Chapter 8

The Rival Village

Across the river, beyond the narrow footpaths winding through the thick bush, lay another village—one that was both near and far.

The people of my village called them "the others." Their name was spoken with narrowed eyes and heads shaken in silent disapproval. There was no peace between us.

No one truly remembered how the quarrel began. Some said it was over land—an argument between two farmers, one from our side, one from theirs. Others said it was about water, that long ago, when both villages fetched from the same stream, a terrible fight had broken out.

Whatever the cause, one thing remained: we were not friends.

The men in our village told stories of past conflicts—how their hunters once stole our traps, how their fishermen claimed more than their fair share of the river's fish.

Women warned their children never to cross the river alone. "If they catch you," they whispered with urgency, "they'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

Even the children carried the grudge. At our community school, whenever a child from their village enrolled, fights broke out—small ones at first, a push, a shove, a name hissed under breath. But sometimes, it was worse.

I had seen it myself. A boy from their side was once chased after school, his slate stolen, his chair thrown into the bush in a fit of anger.

The school bell, tied to the great mango tree, rang four times a day:

1. Once in the morning for assembly, to gather the children under the tree.

2. The second time for break, signaling it was time to race home for lunch.

3. The third time to return to class, calling us back before the teachers could grow angry.

4. And the fourth—by far the happiest—to signal the end of the day, sending the children running home to play.

No one stayed behind to eat. As soon as the bell rang for break, children raced to their homes, where mothers had already prepared steaming bowls of yam porridge, eba with soup, or rice cooked in palm oil and dried fish. Before the bell rang again, they hurried back, wiping their mouths and dusting off their feet.

But even during those short breaks, the rivalry was clear. Children from our side gathered in tight groups, while those from the other side hurried home, careful not to stray.

Our people called them troublemakers. They called us thieves.

And so, the fights continued.