Men's club

                            Men’s club

He strained and tilted his head; right- left, as an effort to focus his impaired vision into the pot. A pot, he held with his left hand, while his right was making circular motions inside as he groped the object of his search getting scarcer and harder to find: that was the Old-Man.                                                   Beside him, sat two children with this particular look on their faces- what’s that look eh? Aha! The one you see in the eyes of a hungry street-dog, which despite yourself, you happily toss your lunch at it. It is impossible to swallow without choking when one is under merciful but merciless the scrutiny of such a look.                                                                                                       

But our Old-Man was made for the impossible; he has been sitting there for the past 30 minutes, swallowing with great ease, under the combined assault of two! Of these looks. It wouldn’t have been a ridiculous hypothesis to suggest the looks, in this case were serving as grease and lubricating his gullet against the large chunks sliding their way down, at a speed comparable only to okru soup, with the only sign of these maneuvers being the upward and downward movement of his Adam’s apple- if the muffled-breaking sounds accompanying these movements were to be ignored as background noises.                                                                                              

Indeed it was true the children’s looks serve the unintended purpose of a grease; for when the Old-Man, through the corners of his eyes noticed the children and the way they looked at him, his swallow became more deliberate, determine and pleasurable-as shown by him closing his eyes each time he swallows and the smacking of his lips.

As pieces kept on disappearing from the pot and finding themselves in the Old-Man’s pot-belly, the craving and optimistic looks on the children’s faces, began to show signs of agitation when only two pieces remained, which they could see distinctively but not the old man. Their agitation progressively transitioned to desperation as the second to the last piece followed the same route and arriving the same destination as it predecessors.                                          

Desperation transformed itself into disappointment, when the old man dipped his hand into the pot, groped and found the last and largest piece of them all.                                                                    He passed it under their noses, the scent of which produced a sorting effect, pupils dilated, eyes full with yearning, radiance spread over their faces, hope at last! The children thought.                                  After going back and forth with, taking it slowly, so as to give each child enough time to caress the object of his desires; with the eyes and feel it taste; in his fantasy.                                                                                             “Who wan chop meat? Ai say who wan chop bad meat?” the Old-Man asked,                                   the children all replied with vertical nod of the head, indicating affirmation.                                     “Ha sinss wuna wan chop ting whe wuna Papa di chop, who be reedy fo go mental, go MAD?” he asked again, with greater emphasis on the consequences of the children eating, what their father was eating. That was when disappointment set in, here was a sizeable appetite-provoking chunk of meat before their eyes, something they’ve been craving for the greater part of the evening, yet the children could only have it at the great risk of going mad as their father had earlier warned. Looking and fantasizing about it was the farthest they could go in their lust for meat. The old man placed the piece back into the pot and said,                                                                                                                       “Oya, pikin whe get liver, make him put hand inside pot move’am chop”                                                                           This was a dare, a challenge, which the children all sulkily accepted defeat, for none of them had the guts to put a finger into that dreadful pot for whatever reason, who knows it might get stuck inside, for they’ve heard stories about such pots; from children disappearing inside never to be seen again, to their hands getting stuck inside in an attempt to steal from, or even women going mad by simply consuming the content of that pot; which was usually more tempting for people who had to wait for a feast to have a taste of meat.                                                                                 

Sitting at the other end, was the Old-Woman she was chiding the old man for his act, which she considered irresponsible and cruel, titillating the children’s appetite with something they can’t have. She was enjoying her vegetable soup with much pleasure as Old-Man with his meat. Years of marriage to him, has taught her to bear with a stoical indifference, the Old-Man’s tempting lifestyle.                                                                                                                

“All yee, womenss and childrenss, be contentid wi tat wich wa goot lord hat blest us wi” a motto-she claimed was from the bible, albeit she never remembers which part it came from, she has adopted as her guide; as she journeyed through the valley of the shadow of unholy-meat, which reeks with pleasant scent of burnt fat, provoking thoughts of paradise. Fully contented with her lot, she has survived years of temptation without ever thinking of trying her hand into that accursed pot.                                                                                                                                                  

About the infamous pot; it was made of clay, quite small and handy. Its lower half was painted black, blacker that the soot on which it stood- it has never been washed, washing was contrary to its principle of usage, artifacts of decades past could still be found on its surface if one dug deep enough through the layers of hardened soot. The upper half was painted red-probably with the blood of the unlucky animal which was cooked in the same pot. Round its neck, was wound a band of gri-gri; a cord with alternating bands of black and red on which was studded several cowries. Attached and dangling from its neck (giving the pot a more mystical appearance, usually when the pot was out of fire) was a viper’s skull, a dried well preserved lizard and a snail’s shell. Moving inside the pot, nothing was striking except for it filthiness compared to the Old-Woman’s pots and its tolerable tidiness when compared with its outward look, as we’ve seen. Serving for a lid, was a piece of wood fashioned into a discoid shape on which were engravings of a spider, scorpion, snake and other frightful creatures the carver’s mind could imagine.                                                                                                                                         

