NOW Oji and Daleka went in to meet their brother as his wife hurried out of the house.
‘You meet me well, brothers,’ Morrow smiled as he dished his food. ‘Care to join for breakfast?’
‘Oh we just had ours, big bro,’ Oji answered for them. ‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘In that case, will you—?’
‘Oh never mind,’ their youngest smiled, ‘we can sit and talk while you go on eating. We also have things to share with you.’
He looked to his partner for agreement and Oji nodded back.
Yes, it was the culture there for someone to invite their guest to table when the latter meets them dining.
Then, it was the right ethic for the guest to decline with thanks.
Morrow glanced at them. ‘Oh really? Have your seat then.
‘And meanwhile, you did a lot helping last night – I appreciate it. Please tell your wives, too, we’re grateful.’
‘Well, that is nothing,’ Oji waved a hand. ‘We are grateful that you returned! That you came home alive!’
Morrow looked at them and smiled. He had just finished dishing, so he smiled to begin his meal.
‘So what is it you want to tell me? Daleka—is there something I should know?’
The man’s defences flared. He looked to Oji and nudged him small. ‘Brother, you should take this.’
Morrow slowed down on the first scoop of the pottage dish. He glared at the two men as they talked.
‘Okay, I’ll go first,’ offered Oji. ‘Then you could join me to explain!’
Morrow saw them gossip those things in front of him as though he wasn’t there at all. Then he took a morsel of food and swallowed.
‘Well, brother, the thing is—the issue is...’ It was Oji fronting the talk.
Yes, the news he was going to share seemed like bombshell. So he had turned jelly paste before it dropped...
For it was about Morrow’s wife.
In that moment the war returnee hurried with a gourd of water and gulped in a lot.
He cleared his throat a bit of times, then gulped in more fluid.
‘Hey take it easy, bro!’ This was Daleka—he observed the struggle.
Morrow couldn’t reply him as his throat seemed to burn.
Yet he always took his pottage hot and saucy. But this one burned like fire and he wondered what did that. He thought he missed the local dish.
In the meantime, Oji went on with their talk.
‘Many things happened, brother. Still it isn’t about your farm lot nor about the workers there.
‘In fact, we kept running the farm and you’ve got much returns. We will bring you the yields of past harvests – we’ve turned them all to cash.’
The eldest one looked at the brother with a smile, then nodded to acknowledge this.
Oji felt encouraged to go on, so he shifted to the pressing matters. The talk about the lady Wura.
Morrow took in another morsel, and then another. Then he went for more water as even his belly burned with fire.
Oji was just spilling it when he observed his behaviour. He saw their oldest one churn and turn like he hurt.
Daleka was up already, handling whatever he needed. So Oji got up too and panicked.
‘What is it, my brother? Are you all right? Is it—?’
He’d thought it was the spice.
Yes, Yoruba dishes use spice... ripe peppers, in fact. So Oji must’ve thought his expatriate brother had lost the grit. The stout grit to crunch pepper.
Suddenly a bolt of coughing wrecked the ageing one as he bowed over, spilling blood in a cough.
The brothers ran at him, shocked at what he coughed. They went for palm oil, went for water, went for a whole lot of things.
They wanted to use the oil from palm fruit to induce vomiting. For they felt he crunched a wild spice.
In a small moment, Morrow was covered in his sweat. Then his brothers offered him palm oil, but he couldn’t take the alkaline aid.
For he coughed harder, spilling blood.
So while his brothers struggled to make him eject the spice, the hurting one was fighting to breathe.
For it wasn’t some wild plant that Morrow gulped in with food. Still this felt like poisoning.
Now the man fell to ground as a small tear rolled down his face.
His kin rushed to him; but he closed his eyes, and slid off.
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