10. The Two Wives (Orogun Meji)

Many, many years ago, in Makani, a town in a faraway land there lived a man called Bamiwo who had two wives. It was shortly after Bamiwo got married to Amọja, his first wife, when he realized that Amọja did not love or care for him as he had thought. Amọja was, in fact, a bad-natured, unkind and selfish woman who cared only for herself. She had married Bamiwo only because she was looking for a provider, and she thought that Bamiwo was rich. When she was proved wrong, she came out in her true colours.

When Bamiwo met Torara, his second wife, he was immediately drawn to her. Torara was the opposite of Amọja. She was a loving, good-natured, kind and considerate woman. Bamiwo decided to marry Torara as well; it was not uncommon for a man to have two wives where they lived.

“Why do you want to do this? You can’t do it!” Amọja shouted at Bamiwo when he told her of his intentions; she was angry and very jealous.

“You know very well I can, and why!” Bamiwo replied, surprised.
“I don’t want this woman here. You think she loves you? She just wants to marry you for what she thinks she can get from you!” Amọja retorted.

“Well, well, well, you can talk…” her husband said in disgust.
“You’re right. If things were different, I’d leave tomorrow” Amọja thought. Unfortunately, she had no money of her own, and although she had relatives who could have taken her in, she knew they would not because nobody liked her. In fact, her relatives wanted nothing to do with her. Bamiwo was very mindful of her circumstances – that she had nobody – and felt sorry for her. This was why she was still with him.

“What do you mean?” she asked Bamiwo, pretending not to understand.

“You know exactly what I mean. You know things are not right between us and why. You also know why we’re still together”.

Amọja said nothing. She made up her mind there and then to make life unbearable for this other woman in her husband’s life if he were to marry her as well.

“She won’t last long in this house” she swore to herself.

Bamiwo did marry Torara, much to Amọja’s consternation.

“I’m your ‘iyaale’. Therefore, I’m in charge here. You’ll have to do whatever I tell you to do” she told Torara point blank, when Bamiwo brought the latter home, ignoring his attempt at introductions.

It was not an uncommon practice for the men of that land who had two wives – ‘iyaale’ (the first wife) and ‘iyawo’ (the second wife) – to put the ‘iyaale’ in charge of the household, and to expect the ‘iyawo’ to comply with the wishes of her ‘iyaale’. Some men were even known to ‘send the ‘iyawo’ packing’ if she displeased her ‘iyaale’ too much. This practice was perhaps a peace offering on the husband’s part for bringing another woman into the marital home.

Not surprisingly countless of unscrupulous women had been known to abuse this practice. They would ill-treat the ‘iyawo’ – leaving her to do all or most of the work in the house and expecting her to put up with it in silence or face the consequences. Their word became the rule. An ‘iyawo’ in this kind of situation would naturally try to keep on the good side of her ‘iyaale’, and not dare to report any wrong doings towards her to the husband, in case there were repercussions,

“You’re the ‘iyaale’, but that doesn’t give you the right to exploit the situation” Bamiwo warned Amọja. “It doesn’t mean that you should push Torara around, or treat her in any way you like, as some of you women like to do. I won’t allow for it. You’ll take care of things in the house equally – divide the chores between you. You must respect and take advice from each other. If there are any problems, you come to me…”

Amọja said nothing. Instead she started to think of other ways she could make life difficult for Torara, so that Torara would just leave. She started to pick quarrels with her frequently. There were incessant complaints, constant arguments – most of the time over petty things. She still tried to exercise a degree of control in the house. She was bad-tempered, very nasty and mean to Torara.
Amọja was also very touchy about things, especially about her ‘treasured possessions’ – always ready to blame Torara whenever anything got spoilt, misplaced or lost. Torara tried to put up with the situation. She was always on edge with Amọja and kept out of her way as far as possible; she avoided anything that could lead to misunderstandings, arguments, or accusations – anything that could make matters worse. She was a peace-loving woman after all.
This was how it happened that Torara went to the river to wash their dirty dishes one day, and her orogun (‘rival wife/co-wife’)’s ‘igbakọ’ got swept away by the current – an incident that was to cause a lot of anxiety and distress for Torara and change her life in a way she least expected.

(Igbakọ = a wooden utensil especially effective, because of its shape, for scooping certain kind of food swiftly from the pot into a bowl or dish, facilitating the desired finish look)).

