In those days, a spinster was like a vine whose ripened fruits attracted birds of all sorts. She was expected to give hope and lead on all her suitors.  In a day, she could have as much as four suitors coming to woo her. Then, young men hardly traveled alone to woo ladies. The relatives or friends of the groom-to-be would accompany him. All spinsters were cautioned against sending any suitor away. It was wise that a spinster wheedled her suitors at some point. Promise-and-fail was a game suitors were familiar with, yet suitors hardly outsmarted it because waiting somewhere was the only means through which a suitor could elope with a lady. 

Nguzendan grew into a spinster when eloping with a lover was a good practice. She had suitors more than other spinsters and elders gave validation that there was more to it than her pulchritude. Nguzendan was not always available to run errands for her mother. 

“Nguzendan!” her mother would call; sometimes, more than three times before she would emerge from another woman’s kitchen. It was either she was there to fill the neighbor’s pot with the water she had fetched from the stream or she was helping to fix a meal. She would grind pepper and pound yam for her neighbors. Those days, men went to farm in unison, usually to make ridges or yam heaps. The services of spinsters were usually required during such occasions. Their strength of pounding in great measures to satisfy a lot of ravenous workers was fundamental. The pounded yam had to be hot and smooth, as well as draw like gum when a pestle is dragged out of the mortar in the course of thumping. All the neighboring women had interest in Nguzendan because she was good at chores. They recommended her for marriage to their male siblings and relatives in other communities. 

Nguzendan mastered the family recipe at the age of eight and threw her mother out of the kitchen when she was ten. Western education was wrongly perceived, so most parents preferred giving slots to their sons in a quest to protect their daughters. Besides, early marriage for a female was a thing of pride and most parents thought education was an impediment to it.

A woman in her prime was expected to elope with a young man of her choice in order to reward her father the dignity of hosting in-laws from a distant land. These in-laws are expected to plead guilty to the lady’s father, before his kinsmen, for eloping with his daughter. It was an infamy for a young man to pay a dowry before marriage. A young man was expected to prove his youthfulness by eloping with his fiancée before paying her dowry.

The old men had a different practice. They would have to meet the parents of the lady and fully pay the dowry before marriage. The dowry was an old rag that old people hide their faces in while pleading the sympathy and acceptance of the lady and her parents. Nguzendan’s sister was not so lucky. Her mother said she had numerous suitors, but all of them were old men. She was coaxed to accept the dowry of one of them.

Nguzendan’s father told her the marriage challenges of men. Men’s challenge was what they could offer in exchange (Iyamshe). The principle of iyamshe was like trade by batter in its strict practice. It was a give-and-take code where two in-laws exchange their sisters. The foremost setback of iyamshe was finding a perfect match at both ends. And if there was divorce from one end, the other side would be coerced to quit as well.

Nguzendan had many young suitors and it was obvious that she would elope with one of them anytime she decided. Many things endeared young women about men, but strength and skills were more arresting. It was very common for a good dancer to elope with a spinster after an impressive performance on stage. Nguzendan once mentioned that she would not end up like her cousin who got married to her husband because of his dancing skills. 

Out of her many suitors, Nguzendan was fond of discussing three with her mother. She was proud of the clarinetist and how he always stole the show anywhere he performed. Or-gyidaa had great fame. He told Nguzendan a story of one of his greatest performances at Afia where he entertained his fans for two days during a funeral without pausing to eat or drink. Nguzendan confided in her mother that Or-Gyidaa would end up with many women because he was a great artiste. 

One of her suitors was a wrestler. Nguzendan’s mother said he was talkative. Nguzendan always sneered at his pouncing posture; his metallic stumps that made one think he was the owner of the world. He was the favourite of many neighbours who advised Nguzendan to consider him because of his physical strength, which was the most-sought-after quality of a husband. Anytime he arrived, Nguzendan would watch his flaunt of unsettling confidence and interfering socialization. She would assure herself that she owned the knife and the yam, and she would cut at will. After reassuring herself each time, she would spit on the ground and push the sand under the sole of her footwear to bury her secret plot. 

The number of suitors grew and Nguzendan’s concern also grew. Many times she was reminded to go back to the stream and pack the clothes she washed. Once, her mother pounced on her when she sat in the kitchen watching a burning pot dreamily. Her mother was very furious because all the meat in the pot got burnt. It was a hunter, Nguzendan’s suitor, that brought the meat. He had been supplying game to the family since he started courting Nguzendan. 

The hunter told Nguzendan that he had killed many predators with traps, arrows and guns. He said he had killed lions, buffalos and two elephants. The second elephant he killed, Nguzendan’s family, ate pieces of it. An elephant was a communal animal. Any hunter who killed it was to feed the entire community with it. When he killed the second elephant, Nguzendan’s father had gone to get his own share. Nguzendan told her mother a heroic story of how the hunter saved a certain village from an eagle. The hunter was summoned to kill the eagle because it swooped down on an eight-month old baby and she died. The hunter-suitor spent three months on the nearby mountain tracking the eagle until he finally caught an aerie of them in a complex trap.

