WHAT THE NANNY GOAT TOLD HER KIDS (CHAPTER 5)

 

CHAPTER 5

 

PEREMPE ONCE ON THAT GROTTY LANE behind the motor park on a visit to his brother had been robbed. On a second visit, he had prayed he should meet the hoodlums again. The rest of the story reached the village via his brother who narrated it to old friends and close relations. And as it is said, no fare is paid for news (especially rumour), the narrative went free of charge from mouths to ears and the whole village knew about it. It was speculated that grabbing cobras, leaving them in a briefcase and letting them strike at the appropriate time was beyond ordinary. And so there began to be some mystical aura surrounding Perempe. (Some versions of the tale in the village had it that one lad was actually struck by a cobra).

Mr Ransom was rightly worried and scared that Madam Cash’s illogical move to run away with some of the cassava flour suppliers’ money (of which the famed Perempe was among) could provoke his friend, as he had threatened, to unhook and sling across his shoulder his notorious medicine bag again.

But Mr Ransom was not keen on his good friend soiling his hands. He had loved, just like many others he had treated of one ailment or the other, his applying herbs positively to help alleviate many villagers’ aches and pains.

The day Mr Ransom started taking Perempe’s herbal activities seriously was when he got stung by a scorpion. He remembered what his friend on one of the days they had strolled together to their farms had casually hinted a person could do in such a situation.

‘Just look for bitter kola and chew till it cleanses your system of the venom.’

Mr Ransom also heard that those who climbed palm trees to get their fruits have them in their pockets to ward off snakes found on the palmtops. The application of the odourless seeds of a reddish-looking fruit with a tart juice was quite numerous and Mr Ransom just heard and wondered if they were true. He had planted the tree in one corner of his big compound. They would split the fruits and dry the seeds which his wife retailed, making income for the family as bitter kola and kola nuts are widely used to drink wine. That was the use Mr Ransom, like most folks here, was acquainted with. He saw the tree as a good money spinner in a good season.

Mr Ransom was stung on his lower back as he tried to rest on some planks he kept in a makeshift tent he used when the sun was up and burning or if he was tired and needed to rest his body. He had forgotten to turn over the boards and wipe them before keeping his back on them. Then he had perceived a sudden sting which he thought was from ata, a wicked type of ant, but when the waves of the sensation spread painfully deeper into his body, he decided to look for the culprit. When he turned over the first board and saw the scorpion running to hide with its raised curved tail, Mr Ransom screamed the name of his late father and added: ‘I’m dead!’

He quickly picked up his machete and pursued the scorpion till he successfully and furiously cut it into several bits and then thought of how quick he could get himself out of the farm as he was alone, his son had gone back with his motorcycle to assist his wife in her trading activities but would come back in the evening to pick him. He had a phone but the network coverage was abysmal where he stood. Then, a shower started.

He had decided to sit out the shower and once it ended, to swiftly retrace his steps and see what he could do to alleviate the venom sneaking up and down his stocky frame. After thoroughly cleaning the boards, he lay down and napped. He woke up to realize he was numbed from the scalp to the soles of his feet. He had touched his ears and realized he had little sensation in them. Alarmed, he stiffly walked around the tent picking his bag and stuffed it with his farm implements, strapped it across his dead back and planted his limbs slowly on the wet track to return home before death overtook him (as his mind was telling him).

It was still early in the day and as the rain was not that heavy, those in the farms still clung to their machetes and hoes to work the land. Only those who worked close to the path saw Mr Ransom and asked him what the problem was that he should crawl home, and very early too, like a slug. He would force himself to peep (which was scary to his listeners to see the vocal Mr Ransom suddenly losing his voice) that he had been stung by a scorpion.

That roused the farmers until one who hid his motorcycle in the leafage swiftly pulled it out and ferried the cassava flour union leader home.

For treatment, orthodox and unorthodox means were suggested but with the torment deep inside him, Mr Ransom asked those around to quickly drag close his wife’s bag of bitter kola and he grabbed a handful and ate, even without peeling them, like sweets. While people were still contemplating how to reach the nearest chemist’s attendant whose doors were locked at that time of the day and people had suggested he could have gone to the big town to buy more drugs, Perempe was deep in his farm working and could not be reached with the phone, the numbness started receding from his ears and Mr Ransom could feel them again.

Mr Ransom did forget about the medicine shop but religiously kept chewing the bitter kola seeds. As the hours went by, the numbness in his body was reducing.

Perempe who had returned from his farm sodden, cold and weary that night could only visit Mr Ransom the next day. But he had called his line late in the night as he heard about the sad incident from his children and kept urging his good friend to keep chewing the bitter kola seeds.

Mr Ransom who was his jovial self again had lavishly praised the little seeds they casually chewed like a snack and the punch they packed that crushed the venom of a scorpion. He said the only feeling he still had of the sting was the pain (which had greatly reduced) on the spot he was stung. From that day, Mr Ransom started believing in the efficacy and veracity of Perempe’s herbal recommendations.

So when Perempe had threatened he would pick up what he had for long disregarded, Mr Ransom had said every nice thing he could think of to dissuade his friend from committing any evil deed against anyone.

‘Don’t forget you always tell me, there’s a reward for every deed, good or bad, that we take,’ the cassava flour union leader had reminded his friend.

‘Yes o, but that is the reward I want to give her. She has done a bad thing and I want to pay her back immediately,’ Perempe had said to justify his intended action.

Mr Ransom had laughed at his friend and reminded him again of his words: ‘I hope you have not forgotten so quickly that you also say that for anyone who knows evil in a higher form and commits it and would not wait for a course of action to naturally run itself out, there’s the nemesis that would visit such an individual. Are you not again of the opinion we should not act God or usurp the work of the police and the courts?’

Perempe had shaken his head and said to his friend: ‘Look, if anyone bites my nose and sees no mucus, don’t expect me to bite their …’

‘I know you’re angry,’ Mr Ransom butted in before his friend could mention the dirtiest part of the body which to most people would sound like a taboo word. ‘Hand over this case to me. If the result isn’t as good as you would want; then, pursue it as you like.’

Well, the truth was that any harm to Madam Cash meant they were all losing their money and that did not sound palatable to Mr Ransom’s ears.

During the Christmas-cum-New Year period she came to buy the cassava flour, there were few buyers around and he had milled sacks and sacks of cassava as he had planned to invest the money heavily in the New Year in clearing and planting bigger plots of land. Perempe said she owed him for twelve sacks. Mr Ransom was owed for fifty sacks of cassava flour.