The KT OLLA Web Stories

ALUKHO wrapped up now, as he came to end his lengthy talk. But he had just grazed the crux of the matter. The escape from the war that Moro sought. Even so, the preacher made to end his words; for they were words to end a night. So the young Jamaican Christian hit the nail. He said: ‘The Messiah has since returned to Heaven. He ascended alive to be the only Way to God. ‘The only Mediator and Go-between between mankind and the Almighty. ‘That is why, in Jesus, I can be sure of the morrow ’cause He has taken care of my destiny! ‘I no longer need to appease things to, at least, survive – I settle things in my prayers through Jesus. ‘And if you accept Him as your Lord also, you won’t have to pay for your people’s sin – as you won’t stay a part of their evil from now on. ‘This is how you can escape bad fate for ever!’ Moro raised his head. ‘I want to serve Him; but you said He has returned to Heaven. So how can I reach Him? ‘Or have you His image here with you, so I can keep it?’ ‘No, that ...

ALUKHO had the answer ready. And Moro wanted to know it too – why his life had been a long hard toil. The younger one spoke. ‘It is simply because the powers of darkness are constantly at war against humanity. ‘Now if a soccerer or something choses to cause harm just because he likes to show power, then what can someone do about it? ‘Well, maybe you’ll say they should appease him in whatever way they could. But what if he is not appeased? ‘Then what do you do if it is no soccerer dealing with you but the demons they serve? How then can you conquer darkness?’ Moro breathed a small sigh. ‘You’re right on this thing,’ he said – ‘we are just helpless. That is why we all say and hope everyday that we don’t meet trouble!’ ‘ K’á má k’àgbákò ,’ his listener repeated, musing on his last words. He went on from there. ‘So like I said, the world is home to the Devil and this evil presence is always at war with us. ‘And that is a greater warfare we cannot win ourselves!’ Moro spoke up. ‘You see, I ...

ALUKHO was driving at a point, so he didn’t stop talking. He explained what he meant. ‘It is true, sir, that you didn’t ask for anyone to make a ritual – so you didn’t kill for sacrifice. ‘Of course, the decisions were made by your town’s king and his priest. So you must’ve only celebrated their festival. ‘Even so, here are you reaping the evils those men sowed—or was the king or priest captured?’ ‘No—’ Moro answered weakly. ‘So if you’ve been good all your life,’ continued Alukho, ‘and still you reap the bad things that others sowed; then don’t you find it rather unfair?’ ‘I do,’ replied the man. ‘It’s frustrating, you know!’ Alukho settled back on his seat. ‘Well, things like these are bound to be when we subject ourselves under what is no God... ‘Idols and magic, spirits and demons—things that are no God!’ ‘What do you mean?’ Moro flared up. ‘The things we serve are god—they are gods to us!’ ‘Oh really? How come they couldn’t rescue you when you were forcefully taken?’ Moro caught t...

MORO had come bare before a fellow countryman as he wanted a straight talk, man-to-man. He had starked himself as bare as anyone could get. He’d pocketed his pride, too, and asked someone for help. Then he had told most everything that he was to this stranger. Only, he kept under clothes what he couldn’t flaunt here. It had happened that Alukho  had seen some magic trinkets beneath the clothes of this gentleman. It was those moments when he collapsed; for a small wind revealed him. So the young Jamaican picked up talk from this angle. ‘A while ago when you collapsed, sir, I happened to see something that looks like a charm—’ ‘It... it is nothing,’ Moro cut in right then. The middle-aged one was quite embarrassed already, as he pulled his clothes down to cover him well. Alukho saw the older man feel awkward, so he explained to him. ‘You see, sir, our yesterday is what begets tomorrow—just like it is what we plant now that we harvest later... ‘So this is why I pointed out that “somet...

THE nurse was not a little flustered, as she kept wondering what happened. But it was a gunshot Moro heard that made him duck in fear. He’d heard a bang, loud enough to throw one to ground. But there was no such sound—only a metal dropped. Right then the young woman called to the others for help. So the freer ones raced there to help the troubled man. Now the women were just not used to those behaviours yet, that went on to mark the trench war. For when they thought of it, they reasoned that Moro had developed a shock. Close to what they’d later term Shellshock. They thought that he couldn’t go on fighting. That they had to keep him around to heal much more. So the nurse spoke to her team head, and the person telegraphed the army officer in charge. Thus, Moro was kept on watch much longer. ◘◘◘ Moro woke up within a short time and was told he’d developed some panic. He was taken care of by kind nurses who worked there. He was equally served food and medicine. The man picked at his meal ...

