Chapter One
The Story of Day and Night
For four nights Uwargida did not appear at her regular spot in the
courtyard, where she narrated Mallam Gizo, or Mr. Spider tales and other
mythological stories to us every night. Uwargida was one of the four
widowed grandmothers who lived in our house on Zongo Street, a densely
populated section of Kumasi, Ghana’s most prosperous city. Each of the
four old women were at one time married to Father’s father, the Hausa
king, who died some thirty years ago, when Father himself was only eleven
years old. Uwargida’s name means “mother of the house,” which was exactly
what she was: the king’s first wife and the oldest of the four wives. She
was ninety-one.
The last night we saw Uwargida, she had promised to tell us “the story
that began it all,” the story of how light and darkness came about on
earth. “It’s the most chilling story ever,” she had exclaimed in her raspy
and rather thin voice as we escorted her back to her quarters that night.
Grandmother Kande told me that Uwargida’s knees were bothering her once
again, and that was why she had not made it down to the courtyard in the
past few nights.
“Now, don’t you kids go disturbing Yaya Uwargida up there; her body has
been arguing with her lately,” shouted Grandmother Kande from her
verandah, when she saw a host of children, myself included, sneaking our
way up toward Uwargida’s quarters.
“No, no, we are just going to pray for her knees to feel better,” said
Sumaila, our spokesperson. Grandmother Kande nodded, giving us the
go-ahead. We all giggled, happy that we had outsmarted Grandmother Kande
again, and quickly made our way up the small concrete hill that led to
Uwargida’s side of the big compound.
Once we were in her room, we tried to convince Uwargida that it was indeed
good for her health to come out and tell us the story she had promised.
“The gentle breeze will make you feel better,” coaxed the sweet-mouthed
Sumaila.
“It’s the truth Sumaila is speaking, Uwargida,” chirped in all of us, to
put more pressure on the old woman. Moments later-after a feeble attempt
to drive us out of her room with her cane-Uwargida decided to come with
us. “All right, all right, but one of you should go and tell Barkisu to
prepare charcoal fire,” she said while struggling to lift herself off the
nylon mat. (Barkisu was Uwargida’s servant girl.) We grinned wildly at
each other, excited that not only was Uwargida going to come out and tell
us the story, but she was also going to make us her freshly roasted
groundnut, the best in all of the city of Kumasi, and famous because of a
secret ingredient and a special red sand she used, which gave the nuts a
perfect crunch and an earthy smell.
By the time Uwargida made her way slowly down to the center of the house,
more than thirty of us kids were already gathered around the charcoal
fire. Some twenty minutes later, after the first batch of groundnuts had
been distributed to everyone, the “mother of the house” was ready to tell
us “the mother of all stories.” The story of day and night.
“Gáta na, gáta nanku,” Uwargida began with the traditional opening line,
inviting us to give her our full attention.
“Tajé, takómó,” we responded in a loud chorus, our mouths full of
groundnuts.
“Many many years ago,” she continued in a soft, yet commanding voice.
“During the time of our ancestors’ ancestors’ ancestors, when the universe
was first created, there lived a childless woman whose name was Baadiya.
“At that time, all the different creations, humans, jinns, and the angels
lived together in the same space, and they interacted with each other. The
angels and jinns roamed about the skies freely, without any need for
food, water, or air; and they lived forever. It was the same story with
humans. We, too, lived forever back then, though unlike the angels and
jinns, we needed food and water to survive. And also, there was neither
day nor night and neither daylight nor darkness, as we have now. The
universe was made up of a grayish, reddish fog, a sight that was hard to
describe” Uwargida paused, as if to allow what she had said so far to sink
into our heads.
“And it was in a small village in one of the lands of this universe that
Baadiya lived with her husband,” she continued, amid the cracking noises
made by the groundnut husks being popped open. “Every woman in this
village, with the exception of Baadiya, had a child. It was all the more
sad, because Baadiya was a very kind woman and also her husband’s first
wife. But when she didn’t have a child within two years of their union,
the husband married a second wife, a third wife, and even added a fourth
one. The husband wanted more children, and so each new wife got pregnant
as soon as she stepped into his house. Before long, the three wives were
jeering at Baadiya for not having a child of her own. And anytime they had
a little quarrel or fight, the wives were apt to remind Baadiya of her
childlessness. After a while Baadiya couldn’t stand the pain and suffering
any longer, and she decided to seek the help of medicine men.
“She visited all the shrines and oracles of the fetish priests in the
land, seeking help, but none of them was able to assist her. They told her
they had no child to give at that time. Eventually Baadiya took her cries
to Kato, who was half jinn and half angel and also the most powerful
fetish priest in the land …
(Continues…)
Excerpted from The Prophet of Zongo Street
by Mohammed Naseehu Ali Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Amistad
ISBN: 0-06-052354-9
