The Village Drummer and His Teenage Friends

By Okachi Nyeche Kpalukwu

Alete is a young boy of 13 years old who suddenly came into contact with an old man who was sitting on his hut on a rainy day. The old man saw Alete running home from school and being chased by a fiercely approaching thunderstorm. He did not like the sight, so he invited Alete to take shelter in his hut and wait out the rain. Alete accepted his

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Savvy International Inc.
• Release date: Apr 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891900561

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Copyright © 2024 by Okachi Nyeche Kpalukwu

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ISBN-13

Paperback 979-8-89190-055-4

eBook 979-8-89190-056-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023920629

For

Dike, Kinika, Chisale, and Stella

Chapter 1

Good Listening

Get out of the rain, young man! yelled the old man as soon as he saw me from where he sat. I didn’t know where the voice was coming from. I looked every which way and then I saw him looking up and directly at me and seated on his armchair as if he was about to render judgment on the world. His hair was white all over, and he seemed to flaunt it proudly, like a very valid example. Be my company and give your body some warmth, he roared. Get out of the rain! I’m sure your parents have warned you about the dangers of walking in the rain, especially at the beginning of the rainy season. Didn’t they? I am sure they have. Either you have forgotten or you have refused to listen to them. But I must warn you, young man, about the dangers of not listening to your parents’ warnings. Longevity, it is said, is a product of good listening. You must listen to your parents and to your elders at all times or you risk being a victim of our nowadays unsafe environment.

Thanks, great father. But great father, I ventured to ask as soon as I stepped out of the rain and into the hut, what makes rain water unsafe at the beginning of the rainy season? Yes, my parents have warned me about it, but I have always ignored their warnings about bathing the rain at the beginning of the rainy season. I don’t seem to know why such a rule exists, and why I must abide by it.

Have you ever asked your parents why?

No, I have not.

Have you ever asked yourself why?

Yes, I have.

What answer have you found?

None.

Are you trying to say our ancestors made meaningless rules?

No, not at all, great father. All I’m saying is that I have no reason to not walk in the rain at the beginning of the rainy season.

Do you have reasons to substantiate everything you do?

Not really, but sometimes I do.

And what reason do you have for living in your parent’s house?

None, great father—but I’m their son.

And you think that is reason enough to not heed their warnings?

No, great father.

Well, young man, let me forewarn you before you harm yourself. No law in this land was made in vain. Many people have lived on this land before you, and many more, I’m sure, are going to live in it after you.fThose who lived before your parents and I have thought it wise to warn us against dangers. Danger has no end, and it has no warning signals sometimes. The only warning you and I have against unforeseen danger is to abide by the time-tested laws and customs of our people. I admire your curiosity and your unwillingness to just follow a ready-made law. I also admire your willingness to hear an old man speak, for not many kids your age takes time nowadays as it was in my young days to hear an old man like myself oil their ears. Keep up your good spirit; you could be rewarded for it. But as to why our ancestors thought it unsafe to walk in the rain at the beginning of winter, go back and inquire it of your parents. They have the answers.

I had heard this advice many times, but paid little attention to it. This time it was different. It seemed to come from a god. And so, as the old man spoke, I nodded repeatedly without saying a word. I was overwhelmed by what I was hearing. This old man was a genius, I thought. I wanted to hear more of his wisdom. And so I went and settled down on the chair he had set opposite him for whoever his next visitor might be.

What is your name, great father? I asked.

Nkume! Nkume is my name. I’m sure you know the meaning, or you wouldn’t be a child of this village.

Yes, I do know the meaning. It means ‘stone’—the age-old rock! Also, I’m a child of this village. My father’s name is Woke, and my mother’s name is Nema. I’m sure you know them.

Yes, indeed, my son. You need not explain further. I know them as well as I know my palms. They are good people. I have conversed with your father several times. He is a good man. He is intelligent and industrious. You must strive to take after him. He is, I must say, any child’s best example. You are in good hands, my child.