A LONG peaceful quiet filled a large house. It wasn’t a house per se, but it seemed to have walls – even though they were tarpaulin ones; so Moro could only think of there as one. Still the lost one couldn’t dare to ask a soul there. For there were wounded people lying on raised things with ‘divine beings’ tending to them. But those angels passing in front of him were rather kind nurses who did their work as caregivers in that time of war. Now quite a while had passed since Moro passed out at the gunshot. He had been taken to a treatment centre in the welfare camp of the army. He’d been lying faint on a stretcher board, with a damp towel wrapped round his head. But now he woke up and tried to figure things out. He squinted his eyes and studied the happenings there. He watched the caregivers and saw them show love to people in spite of colour. He saw them stand out in their treatment of others. Yes, the night had fallen and the moon was just rising. Then like the moon was to this night,...

NOW it had happened that while the ships were still on sail, just a while before they docked at shore, a group of men of same language had some talk among themselves. The men were from some other nation in West Africa, where they were captured, too. This group of countrymen stuck together through the long sail. So they had enough time to talk and plan. Then, although the folk seemed somewhat caged by their situation, they seemed to have some freedom. Well, this freedom was the fact that they alone heard themselves. So even if they screamed their words and talked all day, no one would know what they said. So, like every one of the captured ones, the men didn’t want to fight the war, too. Still when they saw how long they were journeying on sea, they knew it’d be impossible for them to flee back. So in a bid to get back home, the group schemed something else. And that thing was what brought Moro down. Now, after the ships reached the docks and people filed out as commanded, the schemers ...

THE setting sun shone against the large waters of the Atlantic Ocean, with sailing fleets sending sounds as they neared England. Their masts blew so fast and proud in the wind. They were schooners ships sailing full masts in torrents that only pushed their sail. The winds had been rather so favourable; and not even a storm was grounding their sail. But the England-bound vessels were only bound so by a plan that their sailors didn’t know of. For several nations were in those fleets for whom the winds blew. Ample winds to bring God nigh. There had been several many days, nights and more since the ships set sail from Lagos, as they carried a multitude to fight in the World War. The heavy ships had boarded people from the inland colonies of Britain. Then they’d sailed off the African continent, running westwards then northwards via the Cape of Good Coast, a waterway. Moro was aboard that wild voyage. He was taken with the drafted soldiers on the British army. Now a few months had passed as...

NOW Moro looked out of the pack. And down there, he saw Wura and their wards. Then that instant, words failed the parents. It was like their hearts crashed into a wall, as there was nothing they could do or say. Still, where words failed tears tore through. For the couple cried so much. Then after moments, Moro spoke the words. ‘I will survive. I will return. Please take care of our children!’ Now those words didn’t exactly speak Moro’s heart. He’d meant them to assure his wife; yet his own fears broke her. So, like fuel poured in fire, Wura’s depth of soul was kindled at the sight of him. And then, the tears flowed. The lady said, ‘Please return to us, Moro! Survive the war and return, please!’ Yet although she simply begged him, Wura’s words sounded like an order to live. Now this order gave her gentleman strength. Moro clenched his fist amid the tears as he nodded in response. He nodded that he was ready. By this time, a man walked down to the vehicle and shoved Wura off, along with...

WURA straddled one of her toddlers to her back and held another by the hand. She stood among several women at the British office, panting like a deer. There in front of them were the trucks, parked in large clusters and packed full with men—the ones forcefully taken the day before. Wura took a bold step out of the throng. She screamed on top of her voice: ‘Moro! Moro!!’ Then a face like his showed up. It had happened that the talk of the raid on the men had spread through town all through night. So everyone who had found her husband or son missing had rushed to the British station by dawn. Still, their going hadn’t changed things as the soldiers barred everyone from entering. So they weren’t able to meet their folk. The women roamed round there till the sun rose. After a bit more, the gates of the walled garrison opened. Then, army trucks drove out of that place, and parked. They were packed full with them—the captured men. The soldiers had barred access to those blokes. So like everyo...

