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Monthly Exclusives April, 2010 |
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March, 2010 Daughters of the Stone—List of Characters Oshun—West African goddess of fertility, sexuality, represents the feminine
The Women
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~ DAHLMA'S JOURNEY ~ DAUGHTERS OF THE STONE ~ MONTHLY EXCLUSIVES ~ BOOK REVIEWS ~ SHARE YOUR STORY ~ NEWS AND EVENTS ~ JUST FOR EDUCATORS ~ MY BOOKSHELF ~ CONTACT DAHLMA |
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April, 2010 Fela the Storyteller Fela readjusted the loom on her lap as she listened to the other women complaining about their men who had left that morning to go on hunting. Imo had gone off by himself again and would meet with the elders that afternoon. The women wove their cloth and absentmindedly shooed their children away from the circle of adult conversation. The young children dodged their mothers' half-threatening hands and ran to play near the borders of the clearing, careful not to go into the bush alone. The older boys had gone out with the men at dawn, carrying spears and taking deep breaths to broaden their chests before the giggling young women who stayed behind to help with the weaving and to learn how to take their place with the older women when their time came. The young women now sat near the weavers, each girl a few feet behind an adult woman, winding thread and pretending not to listen. Each group watching and listening to the other, the girls learning how to be women, the women guiding them along. The women talked of the world of men and women, the tragedies and the absurdities. "Now, Fela, give us a story." "No, not today." "Too much on her mind today," teased N'Gone, her neighbor. " Just how long were you and Imo out there in the bush? Maybe Fela was too busy making her own story." And all the women laughed good-naturedly and continued to prod Fela into telling a tale. Looking at N'Gone with her laughter and her beaded braids, Fela was struck again by the young beauty that was her friend. She really wanted to sit quietly and think back of her night with Imo but she allowed them to pull her out of herself. She looked around the circle of friends, smiled, and began telling a story her father had told her long ago. "All right, all right, but only one, eh? Let's see, oh yes! This is the story of a woman, let's call her Anywoman, and a man, we'll name him Anyman. And they wed and were very happy. They began working on making their babies and planning and dreaming, like newly-weds do, you know. One day Anyman went out hunting by himself, promising to bring back a spectacular catch. He picked up his spear and ran out of the village at an easy pace, waving back to his new wife. And his wife, secure in his love, went about her chores smiling and humming an old, old song. The sun rose and lingered above and started to descend and there was no sign of the husband. Surely, her husband would have told her if he was roaming far from the village. She went to the elder women who tried to reassure her that he was only detained and would be back by morning. But morning came with no husband in sight. It was time to seek the help of the elders once again. The council of elder men sent out a party of young men to search for the husband, all the time assuring the young woman that all would be well, and sent her back to her home to await their return. She sat at home and worried and worried until she could stand it no longer. The next morning when she still sat husbandless, she went into the forest and called Sister Bird, "Sister Bird,Sister Bird, you who soar so high and see so far, where is my husband?" And Sister Bird opened her bill and called down, "The gourd is nothing, you have the essence." But this was not the answer Anywoman wanted to hear, so she went towards the river and met Sister Turtle on the way, "Sister Turtle, good morning, sister. You who hear news in the music of the river, where is my husband?" And Sister Turtle lifted her head and slowly said, "The gourd is temporary, you have the essence." Finally, Anywoman was so frustrated that she walked straight past the other creatures to the river itself, "Mother River, oh mother, you who are so wise and all-knowing, where is my husband?" In her desperation, Anywoman had forgotten to pay reverence, but Mother River forgave the young woman's forgetfulness for she heard the living pain curled in her daughter's voice. "My daughter, you must look within yourself for your answer, for that is where all answers lie. Perhaps you should give ear to the words of your sisters, perhaps they spoke the truth you do not want to hear." And so Anywoman was forced to go home, take the advice she had been given and fold head and heart inward. She sat in her home and did not come out for food. She did not come out for water. Two days later, when the hunters returned without her husband, they came to the door of her hut and waited in silence. Anywoman, hair uncombed, cloth bearly covering her nakedness, came out to speak with them out of courtesy but she already knew what they had come to tell her. She moved slowly and deliberately as though carrying a great weight. Great sorrow had moved into her eyes yet there was a also a calm there. She looked from one man to the other and said, "I know the news you bring me. I know I have lost the gourd but I have the essence in good keeping." As she spoke, she stroked her belly and turned back into her home to wait." While Fela told the story, the women smiled for they had all heard it many times before and chimed in with the familiar phrases here and there. When the story ended, all the women nodded and patted each other in sad comraderie. Fela looked around and saw that no one laughed anymore nor teased her in good fun. "Oh, I have broken our mood. It is too sad a story to tell on such a beautiful day. So you must now tell stories to gladden our hearts." With this, Fela settled back to weave and listen to the stories, but very quickly her mind was elsewhere, for the women were right. All day, her mind had been wandering back to last night, trying to sort out the many emotions that had populated her evening. So Fela sat with lowered eyes and a distant mind, thinking about their stone. She had removed it, washed the little pebble carefully in the river and then dropped it in the pouch that always hung around her neck so that she could feel the reassuring weight of it throughout the day. She knew that soon they would have to complete the ritual and place it on the little altar in their home, there to make the acquaintance of the ancestors. If the ancestors were happy and the goddess blessed them, maybe by the next moon they would have good signs. But for Fela, she knew in her heart that the child stone already carried the soul of their baby. There was no doubt in her mind that the rest would work itself out and that the village would be welcoming their child with great celebration by planting season. So deep was she in her own thoughts that she was taken totally unaware of the movement around the clearing until the commotion reached them at the fire. She was snatched away from her thoughts by the shouting of the old man who came running into the clearing, gesturing at the women. "They're coming...The white ones...The ones Boromba the Traveller told us about. Gather the children, hide in the bush. Hide! Now! Run! No! ... there's no time! You must..." A loud explosion ended his warning. His body jerked around and he fell forward onto the center of the circle of women. There was a bloody, gaping hole where his chest had been and his arms lay spread out to either side, as if trying to embrace the women and children he had tried to protect. He lay amidst the ripped and bloody yarns, the snapped looms jutting all around him like a heap of broken bones. The women had not had time to react. Fela felt herself being dragged by her hair away from the center of the clearing. She could hear the screaming, see the children trying to run in every direction and getting nowhere. She felt as though her head and back were on fire as her attacker dragged her over stones and burning wood. Amid her pain, she thought of Imo's face and his words of warning. Immediately, she clutched at her bag. "NOOOO!" It was the only word that exploded out of her before the darkness. |
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Home | © 2009 Dahlma Llanos-Figueroa | Created by SmartAuthorSites.com ... Websites for Authors Orlando Gonzalez, painter, homepage image | Richard Stokes, photograper, book jacket | Dudley Vacianna, painter, book cover art |
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