The Nightmare (2)

 Abong knew the peasant farmers in the village didn't like, overtly or covertly, the arrival of these rich farmers. Their money helped them usurp the land from the fringes of village to the remotest parts of the jungle. Old farmers found it hard to cultivate new plots as the old ones were yielding less and less; hunters and trappers like Abong had to trek extremely far around the remaining forest to kill animals and because of plantains and bananas, age-old economic trees like bush mango, ekom, African oil bean and bitter kola were being cut and burnt to create the plantations.

In the seasons of economic fruits, the villagers used to march into the jungle in droves to gather them and sell. With the threat of the economic trees disappearing from the forest in no distant time, every able and interested villager had joined the newcomers to hack down the trees for his or her personal farm plot. The race was on and the prices of items from the farms were good. But the peasant farmers all complained the chunks of cash in their hands were actually buying them less goods in the market. And the economics of huge cash for meagre goods Abong didn't understand. So with his large family and to avoid society saying he had failed, he made high schemes to appear on the same sheet as those making progress in life. He was about to carry out such a scheme when the idiotic cough seized him and almost made him holler out his presence to anyone around.

The day was near closing its blinds. A series of silver zigzags across the sombre sky spelled rain. And in the heart of July, Abong knew it could be a downpour. Being cocooned in the raindrops would be a blessing for him to smuggle his goods home.

With his machete tightly clutched, Abong stepped forward but his eyes combed his surroundings and he listened hard as he could. Certain there was no danger around, he moved to the plantain he focussed his eyes on. He either got it or it got him.

TO BE CONTINUED