The hunter told Nguzendan another story which she shared with her mother. It was the story of a rock python that swallowed the first university student of a neighbouring community at River Katsina-Ala. The hunter attacked the snake twice. The first attack was not successful and the snake almost killed the hunter. The hunter shot the snake twice in the head, but the bullets only bruised the skull. Unlucky for the hunter, the snake sighted him and charged forward. He was a few metres away from the water. Quickly, he flung his gun and dived into the water. Then, the python pushed down on its tail from its coiled position which looked like a meandered narrow footpath and launched its body landing on to the current of the river at the spot the hunter dived in. When the snake landed on the water, a ‘tsunamic’ sinking force splashed the water onto the shore like a stormy tide. The hunter was carried along with the wave and when the water fell back into the river, he was left unmoving on the shore. The python kept its head up as it swam in the river seeking the offender. By the time the hunter recovered, it became a huge escape from the python and the river. 

“After the combat, the python went into hiding for twelve months,” the hunter told Nguzendan. The hunter revealed that for the second encounter, he used arrows. He dipped them in poison. 

“With the arrows it was easy because I attacked without creating a scene. “So, I hit the python with three arrows and snuck away. And the following morning, the python was found dead outside its cave.” He ended. 

Any time the hunter visited, Nguzendan would have a daring story to tell her mother. Nguzendan became interested in receiving and retelling the hunter’s plucky stories more than the business of becoming his wife.

 While the old suitors became unconvincing, Nguzendan was gaining a more persuasive audience from her new suitors. She could not tell how many times most of her suitors waited in the bush by the road side throughout the night expecting she would go out to elope with them. In a day, she would promise more than three suitors and show them their individual waiting points. They would all wait in vain. 

Nguzendan would wake up every Sunday ignoring everyone; their greetings and alliance. Sunday was a chosen day of contact for most of her suitors. Church services were early and it was advisable to attend without taking breakfast. Empty stomach was considered to be an inward spur for the manifestation of the Holy Ghost. Before Nguzendan would close from church, some suitors would already arrive. She would start attending to them as soon as she got home. All suitors would want a pledge. So, they would keep dragging until she promised. At a point, she would long to run an errand where she would be able to cut blades tips on the way, or enclose pebbles in her palm and throw them one by one at objects and flying birds. It would be sickening to her, having a day long debating one subject matter with strangers.

“So, are you going with us today?” Nguzendan would mimic the question as she joined her mum for dinner after the last suitor left. She would initiate gossiping about her suitors. There was a young farmer-suitor she hardly discussed. She confided in her mother that she always felt guilty making fake promises to him. The farmer was knowledgeable and Nguzendan’s father always sought his advice every planting season.

Because there were many spinsters in the community; some older than Nguzendan, but without any suitors, everyone expected that Nguzendan would make a choice from her many suitors so that the rest would regroup to other spinsters. Her father was worried about the exclusive concentration of suitors in his house and thought of chasing some of them away. Her mum’s fear was Nguzendan’s delayed marriage despite a plethora of suitors. Her fear was the abduction mechanism known as “Anyam-amough” that was steadily becoming uncontrolled. Though Nguzendan had already vowed not to adjust to any marriage she was brought into through anyam-amough, her mother was still agitated. “A tree doesn’t keep the companionship of birds forever. As soon as all its fruits are wolfed down, the inhabited birds wander away in search of new fruits. Every spinster should take advantage of maiden opportunities before they’ll slip away,” her mother would advise her after their discussions.

Already, Nguzendan had undergone some fortification rites. The amulet around her waist was to be removed only when she was to bathe with warm water. The ring around her pinky appeared while she was asleep. Her father had foretold her of it. He added that the ring was to vanish from her finger on her nuptial night. She was made to drink from several rounds of incubated herbal pots, as a result of which she was to avoid taking viscous substances.

Nguzendan woke up grumpy one Sunday morning. She went round the village collecting from her friends all the clothes, foot wear and jewelry they borrowed from her. She brought out many clothes and she sang while washing them. Laundry was not a strenuous chore to her. She had been the one washing all the family members’ clothes even when her two older sisters still lived with them. Nguzendan had always been criticizing her sister, a victim of anyam-amough, for legitimizing a marriage she was abducted into. For Nguzendan, she would discontinue the marriage immediately after gaining her freedom. She believed that anyam-amough was an evil plot that forced a woman into a marriage she did not choose. 

“But it’s a practice and people hardly see anyam-amough plot as a marriage felony, my daughter.” Her mother once opposed her stance.

