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Very unromantic me

I have been accused severally over the years of being hopelessly unromantic, mostly by people who are not opportune to know me on a personal level, but I tend to think them wrong especially since I know myself better than they do.

Being a very private person, who tends to be talkative around people he knows, but very shy around strangers, I won’t say it’s their fault because people tend to get impressions of me from what they hear me say, which might be very little, much or nothing at all – depends on who I am talking to.

I am a romantic, very romantic – even if I say so. I just do not ascribe to those seemingly universal notions of romance; flowers, candle light dinners, teary movies, kneeling before her to propose and what not. No, I am not suggesting there is anything wrong with the overtly dramatic impulses that movies have made us believe romantic nature is. Na, I just feel that those of us that ascribe to the African notions of romance (which is not old fashioned, mind you, especially if you agree that the flower culture is much more than five centuries old) that best suites our environment and temperament.

I am an African male, very much attuned to his traditions, and for this I give no apologies

I love eating at home and I love my woman’s cooking. I love what she does with bitterleaf and cocoyam and I rather sit opposite her, eating her food, than in a cold (they all are) eatery munching expensive pastries and over-cooked chicken, prepared by who knows who (or what).

Call me old-school if you like, but I didn’t buy a ring when I proposed, neither did I get to go on my knees to do it. It just happened; I didn’t even plan to do it that day, though it had been on my mind for months. I just finished eating her special egusi and semovita and though ‘what the heck’ this babe has been too good to me and I suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of not being with her forever.

What I am saying in a nutshell is this, if anyone thinks I am not romantic because my nature prefers me spending ‘secluded’ time with my woman and not exaggerating my affection just for people to see this love I know I feel deeply, then that person is obviously blind to what romance is.

True, I do not begrudge anyone their candle light dinners, flowers and cards, but I rather cradle her as she munches her favourite suya, help her peel the yam and then pound the heck of it – the yam I mean – and play catch-me-if you-can with her spoon as I surreptitiously steal bits of meat from her frying pan. I even feel more at home picking the beans together with her than strolling through the shopping mall, window shopping what I can’t afford. I even get the bonus of stealing kisses whenever I want without the stares of strangers boring into my back.

As for that aforementioned candle light dinner, there is nothing romantic about it. No thanks to NEPA, it is as normal as sunrise, or how do you eat dinner when the power fails?

raid on the two Market

Raid on Two Market

Adl el-Hasm was said to be more adventurous than his contemporaries, which was why he chose to make his own path, ignoring the usual bargaining in the slave market of Alor, He chose instead to do his own raiding in the unclaimed interiors where he heard slaves waited to be herded into pens.

Adl el-Hasm, also, a practical man, brought along a formidable army of ex-slaves who are fiercely royal to him, having been made to believe that he was instrumental to their freedom, a belief that was not all that unfounded since he bought them out from back bending toil amongst the sand dunes, and having the choice to keep them as bond men he had instead set them free with the option of either staying to work with him for wage or to take their fate into their own hands – an option many could not bear to think of in a strange land with strange customs. Most decided to stay with him – even after he told them his plan for their homelands in the forest belt.

Some of the ex-slaves Adl el-Hasm hired spoke dialects mutually intelligible to those of the deeper forest he intended to raid and retained the native immunity to disease to a large extent, and as such greatly reduced the problem of communication and disease to a minimum. Adl el-Hasm, having endeavoured to learn the native lingua en-route, also had the advantage of doing his own talking without resorting to an interpreter, albeit in a highly accented version of swamp river speak, which, fortunately, was mutually intelligible to hinterland dialects.


This band of royal ex-slaves, it was, that raided the Land of the Seven Hills on that bright morning, a market day, when the air held scant scent of the trouble that was to come. Had it occurred on a different day, perhaps, the outcome would have been different for the people of the Seven Hills do not go to war on the Two Market day.

Tul, a large man with the charcoal black compression of the Swamp dwellers lead Adl el-Hasm’s raiding team. Adl el-Hasm trusted him on account of his sound judgments and his extensive combat experience from his days as a Swamp River warrior.

He was sold to the Alor slavers by his uncle who wanted to lay claim on his inheritance – a wrong he swore to right sooner than later – and the Alor sold him to the Blue skinned Slavers who somehow he somehow managed to find favour with. They set him free after just four years of bondage, something that is as rare as the battle between the sun and the moon since the Blue slavers are known to be exceptionally brutal.

