On this night, it wasn't the buttocks of the calabash that hung above. It was the half, in the words of the people. Tombo chuckled to himself. The buttocks referred to the full moon while the half was its half. The villagers claimed the moon showed the various positions of the Almighty drinking from the vastness of the skies. Whatever that meant—crap!

He was not the sort of African who believed in such nonsense. Traditions were old pieces of caution and actions that had been created for specific events. Ignorant people continued them even when the importance had long faded. It was like the tale of the lady who fried sausages by cutting the two edges off because "her mother did so," as she always told anyone who cared to ask. When asked why she did so in her day, her mother simply replied, "I never had a big pan so I had to chop the edges so the sausages would fit into the small pan I had!" He couldn't remember where he had read the story from, but it sure fit the situation. It was all about civilization, and nothing more. Technology and the new age sure hadn't done much to many locals and Bantaje was a testimony.

After his graduation, Tombo had been posted to Bantaje to compulsorily serve his nation for a year as a Corps member. He was one out of twenty others who had been sent to the village to assist in a government scheme aimed at uniting people of all tribes in the country. He was a teacher at the local community school there. He taught English Language and Literature to students, most of whom couldn't communicate in English. Tombo always thought his task gargantuan till he walked in on Lateef, a fellow Corps member trying to teach Accounts and Mathematics! The frustration that adorned Lateef's face was enough to make Tombo count his blessings. He might have smiled and managed it all but the job grew more stressful with additional classes assigned to him. The trick had been to make him sign an agreement to teach the SSS 1, 2 and 3 classes. He had no idea that each of the classes had five arms each, E!

Besides work, there were other challenges—those of life in general. When the Corps members had arrived in Bantaje at first, they were told that drinking water was sourced from the community river or a close-by well. They resolved to drink only bottled water bought from a nearby town. Soon, issues of economy forced them to downsize to satchet water. It wasn't long before they decided to use water from the well. When the dry season came, a new wisdom directed their feet to the river to fetch their water. But that wasn't all. Most of the young ladies in Bantaje were not always allowed to come out in public and usually stayed indoors. The only exception for most was school, their washing day, and the night of the full moon. So, though Tombo had spotted a lady—he would later find out to be Rekia—he could not experiment some of the scenes he was crafting for a text in his head. He scribbled several poems to this elusive love of his but each day increased his unease and longing. How could one survive like this?

He exchanged the hell he found for a bit of bliss provided in the opportunity to learn more of the language and traditions of the people—more for literary material to aid his writing than for acculturation. He discovered another side to Bantaje too.

Now, Bantaje was, and is, a peaceful village with good people. It had a beautiful landscape and a river too—a writer's delight. Tombo found relief in these and somehow, began to enjoy himself a bit. That was till the superstitions began to pour in. They started at first, humorous, ridiculous, and the like:

"Strike a left foot; bad luck. Strike a right foot; good luck." If one happened to break one's right leg while faking this, it was the person's misfortune for luck smiled—or frowned—only when it happened accidentally. There was no cheating the gods. There was; "If you hear an owl hooting; ill omen." For their information, in certain parts of South Africa where he had spent his formative years—and the lands of better thinking people—owls were good omens bringing better fortunes and wealth. This was the one that gave a big question mark to the universality of the gods. Sure, this was where they would deny it and say that the different lands had their gods. Nevertheless, they emphasized the owl omens more and advised him not to go to the river then. An eerie one was that of the stars; "the amount of stars you see on a specific night are the amount of days you have remaining over here." In essence, if you were unfortunate to look into the skies on a starless night, the next day would be your death!

"Don't go out on the night of the half moon, it is the time of the preparation. This is the time between the fullness and starvation." This was the tricky one. One could never be sure of which side one's luck would roll. It was best to be careful rather than test the favour of the gods, or so the people said. Tombo once wondered aloud if the gods could be bribed to get favours. The emphatic answer, accompanied with looks of disgust, was an emphatic "No!"

But even in the midst of most of the don'ts, there was a night of bliss to look forward to; the night of the full moon. All could go out and play about; children and adults. It was the time when nature was fulfilled. It was the reason for the illumination, the clear essence that was always visible on such nights. This was why most societies had their dances and other such beautiful rituals on this particular night. This was one of the few myths he had loved.

