The day the man arrived in the village, none of the children that now sat anxious in front of his hut had been born. In fact, it is very likely that their parents hadn’t been born either. The old man had become their best friend and each day, after returning from the community grammar school, they would gather to him and he would receive them with delight, exposing in a smile the half of what was left of all his teeth. They would sit on the floor and he on a stool, his back to the wall of his hut and his legs outstretched. What had begun as a pastime had metamorphosed into livelihood — the old man told the children stories and they brought him food and sometimes, money. It was an unspoken exchange that both parties respected. The children enjoyed the stories and the man who was getting too old to do much, was grateful for the provision that met him at his hut every other evening.
The day the man arrived in the village was a market day, many years ago. At that time, there was no community grammar school or currency. All that existed was subsistence. The members of the village would converge at the market square and trade what they had for what they needed. And so it continued till the late afternoon until a man, about 35 years of age, strayed half-alive into the square with nothing but a sack on his back and a pair of worn trousers hanging loosely around his waist. The villagers shuffled surprise with sympathy until finally, they surrounded the man with care. He was fed, cleaned and nurtured back to health. With nothing to his name and no traceable history, the man made a new life in the village. He was known only by the name Ije. And so it happened that the days went by and many years later, the children that knew nothing about Ije but his name sat anxious in front of his hut expecting another one of his stories.
Ije sat still for a while, with his eyes closed. Thinking. The children liked when that happened because it meant that they would be hearing a brand new story; one he had never told them before. He exhaled, resolved to begin. He opened his eyes, tearier than normal, and spoke.
A lifetime ago, in a village where men believed in mermaids, there was born into a family of fishermen a boy they named Nsofor. Nsofor’s father was a fisherman and his father before him and even his father before him. As soon as he was old enough to work, his father would take him to the river to teach him the family trade. He and his father would bring home the catch for his mother and sisters to prepare overnight and take to the neighbouring villages to trade for other food items. On the days that weren’t market days, Nsofor’s family would sit outside and listen to his father’s stories. His favourite story to tell was of the mermaid he and his father killed when they went fishing many years ago. When Nsofor’s sisters asked him why they killed the thing, he simply responded, ‘they are demonic creatures and are an abomination in the land of men’.
Slowly but surely, Nsofor learned to love the craft and soon, he had built his own canoe. And so life continued until, one by one, Nsofor’s sisters were married away and it remained he and his parents. Nsofor was already a young man when his father died after a brief illness and his mother, too weary to keep traveling the distance to barter fish, left his father’s house to live with one of his sisters. He never saw any of them again.
Nsofor, now a man and alone, had to learn to fish at night so he could barter his catch in the mornings when the markets opened. On one of such occasions, he was so tired, he drowned. However, instead of death, he was rescued by a creature. When he regained consciousness, the creature retreated in fear. He motioned to it that he was grateful and wasn’t going to harm it. The creature, trusting, came to him and he saw that it was a creature like the one his father had described all those years ago. Contrary to his father’s stories, it was kind to him and was in no way demonic. And so he offered it kindness in return.
Nsofor visited the river every night and the mermaid was always there, waiting. They grew fonder and soon, he asked her to come to land with him. She was hesitant but he promised to protect her and she trusted him to. She went into the village that night and experienced the world that hated her kind. Nsofor showed her the village through the night but as soon as the sun began to ascend, her skin began to shine and fearfully, she ran back into the river. Nsofor had seen her true nature and her heart broke with the thought that he would never come to see her again but that very night, there he was. They fell in love and he brought her to live with him.
So they lived happily until the day that they dreaded finally came. The members of the village learned of the abomination that Nsofor had perpetrated. They marched to his compound and raided it in search for the creature he had brought into the land of men. When they found the mermaid, they dragged her outside and into the sun to confirm her nature. They were going to kill her when Nsofor returned from the neighbouring village to cash in on the promise he made many years ago. He protected her. He fought them off, took the mermaid and returned her to the river. She ran deep into the river, away from the villagers. The villagers, angered by this deed, killed Nsofor instead. When Nsofor never returned to the river, the mermaid accepted that he had given his life for hers, and lived the rest of her life in mourning.
Ije’s stories usually had moral lessons for the children to ponder on till the next day’s dose but this one was just that: a story. Unsure how to react, the children thanked Ije and proceeded home as night had begun to fall.
Ije remained in his stool until late in the night. He allowed himself to feel all that had been locked in his mind for such a long time. Now an old man, he knew his time wasn’t afar off and he wished it would come quicker. He thought of his family, his village, and everything else he was forced to abandon when he arrived at that market square all those years ago. Ije finally stood to enter his hut and as he relaxed into his mat, Nsofor began to cry. He cried because of the pain, he cried because of regret, he cried because, even after all this time, he still wasn’t courageous enough to tell anyone the true story.
Nsofor recalled the true sequence of events. He recalled vividly how he had come back from selling his catch to find the members of his village burning his love. He recalled the smell of her flesh. He recalled the way she screamed his name for help. He recalled how he ran and never stopped running because the villagers would have killed him too if they ever found him. He recalled running through several villages before he arrived in the one where he would become Ije who lived out his old age with the children that knew nothing about him but still sat anxious in front of his hut expecting another one of his stories.