These words of praise for my parents ignited my curiosity further about who this man was. I wanted to know him more. But I could not look at his face, having being educated against looking at adults straight in their face. Why that is, I don’t know. So I kept my curiosity to myself. For a while, we were both silent; then, the old man broke the silence.

What is your name? he asked.

Chimezim.

Good name; indeed, God will always bless his children, he said, and we fell back into silence. He munched his corn and hummed loudly as he did it. I was captivated by the sound he produced, as well as by everything he had so far said and done.

Great father, I decided to break the silence, again, what makes a man’s hair gray?

Listening to parents, he said.

And what else?

And nothing else, he said.

Is that all?

Yes, my son. That’s all. That is all the wisdom a child has to have to gain what I have gained, to attain what I have attained in life—a golden hair! Now, let me ask you a question, he said. Have you ever heard that seldom-heeded, sacred phrase—honor your father and your mother? That phrase, and indeed that phrase alone, is what make a man’s hair gray. Abiding by that phrase alone could make your days on earth long, could make you rich, and could, if you are patient, endow you with much wisdom. It could make your hair gray, too, he said, if gray hair matters much to you.

After he said these words, my heart sank. I was internally shaken by his reply to my question. I wanted to withdraw my question, but it was too late. My palms began to sweat. I feared I would never grow old. For although I loved my parents, I doubted whether I respected and honored them enough to gain wisdom, much less longevity. Foremost in my mind was my disobeying their rule never to walk home alone from school. I felt trapped, and immediately I began to reflect on why I had found myself with the old and have not yet made it home after school. What would my parents say about my chatting with the old man, I thought. I needed a way out.

But great father, what constitutes honor for one’s father and mother?

Good question, my son. Your question is good, he said. But as good as it may sound, its answer is not ready-made. To develop respect for yourself and for others depends solely on character, my son. And character is more of what you are inside than what you are outside. But it can be developed and nurtured to maturity. Nevertheless, you have to have what it takes to develop and nurture it like a mother would nurture a child.

And what is that, great father?

"Nothing—my child! Nothing specific! I wish I had a ready-made answer to your question. Unfortunately, no such answer exists. But in place of a quick answer, I will tell you a tale. For tales and proverbs embalm history. They are to history what bone is to our body; they hold history together, and in history resides knowledge and wisdom. The tale I’m about to tell you is about a child who, as a result of not heeding his parents’ words, found death before his parents even saw it. That way, you will, through legend and through foresight, learn what God and parents require of children. You could learn from it, and then seek your own route. For the drum that was beating for the Elephant is the same drum that is beating for the Lizard. Each, however, must dance in its own style. Now, my son, listen carefully to my story.

Once upon a time in this village of Mina, there lived a man and a woman whose exact names I cannot recollect now. They were not wealthy, but they had enough food to feed themselves and their children. They had a son and two daughters. Their son’s name was Alete. And their two daughters they named Adiya and Chigenu. Their two daughters were very beautiful. In those days beautiful girls were prized highly. Parents could make a fortune by endorsing early marriage for their daughters; men paid lots of money to wed beautiful women. It delighted parents to see their daughters grow up and wed wealthy men as well. They had nothing to lose, they thought at the time. After all, they often said, women are better off in marriage and in the kitchen. And, too, they could use the money they made from giving their daughters to wealthy men to enhance their son’s welfare. On this premise, therefore, this parent in question lost custody of their two daughters to the first suitors, for better or for worse! And on this premise, too, parents in this village developed the idea of putting their eggs in one basket, for better or for worse!

And what did they do with the boy? I asked. Did they also find him a wife to marry?

"Be patient, young man. Hurry not. We have all evening ahead of us. I started the story, eh?

Yes, great father.

"Then let me end it. You may ask your questions after I stop. Our ancestors said that one cannot cross a fence with two legs at the same time. One may, however, do it one leg at a time.

No! Of course, no! No, my son, they did not immediately engage the boy with a wife after he was mature enough to have one. They were not foolish. They were intelligent parents, and they were wise, as were most parents in this village in those days. You see, my son, when parents give away their daughters, they gain money; but when they marry for their sons, they lose money. For now, these parents chose to make money, and then deferred spending it when their son is ready to marry. Hence the boy must hesitate, plan his career, and then plan his wedding. It was his right, his freedom!

