The Boy Who Painted

Priest of Jagbua

Photo from Pexels by Rowlandzy

In the little land of the Benin kingdom, there lived a young lad whom everyone considered fair. He had beautiful eyes and puffy but precise lips. He had strong yet average-sized legs for a boy his age. He wore brown from the moment he was born till he passed dix-sept before he matured before he came of age.

Born with parents but having no one, he fends for himself in a manner he saw fit. At times he danced, washed, and babysit, and at times he just painted for the love of it.

Judging by everyone’s house standard, you could tell who was who. A small village had him, and he, well, them. They lived peacefully till a time of turbulence came. From the place of the forbidden land came the Edo thieves.

I once told a chronicle to the Benin chief, Chief Iwinosa of Jagbua, but he wouldn’t listen.

Then the time came, and I was called; I, Benin’s most powerful priestess. Wasn’t I branded as a crazy witch, am I non-crazy now?
He looked at me with disgust and asked.

'Is it true?'

I looked at him dead straight. My wrists were sore from the ropes binding them. I held gazes that deserved my eyes to be plucked out. But nay, I didn’t abide by the rules.

'You mean the boy?'

'Where is he?'

'How’d I know where your son is?'

He looks at me like I said something forbidden, an abomination.

'The whole world should know. You did the act with your maid. I’m never wrong.'

I looked away.

He looks at me whilst he moves back and forth on the wooden chair on which he sits. "Did he think I’d be affected by the things he attached to his ancient tree?"

'I, priestess of Jagbua, will now take my leave.'

I turn to face where my back once faced. I chanted some words, then I flew and disappeared into the chilly, misty air. Chief Iwinosa showed no expressions. It was a norm, and all knew it.

I get to a place of mine, more for the gods. I step in as I take off my shoes, passing through the door that leads there, the house of our forefathers. I take off the white shawl hanging over my head. I slowly remove the shackles I was bestowed upon around my wrists. I stop when I hear a sound. I had forgotten I had visitors or one. I go towards the sound and then came to my sight a little boy who fits the description of the boy who painted. The Edo thieves live up to their name.

My jaw made movements. I had to hide my joy. What has come to me was far beyond the punishment that might be bestowed on me if anyone hears of this crime. That I have stolen a boy. That I have used him for my deed. You couldn’t possibly blame me. And now, it’s time that I free myself from this position. It’s time to get out there and see the world and not only the inside of the red mud hut where our forefathers once stood.

I take strides as long as a tape rule. I kneel so I could get a better view of the boy’s face. I give a forceful smile making my eyes bulge and making me seem dumb and confused. But I knew what I wanted. The boy shall here be sworn into thee.

I place my hand on his head to make him stare at me. I tell him what is needed of him. He screams. I slap. He shouts. I beat. And that was the end of the little one who painted. He shouldn’t have repainted this door. He shouldn’t have touched it. What can I say except that he was destined to be the next Benin priest? I kneel in accordance as he took his rise. No memory remained in him. What shall come out when Iwinosa finds this? Well, I shall have run from here, won’t I? And I smile, cos smiling is the best charity.