Mawu

The small hut is loud with screams and crying. The mother, Veroti, is in extreme pain. She is giving birth to a newborn. The hut is of cobblestone and straw. It held over three generations of family – it was not to hold any more.

“Mawu, god of moon, we call on you to help my daughter, let her child be healthy!”

“Mawu is not a god to be acquaintances with, Ari!” Veroti screams in pain.”

The sheets are soiled and damp with blood and other bodily fluids. The moon shines bright upon the little hut. The air is calm and the entirety of the village is asleep – with the exception of the neighbors.

“It is he or no one Veroti, wind god is not present.”

“How do you know?” she spattered accusingly.

“You feel no wind – no wind no god.” Ari replied.

“Push, Veroti, push!”

           A little baby came head first. Always a good sign in the superstitions of the women’s village. There wasn’t much time left for Veroti, for they both knew she was to die, but Veroti still had breath enough to ask Ari to watch her daughter. She never got to see what gender the child was. Never had the chance. The child went without a name until Ari decided to call the newborn after her mother – Veroti.

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           The years have come and gone – enough for Veroti to grow up into a blooming and beautiful girl. Her hair is jet black and she is thin, just as her mother and her mother before. Veroti at this time is 15 years of age. Her entire life laid ahead of her. She was to become the wife to the chief of the village – Musha. Musha was a man of great strength and skill, but lacked in the noggin.

The mist is thick and the atmosphere solemn. In comes a man with a cane and white coat. He is of what the village calls “white men.” He is accompanied by five others. All of them hold muskets – with the exception of the man in white. The others are dressed in blues and brown and reds.

The man shoots his pistol into the sky. Black smoke, thicker than the mist, rises out of its barrel.

All of the village members run outside looking at the mysterious man. They knew him as white man, but he was a mystery as much as they were to him. The men ran to the villagers and placed them upon there knees. The people fled the village – most of them never to see it again.

Veroti herself ran towards the river, crossed its slow current, and made for the other side of the bank. She went into the dense vegetation without looking back. She heard the shots of a musket in the distance. She hoped to Liza that it wasn’t Musha.

She ran and ran – hating herself for not following the other runaways. She was so lonely. She didn’t know where to go, but to the nearest village. It was 8 miles east of here. But what way was east? The women of the village did not learn directions nor hunting skills. That was left to the men and men only. Veroti did not know how to use a bow, let alone know what way the closest village was.

The forest was green with thriving vegetation. It was dense and hard to get through. The leaves were wet with the rain from the night before. The birds yelled and the mice ran away. Within an hour, she was more than a mile from her home.

She spent most of the day walking towards what she thought was east. It was west. She knew not of how long a mile was, nor foot. She made a total of 24 miles that day.

It rained again that night, but the thick vegetation managed to protect most of Veroti from getting wet. The night birds came out their necks making a full 360. They were to be said animals of Mawu. Veroti hadn’t anything to eat that entire day. She had, however, drank water from the wet leaves. She would have more tonight with the oncoming rain.

Veroti fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow made of leaves.

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           Veroti woke up without the slightest idea as to where she was. Then again, when she fell asleep, she didn’t know either. She was in the jungle, that is all she knew. It was still night – but Veroti could sleep no more.

           Though her legs hurt, she knew she needed to get to the neighboring village. Without much haste, she got up and made her way “east.”

           She walked for a mile or so until she heard the babbling of a river. She was hungry. One thing she did know how to do was stab a fish with a spear. A trick from her grandmother. Making a sharp point at the end of a stick wasn’t hard – though stabbing the fish at night might prove to be more difficult. The moon was bright and Veroti thought she could succeed in catching a midnight snack.

           She found a stick and followed the sound of the river. She sharpened the stick while she walked towards the inviting sound. Without much time passing, she found the river. Its current was fast but the moon illuminated it with so much light that it practically looked like it could be day.

           She found her a spot next to the river and waited for a fish to come her way. She saw one after much time of watching. She took a stab at the blueish and greenish fish. An owl cooed from no more than ten feet behind her and scared her. She fell into the river.

           The stream was fast and the water deep. She tried to make it to the side and onto dry land, but before she could she hit her head on a fallen tree and fell into a deep, deep, sleep.

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           Veroti woke up at dusk the following day. She was stuck inside a thicket of vegetation. The river was much larger here, but not as swift. She could see well – despite her aches and pains.

           She did not suffer any damages other than a few cuts and minor blemishes. No broken bones or fractured skull.

           Out in the distance she saw a stack of smoke. It was less than a mile away.

She yelled in glee and made her way up onto dry land. For a moment she forgot about all her troubles and pain within her legs. She made her way towards the smoke feeling blessed that such good luck came her way.

It was dark now, but she made it to the village. Far before she made it there, however, she noticed how large the smoke was. It wasn’t one small pit of contained fire, but as if the entire village was ablaze. She soon found out that it was.

She ran into the blaze in hopes of finding any alive villagers. She found many, but they were all in cages. Veroti was spotted upon entering the blaze and was brought to her feet by a large and masculine white man.

She wrangled for her life, but the man was too strong. Veroti bit the man and the man immediately let go. The fire was hot and the flames burned at her feet. She ran towards the river, but was shot before she got a mere 40 feet away from the white man.

On a tree in the distance, an owl hooted and made its leave.