A few days before there had been a huge row between Amọja and Torara over this same ‘igbakọ’. No one in their wildest imagination would have thought that a utensil could cause such a row. Torara remembered it very well. She was making some amala (food made out of yam flour or cassava flour) in a pot on the stove and was looking for the ‘igbakọ’ she normally used when cooking it.

“May I borrow your ‘igbakọ’ just this once, please?” she asked Amọja. “I can’t find my ‘igbakọ’. This one is badly cracked and is of no use any more.” she continued, showing her the ‘igbakọ’ which she promptly threw into the kitchen bin.

“Well, how did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just found it.”

“You must have cracked it. After all you’re the only one using it”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Either of us could have accidentally placed something heavy on it, or something else could have happened to it” Torara pointed out, not suspecting that her answer would anger the other woman.

“Don’t argue with me. No matter what Bamiwo says I’m still your ‘iyaale’. You don’t know your place” Amọja had shouted.

“I’m not arguing with you” Torara had answered, already regretting asking to borrow the ‘igbakọ, and trying to hold on to her temper, thinking:

“Why does this woman always want to turn every tiny little thing into a quarrel. What’s my place anyway? I won’t let her provoke me.”

“I just need to use ‘igbakọ’ whilst this amala is piping hot” she had added more calmly than she felt.

“Then use something else – a spoon perhaps”.

“You know very well that a spoon is not as effective as ‘igbakọ’ for amala – that it can’t remove the amala from the pot the same way as ‘igbakọ’ can” Torara had answered, her temper threatening to rise again. This woman was insufferable.

“Too bad! You can’t use my ‘igbakọ’

“I don’t believe this!” Torara had replied, losing her temper. “This is ridiculous. Why does your ‘igbakọ’ mean the world to you? It’s only a utensil after all, for goodness sake! I wonder what you’ll do if it gets spoilt – you know, cracked like the one I’ve just thrown away, and you can’t use it anymore…! You may lose it you know. Things do get lost, after all. You can’t have it forever, you know…”

“Don’t talk to me like that. You’re so rude. I’ll have to report all this to Bamiwo. Let me tell you, I’ve had this‘igbakọ’ for a long time; it is very strong. It was made especially for me to be durable; nobody makes them like this anymore. It’s most unlikely to get cracked. It hasn’t got lost up till now either, so there!”

“There’s always the first time…!”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have one like that – nobody else does, you know!” Amọja finished proudly.

Torara said nothing. She decided not to prolong this ridiculous conversation any further, and regretted asking to borrow the‘igbakọ’, which, in the end, was denied her. Under normal circumstances she would not have got into this kind of situation with Amọja, but it was her immediate concern about the amala, when she suddenly found the other ‘igbakọ’ was cracked, that spurred her on, and finally made her lose her calm.

The morning washing up was one of Torara’s daily chores. She would collect all the dirty dishes of the night before and take them to wash at a nearby river very early in the morning, when the river was deserted. She would then return home in good time to cook the morning meal for the three of them, so that their husband could eat before leaving for work.

“Why haven’t you gone to do the washing up yet?” Amọja asked Torara sternly early one morning – a few days after the argument over the ‘igbakọ’. “Don’t you know that the time is going?”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for one of the washing up bowls you used yesterday. I’ve just found it, and I’m going to gather all the dirty dishes together and leave”.

“You’d better get a move on then. Just make sure you’re back to make breakfast!” Amọja ordered, ignoring Torara’s reference to the bowl, not wanting to own up to having put the bowl in the wrong place the day before.

Torara gathered together all she needed to take with her in the two washing up bowls containers: the dirty dishes (pots and pans, utensils, including Amoja’s ‘igbakọ’, cutlery, and a few plates, bowls and cups and so on), the soap and ‘kanyinkanyin’ (a kind of sponge). Carrying one of the washing up bowls on her head and the other with one hand, Torara rushed for the river. She did not want to be accused of not coming back in time for cooking the morning meal, so she washed up quite quickly.

There was now only one more thing to wash – her orogun’s‘igbakọ’ Torara sponged it and dipped it into the river, to rinse it.

Unfortunately, it slipped from her hand, and was swept away by the current.

“Oh No! No! No!” Torara exclaimed in horror. She started to search quickly in the river for the‘igbakọ’, but knew it was in vain.

