GOD'S SMUGGLERS

"He who diligently seeks good finds favour, but trouble will come to him who seeks evil" (Prov. 11:27)
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The moon had just been released from the grip of the clouds. It was dim, crescentic, and could barely penetrate through the clouds that moved over it.

The forest was quiet. It was late into the dry season, and the dusty, dry air made every living creature hope for rain. Somewhere near the Obande river, close to the village's scribe's small farm, the voice of pain could be heard. 

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he rode with all his strength. With every stroke, his breathing intensified. He grinned. They were not good friends, but for all their evil works, they walked together. How could they have been good friends when they only come together for evil? 

The lady under him sobbed. She had fainted three times and was still on the verge of passing out. She cried as the man grunted on her, enjoying every hard thrust he made into her, fulfilling his unquenchable desire. In her mind, she prayed to be saved. But, that wasn't going to happen. 

They were four, and this was the fourth. They took turns over her. She knew she might die, and wondered who would find her body lying in such an unthinkable place. She was torn apart – not only because her hymen had been broken with such violence. Though a stranger to many, she knew all of them by name, from the eldest, Adeyemi, Oyekunle, Oladoke, and Gbemisola.. They were ganged together for evil, and, It wasn't their first.

Two weeks ago, one of them had crossed her path on her way to the river.  

"Sssh," He tried to get her attention. " Sssh... Hii Lady."

"Hello" She responded, indifferently. 

She, indeed, was ravishing. A young lady with a daunting beauty. In any land, she would have won the heart of even the most gentle and reserved man. 

"I have been following you for some days... You are such a beautiful lady." He was blunt and direct, a bit arrogant. He was full of himself. 

He curtly spoke his mind or his friends' opinions. Either way, he or they weren't going to take no for an answer. Anyways, he was rejected. 

He later discovered, sadly, that Olu, the hunter and palm wine tapper, was the man of her choice. He bit his thick dark scaly lips, thinking of the best way to deal with her. None came to his mind until his friends made one.

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On the highest Hill, and the steepest slope, she sat under a tree, with her always black cloth. It's been days and she hasn't stopped crying or repeating the same words. 
"The blood that trickled down my lap," She sobbed, "will judge you."

 She lived in despair. Some thought she had suddenly become mentally impaired. Many believed that she had been possessed by the Omogu spirit – the same that tormented Akindare's wife after she cheated on her husband with his brother.  

 "This is my word: From now, this village will lie in ruin. Its young shall not grow. Every marriage shall bring forth sadness. Every pregnant woman shall die in labour. Every man shall die at their fruitful age. There shall be no old in this village. And those who did this evil shall be wiped out of this land. They shall struggle from birth till death. And their dead shall lie in the street."  She said, resoundingly. She jumped to her death.



1987

Once so big and full of life, Ayedoro gradually walked toward being barren. The population could easily be counted, and importantly, the gloom in the atmosphere was palpable. 

The King sat on his throne, his horsetail pointed head-down. His old crown sank below his eyelids. The chiefs sat on the mat, their legs looked like they have been walking barefooted for weeks. Their eyes sank deep into their sockets, and the royal wives could have been mistaken for maids. They all sat in silence, waiting for the Chief priest.
Not too long, the chief priest, Esuyale walked in.. A smile etched on his face. He was the only one revealing his burnt set of scattered teeth. He prostrated before the King who grudgingly acknowledged him.

He is the mouthpiece of the gods, but everyone was tired of him. He had repeatedly requested from the king unthinkable things, claiming the gods had demanded them. No one dared question him for they all feared the wrath of the gods. As always, he had come with the requests made by the gods.

.
"For how long? For how long will you bring to me the same report from the gods? Isn't this the seventh time we pleased them with what they requested? A virgin. How are we to believe your words, or their words as said? " The King stood up.
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Aderiyike stared at her husband. She remembered the good old times they had before his sickness. Vividly, she remembered the warning from her parents. It was true, that none of his lineages ever made it to their forties. He was also thirty-seven and staring death in the eyes. She just wished they could once again lead a happy life. She wiped her tears and set out for the shrine like she always did every morning, five times every week.
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"My wife," He thought aloud as he trekked down the tiny path, and towards his farm. "What has gone wrong?"

He dwelt on it, thinking about his wife. He didn't know how suddenly everything turned sour after he married Oyefunke. His farms tend to be producing half-quarter their usual. He wondered how many times he had to appeal to the gods.
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Durojaye was on his sick bed when he heard about the death of his eldest son. He knew he had a short time left, so he laid motionless on his bed. It was said in history; his forefathers were warriors. But, ever since the time of Gbemisola, the story had changed. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

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Olakunle, a descendant of Oladoke played back all the good times he had spent with his family .. He watched as his two sons turned in agony. He looked at the forlorn image across the small room, she had grown older than her age. He noticed the dry wrinkles on her forehead and hands and wondered if they would ever leave. He wished he could bring back the hands of the clock. On a day, with an interval of less than an hour, his two sons had collapsed on his farm. Many times he had gone to his father's shrine – his heritage – to pray, to plead, but the boys still are down. 

To be continued