By Lechi Eke
The Tor Tiv was reclining on his lounge chaise on his western patio facing the orchard with his youngest wife when his direct telephone line rang. It was his favourite reclining place because of the breezes that flowed his way from the life-giving trees. His wife of twelve months, 19-year-old Prisca, rose swiftly to her feet and gave him some space to speak in private. It was his friend, High Chief Kan.
“Tim Tim,” he managed to sound cheerful.
“Charles,” he said (he had insisted that his childhood friend address him by his first name), “I’m sorry but I brought unsettling news. Over eighty lorry loads of yam tubers that left our State Barns to Igboland, have all returned to Tivland still fully loaded.”
“What happened?”
“More unsettling is the reason I received from our people over there. They said that we rejected their daughter! You see how this people look for trouble? What does it mean that we rejected their daughter? Since when did trading and marriage affect each other?”
“It should be investigated.” The Tor’s voice was mellow. Aside being the chief peace broker for his people, the Tor had no interest in the topic. He had been sick and was just recuperating and Tim knew it. Why would he want to burden him with rejected yam tubers? The Tor understood his friend’s concern, he was the head of the association of the yam farmers.
“I will call you back,” High Chief Kan said but waited until the phone went dead.
There was a light knock on the door and the Tor’s PA let himself out to the patio and curtsied. “Our father, Benue yams that went to the East have all been turned back. The Easterners said we should eat our yams because we rejected their daughter. We’re investigating the situation, your majesty.”
The Tor nodded and waved him away. As he turned to go, he said, “Call my wife, Prisca.”
Prisca returned and sat down. She tried to hide her boredom with a smile. Her marriage was a contract that elevated her family like one who got an oil company job. She would be free at the death of the Tor. Her royal husband had passed his time of pleasure. He had the jitters now and was afraid of being alone. The door opened again, this time without a knock, the queen who was wife number one, waddled in. Prisca hurriedly curtsied and left the patio. The queen took her own seat which no one except her used. Her eyes scrutinised the face of the Tor with kindness as she curtsied sitting for, she was full of years, and heavy. “Hope you’re alright (he nodded). I said, what did we do to Nd’Igbo that they will return our yams?”
“My queen, they’re investigating it. If you’d let them know at the kitchen, I’d love fish peppersoup, the way you cook it.”
She smiled and began to rise. “In 20 minutes, you’ll have it.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, just instruct them to do it.” His voice was tender, with a rasp that she interpreted to be pain.
“You’ll be alright,” she said heaving herself up with an effort. His phone began to ring. He nodded towards it indicating that she should pick it. “It’s Big Benjamin.” He nodded. So, she picked it and greeted in their native language. They chatted briefly before she said. “Yes, he’s here.” She handed it over to him. “Has Jamin found his missing rib?” he asked. “No,” was the quick reply. She left him as he went on to talk about quarries and workers… When she returned with a steward bearing a covered fine china dish and a wrapped golden spoon on a golden tray, the Tor’s PA and his secretary were standing talking about the Idoma people and their fishing problems. She frowned at them and told them to leave him to eat. He was recuperating.
A low table was set before the king of Tivland and his peppersoup placed on it. The queen’s seat was moved closer to the Tor’s and she began to rub his back as he ate. Soon he was done eating and was perspiring profusely. The queen admiring him was all smiles. “You’ll live, my Tor, my husband, my love,” she cooed. He also felt much better and was in a good mood.
“Our governor called his colleague in one of the eastern states who made the enquiries about the yams. Tim just called me with the full story that the trouble came from Abia state. A Tiv man desired to marry an Igbo girl, but his parents objected and went as far as abducting and threatening the young woman.”
“That’s not wise. Nigeria is in a precarious state now, people should be careful. (she paused and then shook her head). Young people should always look to their people for who to marry.”
“These things are not done from here; the gods often throw their dice. Sometimes, it goes wild.”
“Still, I think people should be cautious, slow to exhibit anger. A Tiv family rejected a young woman for their son, and all Tiv people have to suffer it. Is that how desperate Nd’Igbo are to marry us?”
“We have strong young men: studs. (the Tor showed his biceps raising his frail sagged arms) I remember growing up, when we were dashing young men…”
“… all the young girls fainting at the sight of you…” The queen gave a throaty laugh.
“I know… my sisters told me how you used to pray and weep at the foot of the cross asking Jesus to make the Wan Tor Charles your husband…”
Her face puckered in a smile. “You’re alright my Tor, thank God, your sickness is gone!”
“Peppersoup and the presence of my queen do wonders to health.”
“I miss our younger selves. Tonight, would have been the night.” The queen let out sudden guffaw. “Amorous old man.”
“It’s a healthy exercise. Doctors recommend it.”
“They should be jailed for encouraging lechery…”
“Aww, come on, woman, that’s what makes a man.”
“Tell that to your brother’s wife. Dooshima doesn’t think so. She has forced Jamin into abstinence with her Assemblies of God customs. That young man’s been celibate all his life. Oh! That reminds me, Kambi told me that recently when she visited Iveren in Lagos, she met a young lady, exceptionally beautiful, who Iveren said was Jamin’s interest.”
“Jamin’s interest? Jamin should hurry and marry. At his age both his dad and I were married with children. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. But, if he had someone visiting Iveren, it is serious. I want to live to see his children.”
“You will, my love, you will. We will all live to see our future generation.”
“But, why hasn’t he told his father?”
“I’m sure it’s his mother. Dooshima and her praying and seeking the face of God for everything can take ages. I’m sure she told him to wait until she has prayed through. I remembered when Leticia found a young man and I told Dooshima, she spent so much time praying that Leticia left us to tell you by herself.”
“If Jamin has a love interest, I want to know about it. We cannot wait any longer.”
“Should I call Dooshima to ask her?”
“No, call Jamin.”
“He’s just as taciturn as his mother. I’ll call Iveren to find out.”
“Call Jamin,” the Tor repeated.