“Oh my God! What am I going to do? What am I going to say to Amọja? I’ve played into her hands. She won’t accept any explanations I give her. She’ll think I did it deliberately to spite her”, Torara thought, remembering their recent row over this same‘igbakọ’.

“We’ll never see the end of this. That ‘igbakọ’ means the world to her. It can’t even be replaced so there’s no point in thinking of buying another one”.

Torara was terribly upset and filled with dread. She started to weep bitterly.

“I can’t go home until I find the ‘igbakọ’, but then I’ll be late for making breakfast if I don’t make tracks. What am I going to do?” she wondered again and again. “What will Bamiwo think of the whole thing? Hasn’t he advised me to avoid doing anything that might put me in the wrong?”

These and other thoughts went around and around in Torara’s head. In the end she just ran weeping to her ‘iyaale’ and recounted the whole incident to her. Bamiwo had already left the house. Amọja’s anger knew no bounds as she said harshly to Torara:

“Well, since you obviously let the ‘igbakọ’get swept by the current, you must just go back after it yourself, and don’t show your face here again until you bring it with you. I wonder what Bamiwo will have to say about this!”

Amọja was merciless. Torara was so upset that she promptly obeyed Amọja. She went back to the river and started walking from one end of the river bank to the other, in despair. There was no one in sight. Then she started to sing, overwhelmed by her emotions. It was quite common in those days to use songs to express strong emotions – negative or positive – such as joy, fear, sadness, anger, hope. Some people believed that singing could even bring about a change of circumstances one found oneself in – a reverse of fortune. Torara sang as follows:

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ The current is sweeping away my orogun’s Igbakọ
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ
Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ
Bi o de ‘le ki o k’ile Greet them at home when you get there!
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ
Bi o ba d’ọna k’o (o) bere wo Ask for the way home as you go
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ
Bi o de ‘le ki o k’ile Greet them at home when you get there!
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ
Bi o ba d’ọna k’o (o) bere wo
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ

In the song she willed her orogun’s ‘igbakọ’ to find its way home or ask for the way home. As she sang, a fisherman appeared in front of her, as if from nowhere.

“The ‘igbakọ’ must have been swept onto the river bank across from here, and this man has found it, thank God”, was Torara’s first thought. She wiped her tears, and asked the fisherman eagerly:

“Have you found my ‘igbakọ’?”

“’Igbakọ’?” he replied, taken aback. “I haven’t come across anything like that! I’m just here to fish. I come at this time every morning when there’s no one around, and it’s quiet…I fish over there” he added pointing in the direction of where he fished.

“Please help me look for it” Torara pleaded. “I came here to wash the dishes and the ‘igbakọ’ got swept away by the current”.

Hearing how frantic the woman sounded, the fisherman put aside his fishing gear (basket, net etc), and helped Torara search the area surrounding the river, wondering why such a small thing should cause so much distress to her. After some time, when it became obvious that the ‘igbakọ’ was not to be found anywhere on the river bank, he stopped searching, afraid that he might not be able to catch any fish if he delayed longer.

“Listen, I don’t think the ‘igbakọ’ is anywhere here, and I have to go now, if I want to have any luck with my fishing. I’m sorry. Why don’t you just buy another one in the market?”

“It’s not as simple as that. You won’t understand…Thank you very much all the same. Bye, bye!”

“Bye, bye then…” The fisherman replied and went on his way.

“I wonder why she can’t just buy another ‘igbakọ’ for her ‘orogun’. Still… This ‘iyaale’ and ‘iyawo’ situations!” he thought. He had heard the words of the song.

Torara started to sing again, still very distressed:

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ

In the meantime, as Torara was going through her ordeal, Amọja, the subject of Torara’s song was thinking:

“I’m going to pull hell on earth for Torara. She’s played into my hands…”

Amọja had already reported Torara to Bamiwo as she threatened to do after the row over the ‘igbakọ’. Now she had another strong ammunition to sink her teeth into her.

“I’m going to show her that teeth are sharper than knives”.
As Torara continued to sing, she caught sight of an old woman coming towards her carrying a load (a bundle of fire wood). What struck her immediately was a huge wound on the woman’s leg, horrible to describe. It looked raw, as if it had not been tended to for quite a while – an ugly sight; it was bleeding. Torara wondered how the woman came by it. The old woman had difficulty in walking.
“Have you found my ‘igbakọ’? Torara asked the old woman, when they came face to face, avoiding staring at the wound.

