Bride Prize

Four: A time to socialize

It is a bright Sunday afternoon. 

This day was universally agreed to be a resting day for the generality of the farmers. In a community where everyone engaged in farming as a means of livelihood, any individual indulging in anything else besides, was considered a mere lazy bone and never to be taken seriously.

For this reason, active Christianity, or any other form of religious worship for that matter, apart from traditional beliefs and loads of superstition, had no place among the villagers. The nearest church was over sixty kilometers to the nearest town.

Trekking sixty kilometers just attend church service was out the question. Therefore it was regarded as merely a resting day from the week’s backbreaking farming activities, though there were still a few who didn’t bother observing the resting day and went to their farm all the same.

Majority found pleasure at the two or three spots where the local alcoholic drink was brewed, where they converged to drink away their sorrows and generally unwind.

At a secluded corner of one of the small hamlets, burning huge tree trunks made a fierce furnace under extremely large cooking clay pots that were steaming and foaming with the locally brewing beer, made from millet. This was only one among the many breweries in the surrounding villages.

Mbayongu, thirty two, fat, dark complexioned, stood at a safe distance from the hot fire, stirring gently with a long palm fond. This particular brew would only be ready for consumption the next day, or the day after, depending on the strength of the alcoholic level desired.

The ready to serve beer, prepared the previous day, or two days earlier, was already in another pot which she kept inside the hut. Soon, when some of the men had returned from the farm, or were done with a few house chores, would begin to drop by for a pint or two.

 It wasn’t long before four young men in their early and mid-twenties strolled into the thatched shade that was erected on tree trunk pillars, and sat on the big logs of wood that served as seats for customers.

 One the men was Bem, short, dark and muscular. At twenty-three he looked thirty-three, had all the looks of a bully and clearly the leader of the pack. Crouching, to avoid the low hanging thatched roof of the lean to, Bem lead the way inside the shed and sat on one of the buttsmoothened logs. The other three followed suit.

“Mbayongu!” Bem called out to the fat woman,

“come and give us something to drink.”

No response came from Mbayongu. Under the low hanging thatched roof, the young men watched the fat woman go about her business of stirring her brew in the large pot with complete disregard to their presence. It was the woman’s way of disapproving their welcome.

“This woman,” Kumeh, one of the young men, observed in a low, perplexed yet admiring voice, “What does she feed on that each time I see her she is blowing up like this?”

“She is probably eating the world,” Bem explained off-handedly. He was more interested in his drink than how fat the woman looked each time. “This woman, did you hear what I said at all?” He asked with a raised voice. 

Mbayongu was in the process of pouring water into another pot close by and whirled around, glaring at Bem.  “You boys won’t leave me alone? There is no drink for you today!” she shouted back at them.

 “Did you mean you won’t sell us drink?” Tsav asked dubiously.

 “I mean drink is not yet ready,” Mbayongu threw back at Tsav and went on with her chores.

 Bem is used to handling this sort of situation, especially difficult fat women selling beer. Silently, he got up from where he sat and began to walk toward the hut.

 “You, Bem, don’t go in there!” Mbayongu warned.  Ignoring the fat woman, Bem walked right into the hut and, moments later, emerged with a large calabash full of the local brew. He sat down and took a mouthful.

Grinning, he passed round the calabash to his friends.

Mbayongu looked offended, but helpless.

 “Bem, you see how you are always looking for my trouble?”

 “I am not always looking for your trouble. I am only buying beer with my money. We know where you kept the beer,” Bem continued, “If you are too lazy to serve us, we will help ourselves.”

Kumeh, who was waiting his turn to sip from the calabash shifted impatiently. “Mbayongu, do you want all of us to start serving ourselves?”

Murmuring inaudibly, the plump woman walked into the hut and came out with a small bucketful of the local drink. These young men were pure trouble and she didn’t wish to push them too far.

 “Give me my money,” she said when she had placed the small bucket in front of them.

Bem looked up at her, grinning. “We haven’t even drunk beer yet.” He put his hand in his pocket and showed her a few notes. “See? I have enough money to pay for your cheap drink.” 

“Mbayoungu, you are really blowing up these days,” Kumeh said, his eyes running hungrily over her. “What are you eating?”

“Leave me alone,” Mbayongu said sharply and stomped out to continue with her brewing, murmuring under her breath.

 Just then, Venda strolled into the compound and stooped into the shed. “Bem, so this is where you are that I have been looking for you all over the place?”  Bem looked surprised.

“Where did you look? I am not that hard to find.”

Venda took his seat next to Bem, his eyes going over the rest of the bunch. “Kumeh, Tsav…I can see you guys are taking good care of yourselves.”

“Mbayongu,” Bem called out again, “I beg of you, please bring one more calabash for this young, handsome gentleman.”

They all laughed at such elaborate introduction.

Mbayongu responded quickly this time, bringing a small calabash which she handed to Venda. As she did so, their eyes met and a secret sign exchanged between them. 

They all noticed the secret exchange but it was Kumeh who couldn’t remain silent. He eyed Venda after the woman had left the shed. “Man, don’t tell me that you are into this fat woman too.”

Venda only grinned but said nothing. 

“I’ve heard a lot about your way with women, you know,” Kumeh went on with a leer. “Perhaps you could arrange something for me with this one.” 

When he had filled his calabash and drank some, Venda said, “Maybe another one, but this particular heavy is too much for you to handle.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Kumeh asked. “I can handle all shapes and sizes.” 

They laughed again. Conversation drifted to general things and the young men drank on into the night. Other men dropped in, drank a few calabashes and drifted away. It was some time well into the night that they got up to leave, having paid their bills, but not without a long argument with Mbayongu.