Save the old man, who usually murmured secret prayers before he touches, another was allowed to touch this mysterious and seemingly infernal object under the pains of being swallow by it, stuck with it for life or run mad. The old man, had pointed to a dozen lunatics to the children, as those who were stubborn enough to touched the pot without being initiated, he could call out names of children who have disappeared inside the pot, none of which the boys knew, for all happened before they were born; as said the Old-Man.                                                                                                                                                                                     

Whence the pot came from? From the devil…was common knowledge. The Old-Man, like all men who belonged to the secret cult, bragged and talked so much about his various and varied adventurous encounters with the devil, from which they stole the pots and other items seen with them; cult members.                                                              

Battling it out with the devil and his demons! Sounds scary…..sure it does, he who say scary say Adventure! The sole wish of every boy then was to get initiated, like their fathers into the secret cult. A place, whose membership defined what was a man and what as not, a place where, when women and children were carrying their bibles to church, the men hurried to, with live animals; Fowl, Ram, goat and on special occasion cattle, which they sacrificed to the devil and his demons and in return received special powers. But neither the devil nor his demons ate their animal sacrifice which usually ended up in those notorious pots to be eaten by the men while women and children watched.                                                                        

Of the Old-Man’s articles stolen from the devil, it was not just pot. Around his waist, at all times, was a belt of gri-gri-The only source of his protection and solid foundation, as he would tell Old-Woman when she starts to babble to his deaf ears about trusting in the good lord.                                    He owned a bag made up of raffia thread, sewed together with cowries, this served for his bank and treasure box, he claimed none could steal from it and goes free. There were many stories circulated about, of wives who tried to steal from these bags and got stuck on the spot until caught red-handed. About hospitals, doctors, vaccines and drugs, he had two words which he used to describe them, “Na scam!” – It’s a scam. In the black-long-strangely twisted horn of a zebu cattle lies the cure for all his bodily afflictions; a dark concoction made up of all that is imaginably disgusting, a recipe he claimed with numerous proves he stole from the devil.                                                                    

Days came and went, seasons succeeded each other in quick turns, but slow by the perception of the children, who counted every hour of each day, eager to attain ‘manhood’ and be initiated into the men’s secret cult. With the passage of each day the children- boys- to be men edged closer to the long longed for rite of initiation that was to change them from boys to men.                                With a black blindfold tied fast round the face; blinding their vision, standing naked; tortured by biting cool in the pitch-dark night, one could hardly distinguish our two boys from the cohort of boys of approximately the same age and size. All experiencing this feeling, when one is conscious something big, a defining moment is at hand.                                                                                                    

