Hunting of Shadows

By Jacob Idani

Hunting of Shadows is a book of adventure and drama. It is composed of ten chapters. It is a book that plunges us into Rai's life and his demons. Indeed, his adventure begins from his birth, when his mother loses her life during his birth. This sign of mourning will be like a shadow that will follow him throughout his life. His life became an endless succession of suffering, bitterness, and tears. Though there were moments of happiness, this shadow seems to dominate even those. His childhood has been quickly marked by a major crisis between farmers and herders when Marc, Bwaba's son, had a farmer killed. This will be resolved through the government's emissaries. It will, however, leave scars. Subsequently, Rai and his father, Yentem, migrated to his grandmother's. Being a farmer all his life, his father decided to diversify and became a hunter to live from this activity. He died a few years later during a hunting party.

It's only when he became a teenager that Rai began his school curriculum. To pay his tuition, he had to work. Without any job perspective in his village, he had to travel to Kolba, to work in Mr. Laporte's plantation. There, he also lived a forbidden love after his misadventure with a prostitute. After graduation, Rai got a job. One day, after a landslide, with no prospect of going out, Rai and some companions decided to go into the earth's bowels. What they discovered there was exceptional, even unimaginable. They found the world of Nepha. There, Rai found happiness. However, he faced a dilemma. He was quickly chilled when he discovered that to give birth, the woman must lose her life. Thus, under the shadow of death, Elisabeth, his daughter, came into the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781642148145

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Hunting of Shadows

Jacob Idani

Copyright © 2018 Jacob Idani

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2018

ISBN 978-1-64214-813-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64214-814-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Birth of the Trepas

Rai and the Imaginary World

In Kolba

The Return

The Terminal and Rai

The Trap of Beauty

The New: The Letter

The Schedule of Suffering

Meeting

The Passage of I to We

Chapter 1

The Birth of the Trepas

The evening was slow that Friday, July 5, 1974. The cool wind that descended from the mountain felt lost. Behind the fog that was walking, the stars barely bore the darkness. Suddenly, the sky emptied like a crowd. Beneath this dim light, a square was erected. This box, hidden from prying eyes, was commonly called the last smile of death. It was made of dignified earth, a land that is found momentarily at the clay market. A few bamboos gave a helping hand to the hut so it might seem hard in front of her girlfriends, who were not far away—her friends who wore the badge of wealth.

This square was represented by the tired road of the journey, this path where no one dared to lay his syllables. In this Eden lived Rai’s family. The court, shut by a few stems of millet, was assisted by a baobab of unknown beauty. This baobab had the same face as that of the witch of Kiébo village. Inside the box, no luxury. It had only that frightened table where Mao served food. Despite her frightening appearance, she was doing her job well. A few steps farther, on the left, near the curtain where no one comes to see, was the room of Yentem and Mao’s family. The roof was the opulence of poverty. Every morning, the sun was choking, and it was afraid to cool itself under the embers where Mao was preparing the millet for Yentem. After enjoying this delectable delight, Yentem was fulfilled with the energy needed to work in his field. At this moment, Yentem wasn’t aware that the following day will be painful. The next day as usual, he went to his field. On his arrival, he was surprised by this magnificent decor. A thousand questions were rolling in his little head. How in less than a day, the desert was able to conquer his field, this field which feeds him and his family. While holding back his tears, he tried to understand. His field was only thirteen feet, forgotten by these traces of animal feet. A priori, it was the work of art of locusts. However, the animals who had forgotten to erase their traces gently drew Bwaba’s farm, Bwaba the most nurtured farmer of the village. Fueled with anger, he decided to talk with the other farms to gain some supports. Built by their rage, they all decided to make a friendly visit to Bwaba. The latter, in his street clothes, denied all the suppositions. Among the farmers, Yentem spoke, Bwaba! Bwaba! Bwaba!

What, what’s going on? Why this inconvenient tone?

Get out, come here Bwaba, come here!

What! What, Yentem! There’s what?

Old sodomite, your dogs have destroyed our fields!

Wait, what are you talking about? Watch your tone.

This time it’s too much. How many times have you violated our agreements? Since month ago, we agreed on a settlement and delimitations. As part of this agreement, we built a wall of straw which marked your grazing rights. Now tell me, how are we going to feed our families?

I’m not a rapist, replied Bwaba in a dissatisfied tone. I have not removed the skirts from your fields. It’s yours, Yentem, monster who raped the wall. Judged by yourself, why do I have your millet in my backyard? Approach, dark poor, and see with your eyes.

Suddenly, several voices sought to reveal themselves. Among them, several syllables were not part of the French lexicon: o yié le (where is it?).

After a short time, and having gained no cause, they planned to meet again. A few monotonous days passed. Nothing was reported, and everything seemed vague as usual. Then on July 18, 1974, an event occurred. This event polished the look of Bwaba. It was a clear morning without darkness. Bwaba, in his usual way, counted his animals before sending them out. He was far from suspecting what was going to happen. He began to count his animals, and for the first passage, five cows were missing. On his second pass, six were missing. Lost in his calculations, he decided to seek the advice of his child.

