*About The Golden Flute* Young Dafe finds his life thrown into chaos. Will he find help difficulty?
It was busy around this time because the yam festival was drawing closer.
The village square was littered about with children.
The people gathered around to watch the dance competition. Some carried their seats others preferred the mats while young men climbed trees to gain unrestrained vision.
A prying eyes hid behind one of the trees.
“Leave here this minute!” said a thundering voice.
He lifted his little feet moving closer to the adjacent tree.
He leaned forward shoving the grasses but sturdy bushes were no match feeble hands.
“Dafe, I would not say this again. This place is not meant for people like you. Go back to your cave.”
The birds were better than he that had no people.
Withdrawn to silence.
Were it not for for…..he spoke under his breath unable to complete his sentence.
Utter a word to the doom of his back.
Strong generous strokes would kiss his backside.
Dafe knew his boundaries.
As he retreated into the forest, memories brought tears to his lean eyes.
His parents painful exit awakened of the bitter side of life.
The side that ushered the cruelty of a people whom he had once called family.
He bore the cross of living alone, grateful for the air he still draws in.
Banished to the hut outside the village near the Osisi stream.
A place he had learnt to call home.
He would sit on the broken water pot and sing mournful songs.
The birds know his voice.
The tears had weaken the small mattress.
Pain had thought him to express words. Songs that cut deep and make the bush wanderers weep.
He knew they had compassion but fear had stiffened their spines.
No one dared to speak about him. A silence caved into their hearts for the King’s law was binding.
The bravest of them were the village hunters. For a gesture they would share a piece of roasted meat. He watched their traps. He didn’t expect much from them. They had themselves to protect.
Abandoned to the curse of the stream, he would throw at it wishing to be swallowed by it. More than once he will swim out, sigh and go home.
As he approached his hut wading through the darkness he opened he began to sing in his native language.
Where is the God of my mother?
For whom she laid her life for?
Where is the God whom my father loved?
Come help me! Come help me!
To Be Continued…..