The old woman’s answer took Torara by surprise.

If you can come home with me, wash and dress my wound for me, and you do it well, your ‘igbakọ’ will return to you, and I’ll reward you handsomely”.

The woman with the wound (Iya Elegbo) had hardly finished speaking when Torara moved quickly towards her, filled with deep concern for her, not even thinking about the ‘igbakọ’anymore.

“I’ll do it. Where do you live? What happened to your leg? Here, let me carry your load for you”.

“I live very close by. I live alone and it’s difficult for me to do everything for myself. People run away from me when they see the wound, so I’ve no one to help me. I come here every morning to collect fire wood for cooking. Don’t ask questions about my leg, dear. It’s enough for you to know that this wound will never heal. It’s better anytime someone washes and dresses it for me; the relief I get is enormous”, Iya Elegbo told Torara, who was bewildered by what she had heard. “You’ll get your ‘igbakọ’ back, don’t worry…”.

When they got to her house – a small cottage with a large garden, in the heart of the forest, Torara tended to the old lady’s wound, according to the latter’s instructions. She washed it, applied some ointment, and covered it with some clean cloths, that the woman gave her.

“Thank you very much” the old woman said. “Now tell me how you happened to lose the ‘igbakọ’.”

Torara found herself pouring out her heart to this woman she had just met, who had an air of kindness about her. After this, the old woman – Iya Elegbo – said to her:

“I’ve special powers, but unfortunately I can’t use them on myself – not even to get rid of this ghastly wound”.
Torara did not understand what the Iya Elegbo was saying but listened attentively.

“Go into my garden” the old lady continued pointing in that direction. “You see those trees in the distance with sprouting seeds (eso pandoro)? They’re pumpkin trees. When you get there be very careful to do what I’m going to tell you to do”.
Torara nodded.

“There’s always a strong wind in my garden blowing some of these seeds, and as this happens one hears ‘kami-kami-kami’ (pick-me-pick-me-pick- me) from them. I want you to pick some seeds, but don’t pick those that whisper ’kami-kami-kami’. Pick only those ones that are silent. There are three of them, and they’re never blown by the wind. Pick three of them. When you finish picking them, take them home immediately. When you get home go straight to your bedroom, lock the door and drop them one by one. Everything you find in them is yours, and your ‘igbakọ’ is among them”.

“But I don’t understand…” Torara began.

“Don’t try to understand, dear. Just do it, and don’t worry! You won’t see me again. I become invisible to anyone I help; it’s part of my special powers”.

Torara thanked this kind, old lady, wishing that she could return to tend to her wound for her, but when she turned back to wave to her, she seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Torara went into the garden, and just as the old woman had said. Many of the seeds seemed to be saying to ‘kami-kami-kami’ to her as the wind was blowing. She picked three of the silent ones; they were very big and heavy.

Torara left for home, and as soon as she got there, she went straight to her room, locked the door, and started to drop the sprouting seeds one by one. She was taken aback by what she found. The first revealed plenty of household materials including pots and pans, dishes, bowls, cutlery and utensils. Among the utensils were some ‘igbakọ’- exactly the same as the lost one. Torara was overjoyed.
“I can give the ‘igbakọ’ back now, and everything will be fine!”

As she dropped the second seed, she found an incredible amount of money, countless of different types of gold and silver, precious gems and stones in abundance, as well as jewellery (earrings, necklaces, bracelets, etc) galore. The third one revealed lots of beautiful and valuable goods, including clothes, handbags and shoes, for all occasions.

“I don’t believe this! I must be dreaming” Torara said to herself, almost fainting from the shock of discovering these things. “Thank God! Thank God!”

She was overwhelmed by what had happened, and without stopping to think twice, she rushed to her ‘iyaale’, with some of her possessions. Amọja, on hearing her footsteps left her own room, looking as if she would like nothing better than to see Torara dead. “Then she’ll not inherit anything from Bamiwo; everything will be mine”, she was thinking.

“So, you’re back, are you? Where’s the…?” Amọja stopped in her tracks, shocked when she saw that Torara was showered with gold and other things, including her ‘igbakọ’.

“What on earth….?”

“You won’t believe what happened to me when I went back to the river, Amọja”, Torara said excitedly. “Look at all this, and your ‘igbakọ’. Wait until you see what’s left in my room.