After washing that morning, Nguzendan went to the neighbourhood to braid her hair. Her favourite hairstyle was ‘all-back’, especially when she would not have time to sit down for long. Moreover, some of her suitors were already around. They would have to wait until she was done braiding her hair. It was not her turn yet, so she sat in the rendezvous of stylists listening and laughing out loud at their jokes and stories. Women those days hardly talked about women liberation. Most of their stories were connubial. They were stories on ‘handling’ men in ways that they would not think of taking new wives. Polygamy was common, but most women abhorred it. Nguzendan in several debates maintained that she would not share her man with any other woman. Spinsters were by a hair’s breadth given audience on such matters because women would not listen to inexperienced young ladies who had not stained any man’s bed sheet.  Nguzendan heard so much about the stained-bed-sheet from her mother, but what she disagreed with was the mystery that stained-bed-sheet contained an overriding covenant that sustained marriages. 

Nguzendan rushed home to fix dinner after braiding her hair. Her mother had already cooked soup. She quickly boiled yam and pounded it. Those days, once food was set before the most elderly man in the compound, every male adult would come out and join the table. The elderly men always scolded the younger ones during dinner anytime the latter violated eating etiquettes. Children were not allowed to eat leisurely or hurriedly. Elders could talk but children were not allowed to.

Nguzendan went back into the kitchen after serving men their meal and from the kitchen to her room. Darkness had already started prevailing because it was already dusk.

Nguzendan took three to four steps, and then paused. She seemed to have surveyed vaguely afar off. She trudged forward with hefty feet, but suddenly became too reluctant to lift a foot. She exhaled warm air from her nostril causing a deep noisy breath as she staggered in trepidation. She finally stopped in the middle of the resolution and the footpath that joined the crude motorway. Then, she felt a tap of cold tip of fingers on her shoulder from behind. She hopped, letting her mouth and eyes open with a howl of shock held back tightly inside her throat. She covered her mouth with her two palms and shifted away from the intruder. The intruder drew closer. She retreated. He advanced again, she recoiled; her hands rubbing each other hysterically. It was already nightfall. A long-drawn-out stillness followed when she became aware of who the intruder was. 

“You scared me”, she uttered almost inaudibly.

“Sorry, if I truly did”, the impostor apologized.

“I least expected you here” she continued, pointing her two index fingers on the ground as her voice trembled.

Without any further response, the impostor took off his coat and gave her cover. It was in the month of December and harmattan had started conveying messages of seasonal compliments to the parched land and dry plants. 

Nguzendan had many such appointments with her suitors, but before getting to the locale, she would run back home. That day, she was taken unaware because her suitor was waylaid and before she could change her mind, she was already in his arms. 

After a journey of two hours (walking) to an unknown destination with a stranger leader, a poignant horror crippled Nguzendan. Tears flowed in darkness as she remembered the home she just left few hours ago. A swift dread and regret wrapped her up on the commotion she had created for her family that night. She imagined how her mother would be hitting her head and bumping into substance in desperate search for her. Her mother’s incessant shouts of “Nguzenda-a-an…!”, “Nguzenda-a-an…!” would squeeze out moisture from her shriveled and wrinkled throat. She imagined a huge crowd of neighbours thronging in and out of her father’s compound to scoop the news of elopement from her mother’s tongue. 

The stranger had the guts because he had not witnessed her father’s aggression. She imagined her father with his bow and arrows prancing aggressively all over the footpath that led to the village, harassing the lonely paths to produce the intruder.  “Hum-mm!”, she sighed loudly, but the impostor did not interfere. 

The journey continued; from one narrow footpath into a wider motorway, then forking into another footpath. They bypassed compounds of different settings and residents. The moonlight cast shadows of plants on the forlorn tapered footpaths which trailed blade tips of plants on their bodies as they dragged on. There was sporadic dragging of animal bodies on dry grass and their feet piercing dry leaves as they hurried into further distance whenever the travelers’ footsteps approached proximity. Nguzendan’s fingers froze and she longed for tongues of fire she used to watch licking the sides of a pot in her mother’s kitchen. 

The terrain was continually forested, except for the intermittent cultivated portions. As they disappeared into a roof forest that doomed the path, the moonlight eclipsed. They groped desperately. But as they emerged from the cover; she felt an oozing warmness hitting her chest as she snuffed the smell of harvested crops and ripened fruits. She was sure the fresh fruits would taste great. She pushed a deep sigh as her cheeks began to pull her lips, dragging them gently behind. She had always loved farming and she was glad to embark on the journey, and a journey to farm with a farmer for a lifetime. But it wasn’t clear to her yet if they had arrived at the farmer’s home.

Writer’s Biography

Agaigbe Uhembansha is a writer and an experienced English Language teacher. His short story- The Village Pond won second prize for the Green We Left Behind Creative Nonfiction writing contest. He has publications on Arts Lounge Magazine. Currently, he is a staff of The NAOWA College where he serves as the Vice Principal Academics.