My daughter!

Yes, Dad!

"Come here. See, I do not understand what’s going on. This morning I counted the oxen and the cows, and guess what, some of them are missing.

How’s that, Daddy?

Come to count by yourself, you will see.

She counted and returned to her father. Daddy, you’re right. Six cows are missing. But who could have made this unsociable act?

My daughter, I think I have my idea on it.

He left his daughter without words and decided to pay an African visit to the Mwiénou (the farmers of the village). Hardly knowing where they were staying, he decided to go on the side of Ava la dolotière (traditional beer vendor). You could feel the vibes of the atmosphere miles away. It was mingled with noise, of which the voice of Yentem could be distinctly distinguished. The Mwiénou were drinking, dancing, and care about their best enemy. Under this episode, Bwaba made his entrance.

Where is my cattle? he exclaimed.

The atmosphere switched off its spotlights, and only a few flies continued their concert. Yentem, under this fray, spoke, Bwaba, where are the good manners? You are in front of other people other than us Mwiénou!

This is not my problem. I repeat my question—

No need, it was our millet flour who ate them. Oops, sorry. But you can question our millet, if that helps you.

Not having won his cause, he turned back, distinctly following the road he had taken. On his way, he had the majestic idea of bringing together all the N’gan. Meanwhile, Yentem’s fiery smiles stirred up the rage of which he held the secret. As no one would directly admit this foul crime, he took the wise decision in agreement with his colleagues, who lived the same situation, not to sell his cattle anymore, either in the village or in town. He did not know that this nebula was going to birth a big bang, the big bang of the conflict between breeder and the farmers.

Indeed, a few days after this juicy decision, on the twenty-third of August of the same year, the village realized that this is not going to be an ordinary one. This day of splendor, enlightened by the thousand smiles of the sun where everyone pressed to go to the market, was the day of the Ochoa (the day has come). It was just every Friday. The merchants at the table saw that the meat was in a meeting, hence the reason for their absence.

This lack was not the only thing that happened. While all sections of the population questioned what was happening, an event ignited the situation. Siaka, a longtime friend of Bwaba, went to the latter’s house to share a dish of toil. He left his son—his only son, Marc—with the flock as usual. He had to learn to care for the flock because he had before his eyes the diary of his father’s will. Marc was an assiduous and a tactful child with his flock. He brought the herd near the lake. Who knows why he did not go to the village barrier, why he decided to go so far.

Arriving at the level of the marigot, the water was abundant, the animals rejoiced a sight of eye. Marc, under that shy sun, fatigued by the great distance, which he had just traversed, rested under the shade offered by the baobabs, which surrounded the marigot. The fresh air and all the ingredients were gathered for a well-deserved nap. Marc fell asleep for a moment. There was no one to watch the animals. An hour passed, and Marc was still asleep. Suddenly, a strange shadow disturbed his sleep. When he opened his eyes, a pickax pierced his head. The assailants ran and left him for dead. Siaka, after his visit to Bwaba, returned.

Siaka called his wife, Sabine!

Yes! She came to her husband. Yes, Siaka, you called me?

Yes! Have you seen Marc?

No, since this morning he has brought the animals to his house.

Okay.

And your visit to Bwaba?

My visit went very well. If he comes home, tell him to visit me.

Okay, I’ll give the message. Do you want me to drop the water for you to wash?

No, not for the moment. I’m tired, and I’m going to rest a little.

Okay, said Sabine.

At nightfall, Marc had not yet returned, and his mother began to worry. She decided to wake her husband. Siaka, Siaka, Siaka.

What’s going on? Why do you wake me up? Ah, Marc is back?

No, he’s not back yet.

Whatever, you say it!

No, my son has not come back.

Siaka jumped up from his bed. He went out and headed for the roadblock where Marc used to go. Upon his arrival, he passed a few men who were bathing.

Please, excuse me, did you see Marc?

One of the men came out of the water and came before him and replied, No, Siaka, we did not see your child today.

Are you sure?

Of course we are sure. We spent the day here. There are some young people who came with their flock, but we did not see Marc.

Lost! A thousand thoughts trotted in his head. Where is my son? Where is he? Why did he not come back? The cries of Siaka reached Tansar. The Mwiénou and the N’gan all ran to the roadblock. All recognized the voice of Siaka. Siaka was regarded in the eyes of all as the sage of Tansar. The women who had remained, wondered. Even the co-wives in conflict paused their dispute for an interrogation. Bwaba also went to the scene. It was 8:00 p.m. when everyone arrived. Questions arose.

Yentem asked, Siaka, what do you have?

Bwaba asked, My friend, what is it?

Siaka cried, My son! Where is my son?

Bwaba asked, Where is he?

The men who stood there put them in the fragrance of the situation.

Bwaba said, Do not worry about it, my friend, we’ll find him soon.

They broke up and then separated because there in Tansar, 8:00 p.m. was an hour of all the dangers, especially for a child of thirteen years. Two hours later,