Amọja was dumb-founded and tried as she did, she could not utter a single word. She just gaped. It was Torara who led her back to her room, sat her down, and told her everything that had happened, leaving nothing out.

“Come to my room and see all the things – all the money, gold and silver, the clothes etc. So, you see all our prayers are answered. You can have half of everything!” Torara said enthusiastically.

Amọja was not impressed by Torara’s gesture – her profound generosity. She was very jealous and angry that she had come by such a fortune and refused to accept her offer.

“I don’t want any gifts given to you. You can keep them. I’m capable of doing what you did and getting what you got, or even more”, she threw in Torara’s face. She was such a greedy woman. “Now tell me again what happened!” she ordered. She had not listened properly to, nor believed half of what Torara had recounted.

Amọja was very anxious to secure the same good fortune as Torara – her ’shower of goodies’ as she termed it in her mind, so she decided to do so, but in her own way.

“Just give me back my ‘igbakọ’” she finally said, snatching one of the ‘igbakọ’ Torara had brought home. “I’ll go to the river tomorrow morning myself!”

Amọja set out for the river very early the following morning to do the washing up, after gathering together all she needed to take along to the river for washing up, including the‘igbakọ’. There was nobody around. She got there and started washing the dishes at the river bank, making sure that the ‘igbakọ’ was kept where it could easily be swept away by the current. After she finished all the washing up and the ‘igbakọ’was still not swept away by the current, she threw the ‘igbakọ’deliberately into the river. The ‘igbakọ’floated back to the edge of the river, and after a few more attempts, with Amọja getting angry, then willing and begging the ‘igbakọ’not to let her down, the ‘igbakọ’was indeed swept away by the current.

Amọja waited for a while after this, allowing the time Torara had gone back home to report the missing ‘igbakọ’ the day before to pass. Then she started singing:

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ The current is sweeping away my orogun’s IgbakọTeeregbaja maa b’odo lọ

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ
Bi o de ‘le ki o k’ile Greet them at home when you get there!
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ
Bi o ba d’ọna k’o (o) bere wo Ask for the way home as you go
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ

“I’m sure this man has something to do with the ‘igbakọ’” Amọja thought.

“What’re you doing here? I’m sure you’ve found my ‘igbakọ’, and that’s why you’re here” she asked gruffly. The fisherman was surprised not only by the woman’s overt rudeness, but also that she had asked him the same thing as the woman of the day before.

”Another woman looking for her ‘igbakọ’singing the same song. What’s with this ‘igbakọ’?” he wondered.

“I’ve not come across your ‘igbakọ’” he answered and went on to explain why he was there. Amọja was not really interested in the man’s affair.

“You’ve got to help me find it!” she went on angrily, still suspicious of him, and wanting to prove her suspicion right.

The fisherman was not happy with Amọja’s attitude but decided to help her nevertheless. He searched and searched in the river and at the river bank – even longer than he did the morning before.

“I’m sorry but I’ve got to go now”, the fisherman finally said.
Instead of thanking him for his efforts Amọja was unmoved by the gesture. All along she was convinced that the fisherman had something to do with the Amọja – the day before and now. She thought that the ‘igbakọ’must have been swept to the other side of the stream where he had emerged from.

“How am I sure that it’s not because you’ve stolen the‘igbakọ’that you’ve left your work to search for me for so long”, she answered nastily. “How many people would do so?”

The fisherman did not answer but went on his way, too baffled by this whole issue of ‘igbakọ’.

“I wonder why I even bothered to help this woman. The woman of yesterday…Now she was different…”.

After her ungrateful behaviour, Amọja started singing again:

Igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja na maa b’odo lọ

A ni igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja maa b’odolọ
A ni igbakọ orogun mi b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ
B’odo lọ, b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ
B’odo lọ, b’odo lọ
Teeregbaja maa b’odo lọ

After some time and there was no sign of an old woman with a wound on her leg, Amọja started walking to the other side of the stream. Then she spotted her sitting on a small rock, and she had a load with her. The first thing she noticed was the wound on the old woman’s right leg, and she almost ran back; she was horrified and disgusted at the sight, and it showed on her face. The old woman noticed this.

“So what Torara said about this woman is true!” Amọja thought. “How long have you been here?” she asked the old lady. “You must have found my ‘igbakọ’” she added, wondering if she had been wrong about the fisherman after all; she was impatient to get away from the woman – from the horrible sight of her ugly, bleeding wound.

