WHAT THE NANNY GOAT TOLD HER KIDS (CHAPTER 5) - A

 

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.