Adl el-Hasm had found him loitering in Hamdan city port awaiting a slave caravan headed for the forest lands; he had befriended him and offered him a part in his enterprise. An offer Tul grabbed with both hands.


Now Tul stood hidden behind leafy bushes, flexing his massive fingers on the hilt of a wicked looking sword hanging from a tiger skin belt on his waist, watching the market intensely through the few cracks in the foliage.

He and his men had been in position since the second cockcrow, knowing from experience that it was usually women and teenage boys that would be in the market that early, the men would still be at home putting off till the last minute the necessity of selling their yams.

He could see from his vintage point that only a small number of the youths, gathered around the market square talking loudly – obviously bragging about one wrestling conquest or the other – were old enough to strap the customary long cutlass on dainty waists. He mentally marked the position of these armed ones while signaling to his men hidden behind him to commence the attack.

The raiders attacked as a body, having silently encircled the market. It was their bloodcurdling battle cry that attracted the attention of the young men by the square, who, momentary confused, rushed to see what was afoot, believing it to be a plank, for war are not fought in the market place and no clan had sent a war monger to the Seven Hills of late.

They came face to face with the raiders and knew instinctively that this was for real.

For a tense moment they stood rock still, horrified, as the first line of raiders crossed the market boundary heading straight for the women and young maidens, while a second line whooped behind them. Then a battle cry from behind told them that they are effectively hemmed in.

It was at this point that Tul, who was then walking leisurely towards the youths believing them subdued, learnt the new meaning of respect. Not soon had he opened his mouth to tell his boys not to harm the youths but to disarm them, than loud feminine ululations broke out from the other side of the market where the women were. All hell broke loose, the boys, who were until then passively awaiting their fate, seemed to suddenly animate as they too took up the cry and before Tul could make head of this sudden development, they attacked, and fiercely too.

One, who appeared to be the eldest, rushed an oncoming raider and deftly severed his head from his body before he could raise the battle axe he carried.

The battle was joined, and Tul discovered too late that the previously unarmed youths were not as helpless as he had thought; they easily picked up woods, pestles, a discarded hoes and even the base of an incomplete gong and wielded them with a dexterity that perplexed him.



From atop a nearby hill, Adl el-Hasm marvelled at the scene unfolding before him, it appeared as if the youths, who were outnumbered ten to two, had the upper hand. Then he noticed a remarkable thing, they were not fighting to get away from the raiders but steadily pushing back towards the market square where a knot of people were already assembled, apparently encircling a women cradling a young boy.

He watched without emotion; as two of his men were cut down under the savage cutlass of the youthful warriors, while wondering how they acquired their skill in hand to hand combat.

It would have been instructive if he had paid a little more attention to the tales about the Hill Tribes, then he would have known their fame as skilled warriors and how hand to hand combat was thought to children as young as two years who grew up acquiring the skill as deftly as they do dance routines.

Though most of his crew had guns he had made them leave them behind, he didn't want to take the risk of a trigger happy hombre taking pot shots at the would be slaves just for the heck of it; he thought it would be a clean sweep, in and out before their presence was felt. Yes, he was told about their ancient bravery, especially in front of their women folk, but he never bargained for this.



Below, it was becoming, more apparent that the raiders were more confused than the villagers who were all heading towards the market square. Some, especially the young warriors, fought furiously through the raiders to get there. Once there, they turned to stand at the periphery of the cluster and appeared to wait.

"But for what?" Tul wanted very much to know.

He did not mind the cluster for it will make his job a whole lot easier. Instead of chasing after wild eyed women and kids; he will get to pick out the ones he wanted from an already gathered circle. He called out to his men to stop forcing the remaining women to a different direction. Those ones were also fighting as hard as the youths to get to the circle, with sharp fingers nails and well placed kicks that dropped many of the men.

He was not surprised when the fight stopped as soon as it had started.

The natives gathered together in a tight circle, silently watching.

The sudden silence bothered him. No one, not even the children made any kind of noise or movement, none appeared scared, the only noise that broke the silence briefly was made by his men as they barked orders to each other.


Fali, a young raider originally from the nomadic sheep herder tribe of the Fall, was disturbed by the silence of the tribesmen too. Earlier he had seen a fierce youth, not past his fourteenth season, chase two raiders down the market road with a large pestle, howling like a mad man, only to break one's leg before smashing the other's nose in. these were men he had crossed the desert and swamp forest with, men who fought the warlike river people by his side, men he feared and respected as superior soldiers running from an adolescent youth. Turning to Tul he said, "Efendi, I do not like this at all" his face looked like that of one who suckled sour grape when he had expected orange.

