The Village PalmWine – by Caleb Asset

and the evening came, with the sun hiding under the blanket of the
gloomy sky, like every other evening
in August. The sky had fallen, leaving behind her
dirty tears where gentle strides imprint
themselves on muddy earth. I found my place
with others seating on bamboo-made benches,
clinging to gourds under the unbrellas of an
almond tree. The sweetness of the palm-wine
cast her shadows on the lousy lips of drunks
around me.
Earlier, i had driven to my hometown Emede for
my mothers funeral. With friends and invitees
gone, i decides to pass the night there. but the unending tales of my
illiterate old uncles whose teeth has be smeared with kolanut couldn’t
make me think straight. so I begged to take  a stroll and find my way
to the palmwine joint.
I had made myself comfortable with six or seven
gourds of daybreak palmwine, feeling the thrill of
her intoxicating nudity, when a fat lady stealth
from behind, pance on her husband who had just
made himself comfortable with the romance of
the wine. Her strokes painted pictures of bright
brown bruises on his flesh. Her strenght and
curse made the wines go sour as he finally got a
chance to escape from the claws of his wife. in tears, he managed to
run away and his wife followed suit with threats pouring from her
tongue.
Domestic abuse on men is something i cant
bear. As laughter and gospel of the previous
scene filled the air, i was soarked with fury and i shouted in anger to a dirty
young girl on dreadlocks staring at me. I spat in
front of her and told her how dirty she looks. I
bathe her with scores of words of insult to
impress all observers. I intentionally used all the grammar i have in
my vocabulary. By the time i was through,
everyone has disappear from the csence to my surprise except for her,
staring blankly at me. I decides to return home while it
was midnight.
On arrival, i fell on my sofa and snore beautifully.
The snore must have woke me up and the crowd
gathering around me is a sign that troubles has
tied themselves tightly to my trouser.
I had mistaken my mom’s mud house for a
hunter’s hut, falls on his bed beside his wife who
also had mistaken me for her husband that night. He return
home early in the morning from the bush, seen
us wrapped in each others arms and has called
to everyone awake to come and bear witness to
the abomination cause by the village palm wine. of course, nothing
happened between us. My hands were only wrapped around her waste and
she reciprocate.
They drag me speechlessly to the shrine of
‘Onio-Ise’, the goddess of Emede, to pass
judgement on me. At that moment, I wished i had stayed with my uncles
last night to bathe in the thrill of their tales. but it was too late.
On arrival, we patiently wait
for the Priestess to excuse or accuse my actions.
A couple of minute crawl by, and she finally came dressed in read
garment beaded with white cowries. she stare at me with an air of
familiarity, and as i raise my face to
look at her, behold! She was the same girl on
dirty dreadlocks, on whose face i have heap
coals of insult under the influence of the village
palm wine.

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