Abeke's River
Written by Oluwasemilore Adeyinka
Abeke had to find a way to appease Osun and she had to do it fast. The festival was 3
months away and was in jeopardy of being delayed. She was happy to be this year’s Arugba as it
was a great honour to lead the traditions held close by her community for so many years. But
she was not happy with the dreams she was having. Every night, she was plagued with visions of
Osun rejecting the sacrifice. She saw darkness that never changed to light, babies being born
without breath in their lungs and people dropping dead in the middle of the day.
It was no longer news that something was looming over the community. Once upon a
time, the river was as blue as the sky and moved with a grace that was emblematic of Osun’s
spirit. But now it blended in with the land around it and produced an acrid smell like that of an
animal’s carcass. Plants began dying at the riverbank and the water level kept getting lower and
lower.
There were many rumours flying around about why the river was dying. Some people
said that Osun had abandoned the community, while others blamed it on mysterious spirits just
outside of the town. They described these spirits as tall men who moved through the fields at
dusk, whispering secrets only the moon understood. They hacked away at the ground and
foreign plants rose up stretching towards the sky. No one knew what was going on but there
was an ominous sense of danger in the air. In a short time, the community went from peaceful
to apprehensive to full of unrest. Doubters in the community were questioning the relevancy of
continuing the traditions. What was the point of making sacrifices to Osun if she couldn’t
protect them? The river was dying, and Osun had no desire to fix it.
Abeke knew that this was not true, she knew that Osun would never leave them and
that something else was amiss. She confided in the priestess about her visions and the priestess
assured her that everything was fine. She told Abeke that this was a test from Osun to assess
the people’s devotion to her. But this did not put Abeke’s heart at rest. The priestess had been
serving Osun since even before Abeke’s mother was born. She was a pillar of the community,
and many young girls looked up to her as a protector. But did that make her immune to fear?
Were her convictions so strong that she had no doubts or was she putting on a brave face for
the sake of the community?
Abeke was plagued with worries for many days and many nights until when she had
another vision. She saw tall trees, taller than she had ever seen before. These trees had long
and large roots that spread far and wide and seemed to anchor them to the ground. They
reminded her of trees she had learned about as a child. Mangroves, she thought to herself. As
she moved closer, she saw these roots absorb muddy contaminated water on one side and
release it clear as day on the other. She was amazed at this feat and wandered how it worked.
Suddenly, she was transported underwater and came face to face with a root. The water tasted
sharp and salty in her mouth but surprisingly she had no trouble breathing. As she swam
around, she noticed that each root had tiny threads that seemed to live within them. She
wondered how the roots and tiny trees could live together as one. These threads seemed to be
a living being on their own. She saw as they absorbed mysterious particles from the water. On
each uptake, it looked as if the tree grew healthier and stronger and the water purer. She was
amazed. This could save the river.
Early the next morning, she went scouting for materials. She needed something that
could work like the roots she saw. Something that would filter the water and absorb particles
just like she had seen in the vision. As she walked past some jute leaves, she had her first aha
moment. She had seen women weaving jute for fabrics. She could do the same for the roots. As
she wandered deeper into the forest, she saw plants that resembled the tiny threads. With all
her materials in hand, she headed home and spent the next week building her root system.
Once she was done, Abeke proudly carried her invention to the river. Passersby gawked
and wondered what she was doing but she paid them no mind. She was going to heal the river.
She secured the root networks in shallow areas and along the riverbanks where they could
catch the most impurities. She hoped the tiny threads she had attached would work as she had
imagined. For seven days, Abeke resisted the urge to see if the river was improving. She knew it
would take time and didn’t want to get her hopes up in case it failed. On the eighth day, she
went to see and was brough to tears. Her plan had worked! The river was flowing clear as day
and was higher than it had been all year. Osun had not forsaken them, and the festival could go
on as planned!
It was now three days to the festival; spirits were high, and everything was right once
again. Abeke was to begin the traditional rites at midday, but she couldn’t wait. She was just too
excited. As the sun rose, she made her way down to the river. Suddenly, she was overcome with
the familiar acrid smell of the river as she neared, it was evident that the river was dying again.
Overwhelmed with emotions, tears streamed down her face, and she didn’t know what to do,
she felt helpless. Before she knew what she was doing, she felt her feet tapping the ground in
quick successions, the same pace as her heart, as she ran towards the priestess’ shrine. She
needed to externalize her frustrations. She barged in ready to scream her frustrations when her
eyes met a scene that shocked her to her core. It was the priestess bent over the roots that she
had so painstakingly constructed to clear the river: she was destroying them, breaking them
apart twig by twig.
Abeke’s face revealed what her mouth could not voice. All along, it was the priestess
who was behind the calamity that had befallen the river. The priestess had stood up and was
now walking towards her, slow strides with a drawn out “My daughter” and her arms stretched
out in invitation. She was petrified and wanted to run, but her feet were suddenly
uncooperative. She was now sure she had met her end. The priestess was going to kill her. She
could already feel it, her arms and legs being tugged violently in different directions, the strange
voices filling her head. She would accept it; all she had to do was close her eyes and let go. She
closed her eyes as the priestess got nearer and that was when she felt a liquid splashed
carelessly across her face. She opened her eyes instinctively and when the liquid blurriness
cleared, she noticed two weirdly familiar faces staring at her with angry expressions. Dr. Ajao
and his ruthless nurse Wura. They were wearing white as were the walls around her, walls that
she had called home for the past two months. She immediately understood the expressions on
their faces. She had been screaming for the fourth night in a row and had woken up the other
patients. She needed to take her medication, and she desperately needed to get better if she
was ever going to leave the mental institute and return to her life before the accident.
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