A loud manly voice rang ordering them to repeat after it, the oath of secrecy; never to open their mouths and speak of that which they were to behold under pains of a sudden and violent death.                                                                                    They all shrank back at the mention of the fatal ending, but years of inhibited desires got a better of them and they all took the oath of secrecy.                                                                                                                                 From there, began their journey into the underworld, the world of demons and all that is vulgar, only those who made it through, alive were to be given the final rite, confirming them as members of the cult. Most of them could pop out a dozen names of those that have gone in and were never heard of again.                                                                                       With eyes shut tight, the boys to be men groped their way through the dark kingdom, braving a wall of pinching demons, who pinched out chunks of flesh, made many tears on the skin, from which leaked out blood.                                                                                                        No cries, No complains-unbecoming of a man, No quitting-for the only exit is the final destination which lay far ahead, the only path passing demons with clubs, who bludgeon the to be men; like men they bore their predicament with manly courage and tenacity- if at all there is anything like that.                                                                                                               Ahead! Ahead! , they matched on, not knowing where they go, where they were or what peril awaits them on the next step they would take. Through a colony of old demons with shrill voices, making horrible noises, this caused the perception of the quivering and vibration of the eardrum about to burst.                                                                            Yet this is just one of the many trials and perils on the way to manhood. No turning back now! Our heroes have gone too far to resign, not when the final destination is close by. But not at hand, for just ahead came the terrible sounds of crying babies, screaming as they were being torn; limb by limb by fierce hungry demons. This frightful sound in an unknown place, at an unholy hour tenderized the boys’ joints; shaky limb, throbbing heart threatening to escape its encasement, signs of hypoxia as the structure responsible for breathing succumbed to fear.                                                                                                                   Still our heroes made it through without crumbling like a structure made of mud with it support withdrawn of a sudden, by leaning against each other they braved it!                                                                                        Until they arrived at a place which they could perceive was full of demons from the noises they made, speaking in different but altogether terrible tones. Some could be heard humming with terrible vocals to unpleasant-as expected ungodly songs. From the heat and rays entering their eyes notwithstanding the dark blindfold, they could correctly guess they were before a huge fire, which instinctively all identified as hell; the brawling, of apparently drunken demons, the smell of burning flesh, supported no other sound proposition.                                                                              “AHAHAHA………………….” an ungodly voice rang; the boys turned their attention to the direction from where it came. There was no mistaking the voice of a devil himself.                                                                                           “Wuna done find me come, wetin wuna wan” the same voice which has laughed spoke. Surprise that the demon spoke but Pidgin English of all the languages in the world, the boys took time to recite what they’ve been taught as a reply.                                                                   “We wish to be men, Sire Satan, strong and courageous, we wish to be allow to eat your sacrifice” they all chanted.                                                                                                                                                         “Ai done he-a, wetin wuna go gif me, if ai make’am wuna be man pikin?” asked the devilish voice.                                                                                                                                         “Our lives, we will forever be loyal to you and never set foot in church again” they all sang.                                                              “AHAH…..as wuna tok, so ei go be. Fo show wuna loyalty ai get 3 tings all man get fo do”                  The boys waited, waiting for what the devil required of them to do as a show of loyalty, expecting the worse for they knew no task assign by the devil can be easy.                                                                              “Fest ting, na to dance on top hot charcoal”                                                                                                            A shiver ran through the group of young recruits, but more was still to come.                                                 “weet! ai foget somting, fest na to walk on top pepper, den dance on top hot charcoal”                                    Panic spread through the crowds, as cries and lamentations could be heard, they all shrunk back in terror.                                                                                                                                                                                                                     “Wetin be poblem? ai neva finish oh! last ting na to sitdon empty lass on top hot firestone, naw who still wan be man?” asked the devilish voice.                                                                      To the boys the voice sounded more evil than before, as if it could get more devilish. No responds came from them, they’ve endured much already but this was certainly more than a man could bear and still remain a man-not a dead-man. Their spirits were willing, but the flesh weak, standing before what they’ve ever wanted all their lives the only sensible thing to them was to shrunk back in terror.                                                                                                                             “Ai ask’am again, who wan be man pikin?” the voice rang, louder and more devilish, still no response came from the wannabe men.                                                                     “HaHa sinss wuna fear-fear;women dem a go helep move last test”                                                        The devil unlike himself decided to compromise, having realized he won’t be getting new disciples that year if he doesn’t relax the stringent rules.                                                                                                  

The boys were still proving stubborn despite this concession, walking on hot pepper and later stepping on live charcoal was something a man in his right senses couldn’t be expected to gladly carry himself into, except he is being pursue by another which is more lethal. It was only when the devil’s voice gave orders for the demons to tear into pieces those that refuse to comply with his demands that the boys leaped into the bowl of pepper and ran through live charcoal and came out at the other end. Men at last! men who were unable to stand on their own legs.                                                   

All cheered and celebrated the new heroes, this time not the savage and beastly excitement of demons, but those of men, with human voices. Their blindfolds removed, standing in the place of the devil from where the horrible voice had come, stood the Old-Man, a calabash he held in his hand, opened at two ends, through which he spoke was responsible for shrill, menacing demonic voice. The new recruits couldn’t fail to noticed, the faces which surrounded them, not demons with horns, but human faces which they all recognized. Blowing flutes, on which was attached a plastic paper produced the same dreadful, murdered-baby cries which have greatly frightened our heroes. The pinching and clubbing demons now appeared as friends with unkempt nails, armed with sticks. One recruit thought he saw his father, blowing on his vuvuzela which has gone missing, the sound of which was responsible for the eerie cries of the evil bird that had tormented the boys throughout the journey; The journey which appeared to be all an elaborate circling round the same spot.                                                                                                        

Were our heroes disappointed? Who knows; what happens in the secret cult stays in the cult.                                                                                                                              The next day, the boys lay helplessly and grunting as the Old-Woman busied herself, greatly worried over the health of her two sons, who were now putting on airs of men as they gave a detailed account of the chilling and dramatic encounters with the demons, pointing as proves their souvenirs; Pots, bags, horns, To friends who had doubts about the trueness of the tale.