Dots

Mama?

Yes, my child?

What are those dots up in the sky?

Those are the stars, Iyabo.

What are they made of?

They are made of our people. When someone dies, they go up into heaven and become a guardian.

How many are there?

Only God knows, my child. Too many to number, too many to know.

But do you?

Do I…?

Do you know them?

A few of them, yes.

Which ones?

See that one, right between that cloud and the moon?

Yes, mama?

That is your great-uncle Abioye. He was a mighty warrior. He won many of our wars for us, and he gave his life for the honor of our people.

What happened to him?

He was killed.

By who?

By the white men who now rule us.

Why?

You ask many questions, Iyabo. It is time for bed.

Tell me why, mama.

He died because he fought. He fought for the old gods, the ones who grew our crops and filled the rivers. The white men...did not believe in such nonsense, and so they killed him.

Do we believe?

In what?

In such nonsense?

No, my child. Such things would not be wise.

Tell me of another. Who is the bright one above our heads?

That is a great king. They are always the brightest. He lived many generations ago, before even I was alive.

What made him so great?

He could speak to the gods. He could tell when the rain would flood our banks, or when the sun would dry our soil. He fought battles with the gods of victory on his heels.

How did he die?

I don’t know.

Yes, you do. 

Go to bed, Iyabo, before you wake up your brothers.

I will, but first tell me how he died.

Fine. The gods killed him.

Why?

For his disobedience. The gods saw that he became greedy as he ransacked the villages around him. The king slaughtered his brethren in the name of power, and eventually, he began to fight against the gods themselves. Legend holds that he rode on eagles wings to the kingdom of the gods, where he challenged their strength against his own.

And then what happened?

Do you really want to know?

Yes, mama.

He lost, of course, and the gods cursed him and his entire kingdom with a great plague. 

That’s awful.

Yes it is, now go to bed or they’ll curse you too.

One more story.

No, Iyabo.

Just one, then I will go to bed and sleep for a year.

Wouldn’t that be a gift?

Who is that one?

Why that one? Why not any other?

That one is my favorite. I feel it watch over me every night as I sleep. Tell me, who is my guardian?

It is dim, low, and unimportant. It does not deserve to be recognized.

Tell me!

Mama, I must know.

Mama?

It is your father.

Papa?

Yes.

Why is he up there and not down here with us?

Did no one tell you, child? Did you not know? He is dead.

But only old people die.

If only it were so, my child.

Why did he die so young?

Because he was a foolish man.

What for? 

He was the only one who believed. He spent his precious belief in gods that no one knew, dreaming of a world where he was a king. He dreamed of flowing water and potatoes and yams which filled our baskets until we could carry no more. He prayed every day to gods who were long forgotten. He fought for our land, our freedom, and our children. He fought for you, but he could not fight against the fire from their iron sticks. He had hope, Iyabo, and you must learn from this. Only fools hope anymore.

Why?

Hope is for those who can afford to dream. Hope fills your mind with wildflowers and palm wine. It makes a man work only for things that he can never get unless he is rich and powerful. Hope frees those who are free and enslaves the lonely prisoners. Hope is for the white man.

Why the white man only?

Look around you, child. Do you see green fields, or children running? Listen, child. Do you hear music or laughter? It is not our place to have these things. We only grow the food that the white man eats. We are the ones who are taken away and slain in the name of God. We do not get power, nor do we get freedom. It is not our right.

Do you really believe that?

I have no choice to believe otherwise.

But if you did, would you?

Maybe. But it is not wise to ponder on such things.

Why are the stars in the sky?

To protect us.

From what?

From the beasts that try to kill us, child. From poverty and greed, from hunger and thirst. They protect us day and night from all the evils in the world, the evils which take our freedom and sell our souls to the devil.

Do they protect us from the white man?

No.

Why not?

Because the white man has grown above such nonsense, and now we must too. Your guardians can do nothing for you.

But I believe they can, mama.

Then you are a foolish girl, just like your father.

Papa was not a fool.

Excuse me?

Papa fought for what he believed. He was a mighty warrior, mama. A warrior who knew in his heart what was true. If that makes him a fool, then maybe we have already lost.

Perhaps you are right, but what does it matter? Fool or not, we can never win against the world.

And why?

Because we cannot hope to. It is not our right.

Why are the white men so cruel?

Look in the river, child. What do you see?

I see my face.

When the white man looks in the river, they see a god. When they see your face, they do not see eyes or hair, they only see skin. Skin which cannot feel, skin which cannot think. They think they are saving us.

By killing us?

Their minds are clouded, Iyabo. They cut out our eyes to save us from blindness, and they break our legs so we will run faster.

What does that mean, mama?

It means we can do nothing. It means we cannot win, we cannot fight, and we cannot hope.

Won’t their God stop them?

They do it in the name of God, Iyabo.

I don’t want to hear any more stories, mama.

None of us do, and yet we still live. Now go to bed, and say your prayers.

Who shall I pray to?

Please, don’t ask me. I don’t know.