MUSTARD I – Ch. 7 | KT OLLA

NOW it had rained all morning this day. And the sun was finally tearing through clouds to take the day’s glory.

It was a brief break for the villages of Ede’s farmlands. As they rested from taking turns in harvesting yams.

The town’s harvest season of yam and cassava tubers were in the rains...

So they worked double to get them stored in barns and sold in markets – to avoid early rot in the wet weather.

Yes, the crops were sources of flours and flakes for main foods. And several kinds of yam – like the ewùrà, ebòlò and the white yam, were also prepared as meals.

So, everyone was out going about their own business those rest days...

The farmers would go for a routine check on their farm every morning. And return earlier than the time to gather for talks by evening.

Every evening, the men would sit under the shade of trees, and play board games amid talk and drinks.

They’d talk about everything. From the ruler to their people. And to their wives and children.

The young Moro chose to go around there, too. But he went after the village head.

And so, he stayed where the middle-aged man played with friends...

He watched his ways, his manner of play.

Now Moro wanted land. He wanted a big farm lot he could farm and earn lots of money from.

Still he wasn’t ready to slave for anyone. He wanted to be his own man.

So, the sixteen-year-old had combed the farmland within the time he’d spent there.

He’d searched and asked around for a good patch. Then he’d found one. A large expanse of virgin land, with a small brook at its heart.

When the lad asked for its owner, and the household that the lot fell to, he was told it belonged to the king’s person there.

That it was no household property. But lands in care of the village chief, called Baalẹ.

So, Moro studied the village chief and learned about his interest.

The man was a mere agent, a head of farm settlements. Yet he talked about name, honour and glory like he was a greater chief.

In spite of these, he talked down all ideas of ruling their town. He only wanted to prosper in his place.

Thus, Moro found a man who thought like him. Someone with whom they could reason.

So, this day... as the sun was rising past the morning clouds; and before it would be evening when adults would gather round the man, the boy asked the man to teach him games.

And it was his own thing they played.

This was the conference seat that the younger man had arranged for the old chief and him. He’d looked forward to this roundtable...

And there, it was happening.

The game was called in the language, Ayo ọlọpọn. Simply a transliteration of ‘board game’ in Yorùbá lexis.

Now they played ayo, the elder with the young ward. Still the younger man rose to beat the tactics of the old.

For it wasn’t mere board games that he knew to play.

He played mind games, too.