A FEW sighs kept interrupting a long streak of silence. It was dark that night, as dark as all hopelessness can be. Seated on the floor with his back against the wall, Moro brooded on his predicament now. He had been taken among several recruits that evening. And now, he sat alongside them in the garrison cell. These were the men conscripted to join the army, the British army. From that side of the colonial territory. They were to be transported to Eko, which by then had been renamed Lagos. And from there, they would board ships sailing onto England. Those packs of men, alongside others across Anglophone Africa, were being sailed to the shores of Great Britain. To fight as soldiers defending the kingdom. Or to be deployed to trenches on the west front and fight on the side of Britain. Now here at the guard room of the British station, people slept away their sorrow while some others cried. Moro chose to ponder all through night. So he sighed a load of times. He thought of how he’d esca...

RUMOURS broke out about a looming war. Yet it was no war between nations of Yoruba people; it was a war among other peoples. This was the Year 1914 and the Fourteen Years War across Yorubaland had come to an end. Even then, it was the season of darkness across nations scattered all over earth... For by the mid-summer of 1914, a  war had broken out in Europe which would touch down to Africa. It was the First World War. ‘Please tell us, are the rumours true? Is the Whiteman at war now?’ ‘Will our men fight for his land?’ Everybody talked about these things. In the north and south protectorates called Nigeria. People asked questions and answered their matters themselves. They asked those things from the colonial offices—the educated class among them. Then they shared the news with the people in the markets and the town halls. ‘The Whitemen are presently at war,’ they explained. ‘And many nations are fighting this war. ‘Now you know we didn’t bring ourselves together. It is the English...

THE chatters of playful children filled a large house. There were two toddlers of two years and four, the children of Moro. And they filled the whole place like they were an army. It was a quiet morning that Saturday. Many years had passed; and Moro and Wura hadn’t only married, but they were raising children, too. It was their large house in the town of Ede. It stood with the houses of Oji and Daleka to form a ‘compound’ or ‘family house’. In those days, they built mud houses and used aluminum sheets as roof. It was the style of township homesteads. Moro had grown to be forty-five, as he started late to raise children. And now that he’d gotten them, he wanted to spend more time at home. So, he sat in a resting chair in his veranda, fanning himself with some knitted hand fan and staring at nothing in particular. Some inaudible talk went on around him while the man paid no attention. The chatters built up some more and it seemed more people were joining the talk. The children’s noise ha...

NOW time passed and seasons circled. And it was the wake of the 1900’s – a brand new century. The brothers of Moro had married wives, and they had settled in town. But Moro was often on the farm as he’d gotten no one to call family. Moro was in his thirties; so it had seemed his time was fast passing. And even though the folk then didn’t calculate their years; and though it would take future records to reveal time in hindsight— The man had gotten a form that made him look ten years younger. And still, not only would anybody take him as far younger; but even Moro thought that he was, actually. For he hadn’t quite realised that life was passing. So here again, time had passed into a brand new era. There were more strangers passing by, who weren’t Yoruba people. They had pale skins and wore their hairs in dark and pale. They rode beasts with iron bodies. Huge beasts which wouldn’t gallop nor leap—beasts which crawled on four big hoofs. They were the colonial people. Now time had turned wi...

ADUKẸ my own!’ Moro took over in a cool, soothing voice. He was set to impress his beautiful woman by a response that could beat her boasting. Yet he wasn’t going to sweep her off ground by talks about his own father. His airs were enough stuff to flaunt. So he called again. ‘Adukẹ my own beauty!’ ‘I am right here,’ she answered. Moro took her hands, looked into her eyes, and spoke. ‘I have neither kills nor captures from hunting... ‘Still I can tell you this: that  Father has found a worthy man for his precious daughter. ‘I call him Father, ’cause he raised you well!’ Adukẹ nudged him, chuckling loads. ‘Come on now, that’s too much!’ Moro looked at her and smiled. Then he dropped her hands and sat up. ‘You know already that I’m a farmer, but I am no small one. ‘I know my crops like the lines on my palm. Still my knowledge means little if it hadn’t prospered me. ‘So you must know that my harvests are in barns and barrels: wealth is a true friend to me!’ Adukẹ brightened with smile....

