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Read books online » Fiction » IBO by Brian R. Lundin (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📖

Book online «IBO by Brian R. Lundin (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📖». Author Brian R. Lundin



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days as they competed with the other predators.
Many times the people became scavenger like the hyenas and the vultures that after the predator had ate his full would salvage the leftovers, be it the meat or the bones that contained the rich marrow. When the situation got really desperate the clan would resort to a very dangerous tactic to survive; if they came upon a predator feeding on a fresh kill, the entire clan; men, women and children would surge forward toward the beast shouting loudly, throwing rocks and brandishing clubs hoping to drive the beast from its prey. It was a perilously maneuver, especially if the animal was a lion who could easily kill many of the people, but if the people were lucky and brave the confusion of being charged by so many people would bewilder the animal and he would run off leaving his kill for the people.
The people welcomed the meat but more important was the water that the beast stored in his stomach. The head woman would search the carcass for the entrails, which she would remove with the skill of a surgeon, and carefully squeeze the precious water out that the animal used to digest the grasses; this water was stored for long travels. After a day or two feasting, celebrating and honoring the dead animal the people would resume their journey under the constant observation of the vultures swarming overhead, watching the tiny clan impassively, and waiting. Any member of the clan who fell behind due to illness, injury, or just old age would help the vultures and the other beast in their quest for survival that was the law of the clan and it was understood and accepted.
The clan had adapted unique characteristics to assist them survive in this hostile environment, the women had enormous buttocks that was used to carry their babies, leaving their hands free, their babies were securely strapped to their buttocks and modern day scholars who have studied the people called this abnormality “Suet Buttocks.”
The people had a language that consisted of mainly distinctive sounds or clicks plus the normal complement of vowels and consonants. Another unique feature of the people were that the male penis was in a constant state of erection, why this was so nobody knows, but again the scholars rushed to find out what caused this miraculous condition but to no avail. One French scientist told his colleagues that the males of the people were always at the ready, like a well-trained unit of soldiers.
The people adapted to their environment, the land was not an endless sweep of white sand like the deserts further north, and it was rather a rolling brutal mix of isolated rock sentinels. Thorn bushes clung to the red sun-bleached surface. The little animals scurrying about at night and the larger animals and their prey moved in a ceaseless search for water and food. The people survived these hardships and prospered. When they came to this land, they stopped their wandering and made this their home, and this is where we have been every since.”
“Tell Eli about the Iwa,” Yolanda said.
After taking another sip of his tea, the storyteller continued.
“When I was about nine years old I slipped out of bed and went to a voodoo ceremony that was being held deep in a clearing. In the center of the clearing surrounded by conical straw huts that made up our village, I watched a young man place a large wooden drum under a “poto mitan,” a large tree. Smaller drums were heard in the distant parts of the clearing. Sounds from wooden flutes that came from the outskirts of the village joined the pulsating rhythm of the drums. Their sounds were muted at first and I strained to hear, but as the men, beating the smaller drums came neared to the main drum the sounds intensified. It was a warm night and the moon and the stars was the only illumination. As I hid behind a large Mango tree, I saw the people to gather around a roaring fire that seemed to be coming out of the ground because I did not see any trees or wood feeding the fire.
Strong looking bare-chested muscular men was beating drums and all the women who were dressed in white dresses were dancing with single-mindedness and an erotic abandonment. A young man with an engaging face and well shaped muscular hands was leaning over the large drum and began beating it furiously, his hands were a blur as he rounded his shoulders and then straightened them, and rolled out a thunderous beat. The other drummers followed his lead and the rhythms they produced developed into a glory of sounds.
The drum beating was so intense that I thought the drum skins would break. The moon rose high enough for the light to filter through the heavy foliage and it gleamed on the sweating black bodies of the dancers and drummers whose bodies were drenched in sweat. The women seemed to be dancing if in a trance, swaying with the music like a field of tall grass before a mighty wind. One of the women known as the “La Place,” was like the master of ceremonies and she danced her way in front of the rest; she was shapely and wore only a large handkerchief that was tied around her waist. Her exposed firm large brown breast flopped up and down as she jumped and turned in the air.
She worked her way towards the young drummer and began to gyrate her hips in front of him as she slowly loosen the handkerchief which fell to the ground, exposing her naked body. She fell on her knees and continued to move her body sexually to the beat of the drummer, who was beating his drum faster. The other women begin to undress. When they were all naked, naked men joined them in the dance. I was fascinated as I watched about twenty naked young girls cut the head off chickens and waived their shaking bodies in the air, their blood draining into the fire as they chanted something I could not understand. As the beat of the drums and music got louder and the dancing more frenzied a woman more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen, including my own mother, seemingly came out of the fire. She stared at me with piercing black eyes, haloed by long lashes and a bright luminosity. I sensed she had a keen intelligence and was something mysterious, even frightening. Her eyebrows were arched and well defined, but not thick. Her arms and legs were strong and well toned. When she moved into the light of the fire, I saw that she was young, maybe in her early twenties; she was light complexioned with flawless tan skin, of average height and displayed a slender figure. Her jet-black hair ran down her back and she was naked. She moved out the fire like an animal. Standing behind her was a tall, very dark and very handsome young black man who was gently holding a small girl about two years of age in his arms who had a deformed left leg. As the drums began to beat faster and the dancers danced wilder, the rest of the people started singing, swaying and repeating the word, Iwa. I did not know what that word meant, but they shouted repeatedly, “Iwa,” “Iwa.”
An old woman began rubbing the deformed leg of the child and the young man laid her on a multi-colored blanket as the dancing and beats of the drums became louder. As was the custom of my people sacrifice of an imperfect to the God of Life would assure protection for the perfect. But the leader of this small clan, the child’s father had gone against his tribal code and sacrificed his favorite wife to keep his infant daughter and thus the God of Life had sent the beautiful woman to show his sacrifice was accepted. The young beautiful woman started to slowly walk towards the child and covered her whole body with her long black hair. After a moment, the woman moved away from the child and lifted her arms, the child who seemed to be in a trance suddenly got up from the blanket and started to dance. The woman looked directly at me with her black eyes that seemed to lock on mine. Her gaze was of such intensity that it fixed me, I couldn’t move. I was scared and wanted to run away, but I couldn’t move. I felt my heart beating faster and my mouth became dry, I tried to scream in terror, but no sounds came out.
Suddenly, this beautiful woman transformed into an elegant, large, Black Panther and started running straight towards me snarling like a wild beast. I passed out. When I awakened I was in my bed, surrounded by my mother, father and the Bacor or head medicine man, but I remember before passing out again whimpering, “Iwa. The Bacor said that I had had a bad dream, but it was no dream.”
“That was fascinating” Eli said to Jumo, “Absolutely fascinating, thank you.”
“Come again when you have more time and I will tell you more,” Jumo said.