The old woman knew at once who Amọja was from Torara’s account of the day before but said nothing. She wanted to see if this woman could surprise her by behaving the same way as Torara did the day before – with kindness and understanding.

“I live nearby. If you can come home, wash and dress my wound for me, and you do it well, I’ll reward you handsomely, and your ‘igbakọ’will return to you”.

“No way on this earth…What an insult! You want me to clean your horrible, dirty and smelly wound for you? she said, “I don’t go about cleaning dirty, stinking wounds. How it smells! I’d rather die than do that!” Amọja did not really believe that Torara would have washed and dressed the old woman’s wound.

The Iya-Elegbo ignored Amọja’s remarks, which did not surprise her in the least.

“Come home with me. There’s something I want to give you”, she offered, unable to resist the urge to see how far Amọja would go with this charade.

“I’m right. Torara couldn’t have agreed to wash and dress this woman’s wound. She must have just met her, and the old woman must have admitted taking the‘igbakọ’, and to make amends, not only given her back the ‘igbakọ’, but also the ‘goodies’. “I knew I could do things my own way and still get the same results!” Amọja was thinking.

Amọja motioned for Iya-Elegbo to lead the way and did not even volunteer to carry her heavy load for her. When they got to her cottage, the old lady took Amọja into the garden.

“You see those trees over there with sprouting seeds. They are pumpkin seeds. Go there, and be very careful to do what I tell you to do…”, she said to Amọja, and went on to explain exactly the same things about the seeds as she did to Torara – how the wind always blew them, and the ‘kami-kami-kami’ ‘whispers’.

“Make sure you pick three of the silent ones”, she continued, explaining to her what to do with the seeds when she got home.
Amọja was so eager to pick some sprouting seeds with the ‘goodies’ – to get a move on and get home. She was not really listening to the woman, thinking “The seeds whispering ‘kami-kami-kami’ must have more ‘goodies’ than the silent ones, and this is why you don’t want me to pick them, old woman”.

“I understand”, she replied, going to the tree immediately. She did not even thank the woman or look back. Iya-Elegbo who sensed what was going on in Amọja’s mind, waited to see what would happen. She was proved right.

Amọja went into the garden, heard the breeze and the ‘kami-kami-kami’ sound from many of the seeds, and was convinced that she should pick three of those. They looked inviting and attractive, whilst the silent ones looked most unattractive.

“I knew it! Why shouldn’t I pick the attractive ones? How can unattractive looking seeds produce all those ‘goodies’? How do I know that Torara hasn’t lied to me? Perhaps she doesn’t want me to benefit from her good fortune as much as she has”.

Amọja picked three of the ‘kami-kami-kami seeds. She would willingly have picked more, but the seeds were very big and heavy. She hastened home, almost tempted to drop one of the seeds on the way, to see her ’shower of goodies’.

“I should wait” she told herself. “If I break one, the ‘goodies’ will appear on the street, and other people will come and help themselves to them!”

As soon as she got home, she went straight to her room, shut and locked her door securely, because she did not want anyone to see her ’shower of goodies’. She started dropping the sprouting seeds one by one. What happened next took her by complete surprise. When she dropped the first one, a lot of horrible, harmful insects, such as wasps and bees, came out, and started crawling over her, biting and stinging her. The second seed revealed all kinds of snakes, scorpions and other deadly reptiles, which attacked her. When she dropped the last seed a lot more horrible, harmful insects appeared and a lot more snakes, scorpions and other reptiles, and they attacked her mercilessly. She started screaming:

“Help me! Help me please!”

She was almost dead by the time her door was forced open, and people came to her rescue. A doctor was sent for immediately, and his ministrations saved her life.

Amọja was never the same again. The whole of her face and body, including her eyes, mouth, ears, were swollen and badly scared from bites, scratches, stings; she was disfigured, and her health suffered a great deal.

Amọja was also full of shame, because everybody in town got to know about what happened to her. She could not appear in public any more. She stayed in her room all day long and spoke to no one. This woman’s greed, lack of contentment, and jealousy almost killed her. Her jealousy of her ‘iyawo’ and her greed were her downfall.

One day Amọja left home to begin a very hard life elsewhere and was never seen or heard of again by her husband and Torara, her relatives who had had nothing to do with her even before her ‘accident’, and the people of Makani.

10. The Two Wives (Orogun Meji)

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