On the last full moon, Bantaje had come out in splendour. The stars had sparkled the night to accompany the big ball of the sky. An old man told stories to children in the middle of the village. He had scared the children with tales and passed on more of the usual myths and superstitions. Tombo had stayed by for a while and laughed. Yes, this was more like it, he thought to himself. He understood the myths in the spirit of the tales told only. There were initiation rites in some corners and the more attention grabbing sensation—a good number of ladies swinging hips that had left Tombo inspired for over a week. But more than that, he had used the opportunity to corner his muse, Rekia. The moon seemed to shine in her face. He was enraptured. She told him that she was only allowed to come out on the night of the full moon.

"Why don't you come on the half moon too?" Tombo had asked with a mischievous wink.

She giggled lightly; "Maybe I would one day, but you know about the half moon, abi?"

"Who knows, the next one could be the one on which we would have fun."

"You are really funny."

"For you, true talk, I could be funnier..."

"You don't believe in our traditions?" Rekia challenged.

"Not at all. I think they make for good humour, great laughter and

all but that is it..."
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"What about the one of the river?"

"The river? I haven't heard about it. Tell me. Everyone that goes into it on a Friday night would turn into a dashing wealthy man?"

"No! The river has the power to kill."

"Oh please! Spare me!" Tombo had returned in jest. Till that point, he thought he had heard the most ridiculous of the myths. He had laughed out loud but Rekia was serious.

"True! It has the power to kill o!" He laughed louder this time.

"I will tell you what has powers to kill."

"What?"

"My own new superstition..."

"Yes?"

"You, Rekia. You have the power to kill every defence of mine."

She smiled. The flow continued and it wasn't long before he found her in his arms, and boy, was it a hug! He pushed for a kiss but the lady didn't think that one night was enough to grant such favours.

"But it is the night of the fullness!" he protested.

"I thought you didn't believe in any of the myths." "Well..."

"Maybe you would wait a few more moons to see if you are worthy..."

She blew him a kiss which he caught to his chest. It was time to go and far before he would have wanted, the night was out. He decided Rekia was worth several moons.

Oh yes, he could believe in the full moon forever if it came like that! But for all the other superstitions, myths and traditions, they are funny but obsolete, and need redefinition, Tombo thought. Well, all but the mysterious one of the river that Rekia had mentioned. It seemed she had told everyone else to sing it into his ears.

"The river has power to kill, directly or indirectly." One of the elders said for maybe the one millionth time. They kept throwing it at him because of his deep love for the river. He always found inspiration to write when he went there. Now, he didn't really mind at first but as with the things that are always pushed into one's face, he got tired of it one day. Tombo had had enough.

"Baba, I am sorry but no, it doesn't."

"It does…"

"Okay, I will try it one of these days." Tombo challenged.

"Aj! No! Please, don't. We have a saying here on advice taken and ignored: Don't do or how do you put it in English? Aha! Don't do—thou shall not—is medicine; ignoring don't do is death. So, don't do is the medicine, the committing is the death. Life is preserved in the opening of one's ears to wisdom..."

"Baba, you don't need to say anything more. It doesn't work."

He spoke to a few more people who assured him that the river had the power to kill. He waited for the night of the half. Noting the proper day of the half, he selected the clothes for his small adventure. Satisfied, he fell into a deep slumber in preparation for the night.

*

He laughed again at the half of the buttocks of the calabash. He looked at the stars and noted that there was none in the sky. Did that mean he was going to die tonight or tomorrow? He smiled. He stuck his earpiece into his ears, put his ink to his writing pad, and let the verse flow. After a while, he decided to take a quick dip in the river. The words of one of the other people he had spoken to came back to his ears:

"The river has a life of its own. It is a force that kills."

"How? Very funny."

He smiled again as he pulled down his boxer shorts. He removed the earpiece and the sound of the howling winds came to his ears: Pheeeeewwwww! Pheeeeeeeew! He shivered and looked around. There was no one about. He had second thoughts. Was that the sound of an owl in the distance? He closed his eyes and ran to the banks. He jumped into the river as it splashed. He expected a fish to bite at his middle as he landed but it was just the water that jumped out. He swam a while with fear playing bass drums in his heart. There was that little thing somewhere that kept tugging at his soul. Minutes of no danger soon reduced the drums to a tom-tom and rekindled a bit of his old self assurance. Soon, his stomach started singing. He knew the bushes were calling so he came out of the water. The bushes were a little distance and there were chances that someone would come by. He considered this and put his boxer shorts on. He answered the call. The words, 'force of the river' came to his mind again. Could it be that the river would influence a snake or some wild thing to come and bite him? He imagined a snake coming to bite his buttocks. There was a sound in the bush. He jumped up and pulled up his boxer shorts. He ran a few paces, only to discover that the 'scarer' was a frog. He hissed and bent down at his new location to continue his business.

