to the stream. He had always wondered what her name was. Ngozi was a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman. Ngozi was a name from the Ibo people of Nigeria. It simply meant being a blessing. Emeka allowed himself to dream as he walked back to his family compound. He chuckled to himself as he remembered her screaming after seeing the snake. As he walked back, he wondered why he had never seen her around with the other village girls who were of marriageable age. He found he thought a lot about Ngozi, even before he knew what her name was. He thought about her face, her voice, and the beautiful songs she sung on the way to the stream. The one she sang today sounded a lot like one of the hymns from the local village church where he attended for Sunday morning services. He loved their little village church. It wasn’t anything to be compared to some of the mega high steeple churches he had seen on his few trips to Lagos, but God was there, that was definite. Church was like nothing else he could describe. Sundays were a festive day in their village and even in their neighbouring ones. All the ladies in the village put on their best clothes, with head ties almost touching the sky. The men wore traditional attire so starched and ironed, it was impossible to see a crease. On a Sunday, children knew better than to play and run around to mess up their Sunday clothes although by the afternoon, most of them would have forgotten………………….. Their church resident Pastor, Pastor Amechi, was quite a character. He was quite a dark stout man, with a round pot belly. Pastor Amechi always insisted on wearing a white shirt, dog collar and a black blazer, all of which would be drenched in sweat by the end of the service. Emeka found him to be quite a humorous man, but he could never argue that Pastor Amechi didn’t know what he was talking about. He had arrived from Lagos some years back, originally from a village similar to theirs. Emeka wondered why Ibo people ever went to Lagos. Lagos was filled with the Yoruba people of Nigeria, most of whom still worshiped gods like sango, the god of thunder, osun and several others. Ibo people too had been idol worshippers, worshipping the sprits of ancestors, dead and buried kings and feared jungle animals,most especially in this village, but once the Gospel of Jesus Christ, or better known as Jesu Kristi arrived through pastor Amechi, it swept the village like a flood and soon, their indigenous idols were forgotten. Emeka strolled in to his family compound with his catch from the bush. “Ada? Amarachi? , come and take this meat”. His sisters, both younger than him slinked in, annoyed about the work that they could not escape. “Welcome brother” they both chorused. “Thank you. Take this meat and clean it, so mama can cook with it later”. “But brother, this meat is so big, it will take us a long time to finish”. “That is your own problem”. Emeka had to supress his laughter as they picked up the meat, silently fighting themselves and each other. Emeka sunk into one of the chairs on the veranda, and allowed his thoughts to again wonder, back to Ngozi.
“I’m coming o, hold on”. Ngozi stood in front of Mr Peters door, face set as stone. The door clicked open and Mr Peters peered out through a crack in the door. “Ah Ngozi, it is you, welcome dear”. “Good morning sir”, Ngozi curtsied in a way respectful to elders in the community. Mr Peters smiled, “Ngozi baby, this is why I have always liked you, you are a very respectful girl”. Ngozi rolled her eyes inwardly. “Please sir, I don’t have time, I came to return this bag you left at our compound”. Mr Peters looked down and noticed the bag in her hand. “Why? You don’t you like the gifts? I can get you some different materials if you would prefer? Lace? Or maybe some more European kinds?”.”Please sir, I don’t want, good day”. Ngozi dropped the bag and started to leave. “Ngozi, wait now, why are you rushing, can I offer you something?”. By this point Mr Peters had sat down on a wooden chair in his compound and was fanning himself from the ever increasing heat. “Ngozi, please sit, there is something important I would like to discuss with you”,” Mr Peters, I don’t have the time”. “Ngozi, we are not fighting? Come and sit”. Ngozi begrudgingly sat , though as far away from Mr Peters as the bench would allow. “I’ve known you a long while now. I’ve seen you grow from that naughty little baby that never wanted to bath into a beautiful young lady that any man would be proud to have”. Ngozi nodded, thoughts a thousand miles away. “Before your father died, I promised I would take care of you and your siblings, and I’ve been thinking of how to make good on that promise. I’ve spoken to your mother about finalising our wedding plans, but she felt it would be better if I asked you”. Ngozi’s thoughts made an emergency stop “What?” was all Ngozi could muster. “The wedding plans now, between you and my son, Chinedu”. Ngozi mentally breathed a deep sigh of relief, she thought it was about to be a case of men that didn’t realise how old they really were. In their village, it was common place for the older men in the village to have some perverted tendencies and several of them had 2nd wives, old enough to be their daughters. Some of the more brave hearted ones went as far as three. “Please Sir, I have not heard anything about these wedding plans before, I don’t really believe in arranged marriages anyway. I think people should marry for love”. “Hmm, is that so? Very interesting”, Mr Peters gave Ngozi a look that made her feel more stupid. “Anyway, madam love, go and discuss with your mother and get back to me so we can agree on a date for your engagement”. By this point, Ngozi’s heart was racing, “Mr Peters, I don’t want to marry your son, please, I came to return the gifts, I don’t want any trouble”. “Look Ngozi , you know me as a respected man in this our village, and I always get what I want , if you don’t want the gifts , I will take them back , but you will marry my son , that is not an option”. Ngozi’s mouth was dry and her head racing a mile a minute. What was she to reply to this man? She knew what a shrewd man Mr Peters was, and she knew what he was capable of. “Mr Peters, I’m leaving now, my mother will be expecting me back by now”. “Go my daughter, it is well with you, don’t forget our discussion”, Ngozi dropped the bag, and started to leave the compound, she rolled her eyes and whispered under her breath, “discussion indeed”.
Posted on August 1, 2012, in My Writing and tagged African fiction, African fictional story, African fictional writing, African literature, African story, fiction, fictional writing, naija fiction, naija fictional writing, nigerian fiction, Nigerian fictional, Nigerian fictional writing, nigerian story, personal writing, set in African, set in Nigeria. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.