Great father, I interrupted again, did every parent in Mina think this way in those days?

Yes, my son, they did. It was the mind-set of every parent who had daughters and sons in this village. And, as far as it went, in their minds it was the right thing to do. Now let me take us back to my story. Where were we? Do you remember?

Yes, great father, I do remember. You were talking about parents giving away their daughters to wealthy men in order to invest in their sons’ future.

Yes, you are right. And that was the way it went in those days. Even to this day, as you can bear witness, nothing much has changed. And nothing is lined up for a change. Anyhow, so much for that! The fact, however, is that most parents, indeed, made lots of money this way. They gave away their daughters and used the money they made to better their sons’ lives. You can imagine the ecstasy of parents who had lots of girls and one or two boys! And for the story on hand, Alete, after his sisters got married, became a king" overnight. He got whatever he wanted. And he did whatever he wanted to do, whether his parents approved of it or not. The one thing he did, however, that startled and horrified everyone in this village was stealing his mother’s entire savings. With this money in his hand, he and some group of boys his age formed some kind of gang or terrorist union or cult, terrorizing young women. He carried on terribly until no one could reprove him, not even his parents. He would rather roam the village than heed his parents’ words. He would aimlessly leave the house in the morning and aimlessly return to it in the evening. One day, however, while the family was dining, his mother decided to confront a situation she thought was getting out of hand. She determined to right his wrongs. For time, she thought, only runs out from those who run behind it! At age twenty-two, a man should be focused. He should be making life-long plans that would prove his manhood. But instead, Alete, her only son, was wasting away. But she was not going to let him have his way any more.

Alete, she said softly, your father and I have been thinking.

What about, mother? asked Alete.

About you and what you plan to do with your life.

Why? What am I not doing right?

Everything.

What do you mean by everything?

Yes—everything! And it all started after your sisters got married. You seem to have gained the world. You can not go about spending your father’s money as if he took no pain in making it. The one you stole from me is enough loss for the family. We’ve decided to engage you in something. We have decided to retire from work. Come tomorrow, you will assume the responsibility of managing the family’s farm.

What? yelled Alete.

Yes, the farm.

I will do anything but be a farmer?

Then what do you want to do?

I haven’t yet decided.

And when will you decide? I want to know, and I’m sure your father wants to know, too.

You sound just like him, mother. I told you I haven’t decided. I will tell you whenever I make up my mind.

It isn’t whenever anymore, his mother replied. You have until tomorrow to make your decision. Remember you do not make decisions here; we do. And we have decided….

Okay, mother, he said and walked out of the house.

One week elapsed before he returned to his parents’ house. His father was the first to see him walk through the door. First, he looked at his son with pity, for he now considered him as wayward—one who will amount to nothing, having no regard for parental reprimand.

Where have you been for the past one week? his father asked him.

With friends, replied Alete.

Who are friends?

Don’t you know my friends?

No! I don’t know your friends! retorted his father angrily. And you had better answer me calmly now or I will break your head for you. I’m asking you plain questions, continued his father, and all I need is plain answers, no more no less. The other day I heard you barking at your mother like a mad dog. You played around and never answered her questions. That was then. Today is a different day. Now tell me what your plans in life are. Your mother and I have decided to rest our backs, for we’ve labored enough. We want you to take over the family farm. But you told her you would do anything but farming. Now tell me what you want to do. I’m willing to back you up. If I don’t have the money, I will borrow from my friends and relatives.

I haven’t decided yet, he replied his father.

When will you decide?

I don’t know.

Well, as you know, replied his father, your mother and I will not blindly force you into any decision. Our major concern is your future, should we any year yield to death. You are no more a child, continued his father. "You are growing up to be a man. And whatever decision you make now will live with you for the rest of your life. You must open your eyes very wide, bite and chew your food thoroughly before you swallow. No doubt, a lot has changed since I was your age. Then, parents spent their golden age at the expense of their children. That was the custom, and every child expected it and worked hard at