* *

Like other days, he woke up to the call to prayer, kiran sallah, as they called it. Even in his semi-wakefulness, he wondered how a people of such religious zeal could be this traditional. At first, he had thought the story he would write of them would be a complete tale of religious extremism and all. He had had plans of writing a tragedy he was sure he would be inspired for, here. Now, with this, he knew the genre was going to be comedy! Who'd have thought that these people of the far North would be as superstitious as his Christian grandmother in the East? Mama would offer gifts to the gods and perform all the usual rituals. She would pull their ears reminding them of all the traditions. With Mama there was no waking on the wrong side of the bed. She believed that waking up on the left side of the bed brought bad luck. Because of this, she never rose at once. If she became conscious from sleep on the left side, she would wait a few minutes, force sleep then somehow make sure she rose from the right side. Tombo had never understood how she got to this. All her children—and grandchildren except Tombo, of course—had grown to follow her in this and a few of her other ways. However, Tombo always noted the side he woke up on, but kept it strictly to the bed. On those occasions when he had cause to sleep in the open like once when he did in the garage, his mind never paid attention to the side he woke up on. There were several other things Mama would do in reverence of tradition, her superstitions and the ancestors. After all these, she would be the first to go for morning mass each day and Sunday. She never missed tithing and was a big mother there.

A certain sense told him to go to the river. He ignored it.

He closed his eyes as he felt a hand shaking him. He was on the left side. He opened his eyes and noted that the sun had sneaked into the room in its full splendour. Had he slept that long? It was Lateef.

"Tombo, please can I have the twenty thousand naira I lent you?"

"Okay." He searched the pockets of his boxer shorts. Wasn't that where he had kept it the previous night? Okay, maybe the money was in his trouser. Yes, that had to be it. He stood up from the bed to go and get the money. The trend of events since the borrowing was amazing. He had collected that money when things were rough. To repay, he had been forced to save his entire allowance for the month in addition to begging a lot of people around. He knew he was going to have to go begging for the next month too. "Damn. I will never borrow money in my life again." A frown appeared on his face as he searched the fourth and final pocket of his trouser.

"What?!"

"Tombo, what is it?"

Tombo searched his pocketless t-shirt. His predicament became apparent to Lateef:

"Tombo, I need my money now! If I don't get it, I will deal with you. You stole that money from me and I told you to pay back. You begged me to give you some time which I have done. If you don't return it, I will bring the police for you. I hear that writers write better in prisons. I guess you will soon be finding that out first hand. Get me my money!"

Tombo knew who Lateef was and didn't want his trouble. It was like putting one's hand into fire. It would only take Lateef's reporting to their Local Government Inspector, the person in charge of all Corp members. That would be the end as Tombo would be stripped of his khaki, their uniform. It would be the worst ignominy. His mind jogged to all the places he had been to the previous day. He remembered putting the money in the pocket of his boxer shorts… The river came to his mind. He grabbed his t-shirt and ran all the way. He got to the river and walked around slowly. He searched around but found nothing. It was the community washing day and there were people around. Anyone might have taken it. He asked around but no one understood what he was talking about. He left them and rushed to the bushes where he had settled to do his business the previous night. He frantically searched for his faeces. The money had to be beside it. He was certain it had fallen when he had been scared by a frog. He saw his faeces. How he knew it, is hard to know. He jumped in excitement:

"Yes!!" and rushed towards it. He stepped on fresh faeces on the ground, but was oblivious of it. He searched around but found nothing. A small crowd was gathering; Tombo didn't seem to notice. He searched frantically around. No, that wasn't his excreta! Perhaps, it was the other one in the distance. "Yes!!" He rushed to it and scattered it searching for the money. Tombo's shirt went off as the sweat started to increase in his search. They all stared on, wondering what was wrong with him. How had this handsome man become mad all of a sudden? Not a few people were conversant with his stance on traditions and all. But still, it was hardly known that one would be punished for not believing. Then, someone came and mentioned that Tombo had been seen coming to the river on the previous night. Many shook their head in understanding and pity as the young man kept searching every fresh faeces around.

Lateef soon found his way to the scene with the police. By this time, Tombo was stark naked, searching for the right excreta. Lateef was shocked to immobility. There was Tombo, with scattered hair, and searching on. There was a look of glee and anxiety on his face too. The police, the crowd and all, looked on. It was another lesson to one and all.

The gods had won, once more…

* * *

He felt his heart stop. There was darkness. Complete darkness. Then like a fluid transition, a different darkness. A mosquito stole its pint. He didn't swipe at it. He heaved in relief. He was on the left side. He forced his consciousness away...

By dawn, he was a convert.