Eli and Yolanda returned to the estate and one evening while they were sitting on the porch Yolanda asked Eli about his family. Eli told her about his mother’s suicide and his little brother’s death. Tears started to swell in Yolanda eyes and she took his hand, held it against her breast, and gently kissed his fingers.
Eli looked into Yolanda deep dark eyes and said to her, “I cannot tell you how much I love you, Yolanda and want to be with you, I want you to be my wife.”
“I love you too Eli and I would be proud to be your wife” she said as she kissed him gently on his cheek.
One evening while walking, Eli told her he would be leaving within the week and said, “I was wondering Yolanda if you would like to come with me to the states for a visit, I have a nice house where you can have your own room and I can return your hospitality.”
“That’s sounds nice Eli, I have always wanted to see your country but I would have to talk it over with Diki.”
“I understand that, ok, let me know.”
Later that evening Yolanda told Eli that she had talked with Diki and he had encouraged her to go, and had told her,
“My happiness is his happiness, and he didn’t think I could have made a better choice than you.”
“Well, will you come with me?”
“Yes, Eli, I will.”
“How did you meet Diki?” Eli asked Yolanda.
“Really, I met him through my father when I was a little girl. His father and my father came from the same tribe and they grew up in what we call the “Bad Times.” The Hausa tribe was killing and mutilating my people. They would cut out tongues, cut off ears and rape the young women, little girls and boys. Now the world calls it “ethnic cleansing,” but it was sheer terror and murder. The Hausa claimed that the people were cooperating with the West, the Americans and the Europeans, and selling out our natural resources, the gold and the oil.
My father and Diki father went to live with relatives in Lagos and that is where they met, when
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