Tul, on another occasion, would have tried to douse Fali’s fears or even say something funny to ease the general tension, but this was not one of those days. Anyway, any statement he would have made was cut off by a loud roar that seemed to emanate from the bowel of the earth itself.

The raiders turned around as a man, head reverting in all directions trying to pin point the direction the horrifying sound came from, had they not, they would have noticed that the villagers did not pay any special attention to it, the only significant thing that happened within the circle, was the child that slide down from his mother’s arm and walked with a big smile to stand at the very front of the circle.


From his vintage point on the hill, Adl el-Hasm was the first to see the lions, two fierce adults, male and female, bigger than he had imagined any lion could be.

They charged in from opposite directions, one heading straight for the knot of raiders while the other went straight towards the hurdled hill men, only to halt in front of the young child and nuzzled his outstretched palms – Adl el-Hasm did not see that for his attention was focused on the male, that rushed the band of raiders and tore out the throat of the nearest one with a swift sidelong jerk of his massive head.

Pandemonium reigned supreme; the hunters became the hunted as survival became a race for the swiftest and the luckiest. Adl el-Hasm was transfixed as he stared open mouthed as his men were slaughtered.

He still had the presence of mind though, to note that the female lion did not attack the raiders directly but only seem to act as a guard, attacking only those who had the bad luck of running towards the market square and the now hurdled villagers. Together, the lions brought swift death to the market square.

On his part, Tul had seen lions before and has even hunted them but he has never seen or heard of specie this big or fierce. He still had the presence of mind to call out to his fleeing men, even as he too tried to keep out of the rampaging lion's way. He tried to gather the few of them who were close by and then slowly guided them away from the market, knowing that lions will never attack a closely packed group – which appeared to be the Hill people’s defense – for lions, once they taste blood, rarely know foe from friend.

His scheme worked as he had hoped it would for the lion left their immediate vicinity to chase down the stragglers and wounded who couldn't make it to the circle or were too scared to even try.

The lions circled them, constantly charging but always stopping a few paces away. Tul chanced a look back and counted about thirty dead and dying of his elite raiding band. Surely, he thought, this has being the worst campaign he has had the privilege of been in. not even the bloody revolt of the river dwellers had been this costly.

They were harried by the lions till they reached the foot of the hill where Adl el-Hasm waited with the reserves that never came to their rescue. Not that Tul begrudged them, for who could withstand those lions from Fradry – the land of shadows beyond the sea.



Adl el-Hasm watched his weary men climb up the short hill, each running as swift as tired legs could carry, looking back constantly to see if the lions are still in pursuit. The lions had returned to the cluster of hill men, to sprawl in the dusty earth in front of the mysterious boy; but not before tearing into the throats of the wounded raisers with dagger like canines.

Adl el-Hasm was more intrigued than afraid, though he had heard about the Hill Men and their lions; he did not believe that any unknown force was in play, he just believed that the hill men have found a way to tame the lions while keeping their wild fierceness.

He looked once more beyond his retreating men to the market square and noticed the young child had his hands outstretched and the lions, tail swishing, stepped forward to nuzzle them.

Tul noticed where he was looking and turned towards him.

‘Yes Efendi, that boy is not ordinary; it was to him that the hill people ran when we attacked.’ He said, battling to catch his breath.

‘I think not Tul, It might just be that the lions belong to the boy.’ He said over his shoulder as he moved towards the path that will take them back to his encampment in low lands, two days march away.

Tul did not follow immediately; he stood still for awhile watching the boy play with the lions. He saw now that the hill people had began to move about, though not far away from their cluster. Yes, he thought, that child is special.

Unromantic Fred

Before I start this, I must let you know that I am an African male, very much attuned to his traditions, and for this I have no apologies. My assertion today is that no matter what people say, I am romantic.

I have been accused severally over the years of being hopelessly unromantic. Mostly by people who are not opportune to know me at that level. I won’t say it is their fault because I am a very private person, who though talkative around people he knows, is very shy around strangers. So people tend to get their impressions of me from what they hear me say, which might be very little, much or nothing at all, depending on who I am talking to.

