The Intriguing Adventures of Curious Tola

PROLOGUE

Tola was the kind of person to scribble things about. Whatever the tool in her hands was, she'd scribble from anything to everything down. Even when her hands were bare or she was walking, she'd scribble in the air her rummaging thoughts but not because she wanted to remember or because she forgot easily, no - it was just who she was.

Absentmindedly, Tola wrote her way through the air as she stared down at the white cocoon of wool perfectly wrapped to retain warmth. It reminded her of the brown iro her mother used to wrap hot amala when her father was running late from work.

"It is to keep the amala hot till your father returns," she was told.

Tola thought back to that day, measuring up the similarities and the differences with the latter outweighing the former. Her mother and her had gathered around the hot stove while she watched and mimicked her mother's heavy breathing as the middle aged woman labored at molding sticky yam flour in hot water with a flat round-mouthed stick - omorogun.

After which the woman would carefully scrape the edges of the pot into the boiling mass and go back to stirring the hot mess. Tola had been fascinated by the rhythmic pants and profuse sweating.

It was the same amazement, laced with the apprehension, she felt as two beady eyes - similar to hers - stared back at her from her mother's lap. Tola moved forward, pressing her abdomen to her mother's knee and her hand on her mother's laps.

Tola had seen many before - babies - but hardly ever up close. Whenever she ventured too close to one, an adult always came barreling out of thin air and telling her off. Right in front of her laid the very first opportunity to touch one and not get reprimanded.

Just like watching the crickets crawl back into the crevices of the degrading fence in the backyard, quietly, before reaching out to smash one with the sole of her foot. Calmly, she watched the beady brown orbs watch her all the while keeping her hands at bay; scribbling her thoughts.

Carefully, Tola lifted her finger, eager to discover more about the peaceful creature in her mother's hands. She took in the tiny eyes, the equally small nose and the petite mouth. It was almost foreign to her. Usually she was the little one living amongst giants.

As she stared at the tiny creature, she wondered if truly it was what made the distasteful wails of an ipin that had woken her from an afternoon nap. It had sounded worse than the jiggling bells of the ile-aladura two houses away, all for it to come to a screeching halt but by then, it had left the drums of the ears banging to macarena. And just when you start to reclaim your hearing, it started back on cue.

Ipin baby, Tola hissed.

She took a long look at the cocoon in doubt. Something so small could not possibly make such a horrendous sound. Tola decided to test her theory. For the sake of Gbemi, her friend, she took it upon herself to discover it.

So she lifted her finger, and then stopped momentarily to stare at her mother for approval before diving in for the bait. She poked the face and felt her finger sink, upon contact, into the softness of skin but yet she got no response from the creature.

With her mother in mind, Tola carefully placed her index finger above the space between the baby's eyes and marveled as it squirmed in the cocoon of warmth. Highly intrigued and encouraged, she then moved the finger back and forth between its eyes and to her disappointment, she got no reaction.

Sullenly, she turned her pouting lips to her mother in question.

"She's only three days old, Tola. She cannot see you," her mother said.

Tola looked back to the baby with an idea in mind. It was the perfect plan. No one was blessed by the goddess of smacking - abara - without yelling out in pain. All Tola needed was the perfect plan to exhibit the wrath of the goddess of slaps without being blessed by one through her mother.

Surreptitiously, Tola stepped back. She pushed her right hand to the foot of the cocoon. Cleverly, she measured her actions while watching her mother from the corner of her eye. She took another step backwards making sure she could be out of reach when she the time came.

As a clock ticked in her head, Tola lifted her hands and smacked, hard, at the foot of the cocoon before taking five large steps backwards. She waited half a second and on cue, the familiar wails of the Ipin began.

In the next half of the second, Tola bolted out of the room with the trail of curses from her mother and the wails of the Ipin baby in her wake. Yet, all she felt was victory.

Writing, after a long time feels great! So, what do you think?

That's a picture of the stick used to make the amala. It is a useful spanking equipment and trust me, it hurts like a bitch!

Glossary

Iro - a piece of clothing material

Amala - a Nigerian traditional meal made from boiling yam/plantain flour into a pudding-like stuff.

Ile-adura - house of prayer

Ipin baby - an animated-like baby linked to old witchcraft folktales of the Yorubas (a Nigerian tribe)