MORO’S eyes bulged in shock as he watched Adukẹ strode away from him. The young man knew he wouldn’t be seeing the pretty young lass again, as the lovebirds parted un- amicably. Now their love story started about a moon before. And then after a lovers’ fight it came to an end. It had happened that Adukẹ was the first beauty who caught Moro’s eyes, the instant he settled in the town. And so he’d found out about her, and done everything to meet her. He sent a go-between to talk to her and carry his thoughts across. It was the way they court women in those days. Yes, the intermidiary talked so well, as the coy pretty maiden came round. They were soon talking and loving... just Adukẹ and Moro. Well, this young suitor had gotten good looks which seemed to stand out there. He looked dark and bold, with a striking gaze in his eyes. Then he stood at a proud height above his peers, his shoulders squared in a dignified stance. He talked with a gentle speak... like a coward in men fight. Yet when...

NOW time passed and men grew. Ede settled around the newly found waters. The large town clustered round the waters, and lived and prospered. Meanwhile, a few members of the townsfolk didn’t move from the former settlement. As shifting homes appeared quite tough for some. Therefore the first settlement was made a tribute town of Ede Land, in those days of empire building. It was renamed ‘Awó’. Situated on the byway as one journey to a town called Ìwó. So, Moro and his brothers bought land in Ede. At its new site around the River Oṣun. And then they built houses like others also. The men built three houses to form a large homestead. It sooner became the households of Moro and Oji and Daleka... A clan of three brothers. Meanwhile, as Ede Town moved from its former place to the vast new ground, they hunted and farmed in the far south, thick in the wild jungle. They planted palms to make oil and trade in them. They dealt in fruit crops also. And covered the land in green. Their hunters went...

IT was Oji who took the burden of clearing the air. And making their brother see the good in their news. He was Moro’s immediate brother. So he sat him down to talk. He took him under a shade of banana plants in his farm. (Daleka followed, too.) Then Oji told him about the land’s crisis with water, which he’d gathered from the chatters about the news. He told him of the big stream further down the steep of the main town, as one journey facing the south. He said that the town was moving down to the riverside. And spreading from around the river southward. ‘Do you know what the ruler decreed?’ he asked. By now his listener was curious. So he answered, ‘What did he say?’ Oji smiled to tell him. ‘His Majesty ordered that all of Edeland will now move to the forest grounds around the big stream and beyond it.’ Moro was fully interested. He spoke without thinking. ‘Wait! Do you really mean Ede is moving?’ He was so curious he wanted every word repeated. Now he liked to savour every bit of sen...

MORO, Oji and Daleka seemed to be the last people in their new-found land to catch up with news...  For the travellers had been trying so hard to settle, when the town had planned moving. Still it wasn’t these men alone who didn’t know that their town was moving. The remote farm villages also didn’t hear a thing. No, the village heads hadn’t reported all the while that the town might move sometime in future. As none of the chiefs knew when it would be. Even still, the distant future suddenly turned to Now in the ears of the chiefs of Ede Land... As the ruler made the move, and his new step became news. Now it had been the case that the former township of Ede was built on a rocky ground. Far north of a river named Oshun (now spelt as ‘Oṣun’). The town was far-removed from the moving stream. And getting down to water from the mountain slope was a whole day hike. It was that hard to find water. Therefore the main town was running out of their springs when Moro and his brothers arrive...

TIME rolled like wheels as seasons passed. A few plantings and harvests went by, as with each harvest Moro thrived in the land. His crops turned out huge proceeds. Even then, the stout young one had only got enough to spend on him and his kid brothers. As he paid large tributes to the man he promised to make wealthy. Still Moro wasn’t so disheartened by this. Rather the young man felt quite grateful that he’d got a farm to call his. And that he wasn’t someone’s slave. Now land and freedom weren’t the only things that Moro owned. As he’d also found the love of people. For he led a quiet life, earning and spending so noiselessly. Yes, the village seemed quite impressed by him, so much they called him mature. And so everyone honoured the good man who was no enemy to anyone. Even so, Moro had a different destination in mind. He wanted more from life... He wanted a home that was no building nor place. He wanted a woman to call his. He wanted to build family. So, he looked around with this i...