Like I have said before I am a romantic, I just do not ascribe to those seemingly universal notions of romance; flowers, candle light dinners, teary movies, kneeling before her to propose and what not. No, I am not suggesting there is anything wrong with the overtly dramatic impulses that movies have made us believe is romantic nature. Na, I just feel that those of us that ascribe to the African notions of romance (which is not old, mind you, especially if you agree that the flower culture is much more than five centuries old) that best suites our environment and temperament.

I love eating at home and I love my woman’s cooking, I love what she does with bitterleaf and cocoyam and I rather sit across her eating her food than in a cold (they all are) eatery munching expensive pastries and over cooked chickens prepared by who knows who (or what). Call me old school if you like, but I didn’t buy a ring when I proposed, neither did I get to go on my knees to do it. It just happened; I didn’t plan to do it that day, even though it had been on my mind for months. I just finished eating her special egusi and semovita and though ‘what the heck’ this babe has been too good to me and I suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of not being with her forever.

What I am saying in a nutshell is this, if anyone thinks I am not romantic because my nature prefers me spending ‘secluded’ time with my woman and not exaggerating my affection just for people to see the love I know I feel deeply, then that person is obviously blind to what romance is.

Taming of the Plains Lion 2

Uvana could not have gotten to the slope at a better time -for the lion cub that is- for the lioness, roused from her slumber by the gnawing hunger that usually accompanies childbirth, had just left her rocky perch with her chosen cubs in tow. The hyena waited patiently until she had disappeared into the undergrowth. Then, like the cowardly dogs his specie are, he had started approaching the cub in a roundabout way, still wary of the mother. So intent was he in his would be meal that he did not hear Uvana as he silently crept up hill, his lame legs more of an advantage than not with his tight crouch-like walk.

The hyena had then abandoned all pretensions and was looping towards his target, the advent of a juicy meal conquering even his inborn fear of man and dulling the significance of the strange scent the noon breeze has just blown his way. There was a brief hesitation as he appeared to sniff the wind, but by then the scent of blood and urine coming from the little cub was so overwhelming he just shook of his misgivings and lounge forward once more.

The hyena’s powerful jaws was only a few finger lengths from the cubs succulent neck when a well aimed arrow pierced through his brain to exit between his red rimmed eyes.

There was no outcry from the hyena, he only stretched once or twice and lay still where he fell, his head brushing the cub’s fore legs.

Uvana smiled merrily, singing a silent praise to his father who had laboured for years teaching Uvana how to shoot the single kill arrow, believing it a remedy to his lameness. In those days, Uvana had silently fumed at having to cradle a bow and arrow all day long while his peers wrestled, learnt combat skills and partook in gruelling endurance races across the length of the seven hills and beyond. Uvana does not begrudge his father much now, his training had being relatively easy, for his keen eyes and long arms, made extra strong and steady by years of having to move around with them, made him a natural. It did not take long for people to notice his steady hands. He was known to shoot straight with the stone, straight enough for people to fear his wrath and mind not to call him the lame one, so calling him only when they are sure he is out of ear shoot.

Now, Uvana stood before the slain hyena looking beyond its bloodied head at the strangest sight he had even seen or had spoken off, a hairless lion cub. He was scared out of his wits and would have hurried down the slope and taken the shorter route to the hill that bore his kin had not the little cub open her eyes then and looked straight at him. He stood there, watching as the little cub, still layered with dried blood and whatnot slime, lifted herself on shaky legs and took the few gingerly steps it took to reach where he stood.

As she sniffed his legs he felt it then, fate. Strange but true, fate it was that brought them together. For how come it happened that it was today that he had agreed to bring along a skin of milk given to him by his doting mother, that he will meet a hungry, even if strange looking cub.

Sitting on the same rocky outcrop that the lioness had just vacated, Uvana proceeded to feed the hungry cub. Though the milk was not that plentiful, he was surprised when the cub drain it to the last drops. Exhausted by hours of crying and hunger now sated, the cub feel asleep in his arms and he gently wrapped it with an extra leopard skin he carried for his lame leg with on cold weather – it usually gets very sore on cold days and wrapping provides some sort of relief.

As he made his way slowly down the slope, careful not to jar the cub, he did not spar the dead hyena even a brief glance. Hyenas are a foul creatures, too cowardly to be considered honour kills and oily for human consumption. Even their skin, the only thing they posses useful to man, take too much time and care to cure. Logging it home will be a waste of time, better to leave it here for the buzzards to claim.

