A Father's Daughter

So for my CPT in Writer's Craft I chose to write a novella. I decided to write the story of a 15-years-old village girl who is brought to the city. I don't want to give any more background about it until I have posted a significant amount of it. Here is the first half of the prologue. I will definitely keep posting updates to this particular story as I keep working to improve it. Comments, critiques etc are very welcome. Thanks for reading and your input.

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The village of Asemota was a closed community. The elders of the village – the oldest eyes – had not seen an outsider in their whole lives. The women of the market – the keenest ears – had not heard a whisper from beyond the village’s shores. Even the high-flying kites had never tasted a cloud outside of Asemota and the lizards had never wandered beyond the tall grass of the village’s shores. Her people were immersed in an age old tradition, unspoiled by alien suggestions and uncultured by foreign virtues. Few had left and even fewer ever returned. No one came back into Asemota’s enclosed existence.

PART I:

HOPEFUL

“THE GIRL IS GOOD, obedient, strong and hard working. In fact, she is amongst the best girls that we have here in the village,” said the chieftains of Asemota in low yet convincing voices. They didn’t have to shout; they understood that wise words, whether spoken with powerful volume or in slight whisper, held the same weight. Eze, the eldest and wisest of the clan, stood straight, forcing his crooked back upright to resemble the tall Iroko tree. He stood only when necessary – in times of strife or war, festivals or ceremony – and his already tall form became even more elongated. His voice was soft yet it carried a power that even some gods lacked.

“Nneka, you have asked us to give you one of our daughters. We have heard your request and we have come to the same conclusion. Adana is the brightest girl in Asemota so she will adapt to the hectic city life; she is the strongest girl in our village, so she will serve you well,” he said standing, as though to allow his words dance above the heads of those present. 

            The other nine members of the chieftaincy nodded in agreement. They turned and looked at each other, happy that Eze had managed to aptly articulate their thoughts yet again. In the midst of the powerful men sat a fat, round figure. Her full features heaved up and down with every loud laboured breath she took. She held a plastic fan in her hand and waved it constantly in front of her face, beating the heavy, stale air of midday with a steady, whooshing sound. She had never been back to the village since she left for Lagos twenty-five years ago. She had long been educated out of the village’s antiquated customs and beliefs, and she said she wanted to give another member of Asemota the same opportunity. She said she wanted to adopt a fifteen-year-old child, a girl, and bring her to the city. She said she wanted to enrol the child in a private school to catch up with her peers, and send her to the University of Lagos afterward so that the girl would do the same to another child and in this way bring knowledge to Asemota.

            Nuka had left her name in the village along with all its other backward practices. Hope, as she was now known, sent money regularly to Asemota in order to soften the pain that she thought her people felt. She remembered growing up in the small settlement, wishing she did not have to wake up before the first cock-crow to fetch water for her family from the stream over five miles away.  She had always wanted to go hunting with her father and her brother instead. She once took his rifle and shot a mother-bird clean off her nest.  She hit it with perfect aim, demonstrating greater skill than both her father and all her brothers put together.

When her mother made her cook game, she dreamt that she had hunted and killed the animal; when her mother asked that she pound yams, she wished she had harvested them – these privileges were reserved for the men of Asemota.

After Hope left the village, she longed to live in the square brick houses in the city and work in the giant buildings which grew like trees from the concrete of Lagos – buildings where she could feel a cool kiss even in the harsh heat of the dry season. She wielded sheer power and ruthlessness to quickly become one of the most respected and feared executives in Lagos – a world dominated by high-powered men. She attributed her success to the suppression of her time in the village and vowed to never return. She never thought that after she left, she would be back again seated in the village-square addressing the Chiefs of Asemota.

            “Chief, I have heard you. Call for the girl so I can see her for myself,” Hope replied still seated on her stool refusing to reciprocate the honour that the elder chieftain had bestowed upon her. She feigned false importance, fixing her gaze solely on the standing chief, ignoring the existence of the other nine. Her eyes quickly darted toward the girl who was slowly making her way toward the meeting square. The girl’s hair was neatly plaited in seven rows and her fresh skin shone under the afternoon sun. She was slender and lithe, walking with gracious and powerful movements. She silently continued to the centre of the square and fell to her knees in one swift motion, bearing herself open to examination. She knew why she was here. She had been told that an Auntie from Lagos wanted to come and take her there. This Auntie was going to take her to school and make her happy; take her to the promise of the city.

Hope nodded at what she saw making a smooth deep sound to show her approval. She murmured to herself how the village girl greatly resembled her in the prime of her youth.

“So this is the girl. This is the finest daughter of Asemota,” she proclaimed with a strong unwavering voice, her flimsy fan flying furiously in front of her face. “She looks it. Girl, what is your name?” The whooshing sound of the fan was stronger now and drowned the serene harmony of midday.

            The girl heard Hope but did not answer; her mouth remained closed with no sound escaping. She was stunned at the audacity the woman had to sit with the chiefs. The woman was an agbero – one whose parents had not brought them up well, like an orphaned baboon who dares wash his bottom with an elephant’s trunk. The girl held her tongue lest she address this feral woman.

“Is she deaf? I asked her a simple question.”

“Adana did you not hear her speak?” Eze interrupted his powerful voice directed at the submitted child.

“My name is Adana Ma.” The girl finally spoke, resting on her knees with her head down before the fat woman.

“Adana, do you know who I am?”

“No ma.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hope hissed. “This village is full of ignorance. Tell me, why should I bring you into the city?”

The girl was mute again.

“Is she mad? Tell me why should I bring you to the city?” Hope shouted with a sudden outburst of anger. A thin c     lear film of precipitation was forming on her forehead as her fan proved useless in curtailing the harsh heat. A wild murmur ran through the circle of chiefs. They had never known the girl to be so resistant.

“Ma,” Adana paused.  “I don’t know Ma.”

“Well, you’d better find out because we are leaving now. Chief, I would take her. From what you have told me, she would benefit greatly from this move. Next time she is here, you will not recognise her. Gold will fill her face and money would fill her pockets,” Hope professed as she stood up from her chair. She went around the circle of chiefs and greeted each chieftain, accepting their blessings of continued wealth and health. After ten minutes of receiving favours, she gestured that her driver, Collins, get into the car and start it. She was ready to leave the village for good.