He had just picked his deer skin bag and long spear and was about turning towards the well trod path that leads home when a movement up ahead caught his eye. He was still trying to shift the cub to his right arm to free his stronger left, when a blurry gold and grey figure burst from the undergrowth and he found himself face to face with a huge lion, bearing all the signs that marks him out to be an elder lion of the hills.

The lion growled at him sniffing towards the sleeping cub as if inquiring. Though Uvana was scared enough to wet his pants, he decided to play it by the rules. Being a child of the hills, he knew the lion will not attack him, it knows his smell.

The taming of the plains lion

The taming of the plains lion

The lion was born without fur; her white skin glittered in the morning light, as naked as a human baby. The sun had not yet risen and the cold wind that travelled across the night still blew from down the valley making her shiver and her vocal cords opened up wide to allow for the passage of a shrill cry that rents the morning’s ambiance. It was a cry that conveyed distress enough to break many a heart, filled with longings and pleading for care, but it moved not the birth mother.
That great lioness was deaf to her child’s call. She only managed, once, to pad over and sniff at her like she had done before, right after the cub was born, before rejecting her all over again, choosing rather to pay heed to her other cubs who appear whole.

Rejected by her mother and seeming to know it, the little cub cried all the more, her tiny voice carrying across the valley only to be thrown back as faint echoes that appeared to mock her efforts.
Time past somewhat slowly, the cold morning gave way to a hazy, Cloudy afternoon. Still the cub's cry could be heard, though intermittently, across the valley. It was inevitable that her cries will attract other attentions, and it did. It reached the ears of a hungry hyena that crept surreptitiously closer, wary of the lioness who eyed him balefully from the corner of her eyes as she reclined on a nearby rocky outcrop. Though she was not concerned about the cub’s welfare, she was not inclined to allow the hyena easy picking. More so when her other cubs are sunning themselves on her belly. Her warning growl sent the hyena scampering back to hide behind a fallen tree trunk, from where he sneaks looks at his prey where she lay amongst the short grasses, still covered in birth fluids and blood –which already was attracting ants whose bite may also be adding to her distress.

The cry was also heard in the opposite slope where a young lame trapper from the hunter’s clan of UmuEze, a hamlet in the seven hills, was sitting squat beside a little brook, bemoaning his ill luck while taking sips of the cool mountain water. The trapper’s name is Uvana and he was on his way back from checking his traps. He had hoped for a big kill today, having placed traps across the well beaten track of a large antelope. For days he had read the antelope’s tracks and was very sure that it will pass through where he laid his trap on its way to drink from the same brook he is sipping from now. He had even boasted to his friend, the ill tempered hunter Anyari, that he will bring the biggest Antelope to the two markets today. Only for him to get to the trap and meet only gnawed bones and mangled tendons, amongst which a pack of hyenas and vultures were making merry.

Overcome by anger, he had scattered them, the hyenas looping away with their mocking laughs and the vultures fouling the air with their greasy wings and dirty ways as they took to the skies only to return when he moved a little way off. He had continued this aimless pursuit of the birds – the hyenas had chosen to watch his antic bemusedly from a safe distance, patient as ever, knowing he will go away sooner or later- until he grew tired and left them to their devices, sure that they were not the culprits in this blind robbery. No, they are only partakers of this great wrong that has been visited him.

He guessed that it is probably an old hill lion, too weak to catch his own game or a pregnant female, very near birth that stole his catch and that made him madder than ever, surely he heard a lioness growl sometime earlier. If it had being a leopard or tiger, he would have had the pleasure of tracking it down to exert his revenge, but the lions are taboo and he is forbidden to cause them pain.

So he was squatting by the brook fuming and gnashing his teeth and cussing intermittently, when the cry reached his ear. He instantly knew it to be the cry of a lion cub and wondered aloud ‘how come?’ a lioness will never leave her pup even in the face of danger to herself. Something about the cry told him that it is a new born cub and he wondered if the mother is the same one that stole his catch.

He was of the mind to go about his business, not that he had anymore today, thanks to the thieving lioness, but the cry came again this time punctuated by a hyena’s long drawn crackle. Wonders! He mouthed, a hyena close by where a lioness just birthed. Shaking his head slowly he straightened up and started the short walk down first, then up, towards where the sounds are coming from. Not that it was his wish to investigate things like this but because his oral tradition demands he help out whenever a lion of the hills is in trouble, as this one obviously is.