Once I Saw a Little Bird(Melody Kuku) The sky is dark but it doesn't rain. I do not have an extra wrapper around me even though the weather is cold, as cold as the water we keep in our earthen pot.

I can't stop hugging my knees and sucking my cracked lips. I am sitting under the orange tree that is beside the hut I share with my eldest sister Anaya and it is directly opposite the Thatch booth where we build big fires to warm ourselves and roast yams.

I should be with Vandekar, my best friend rehearsing the latest Kwaghir dance steps but I am not. I am not chosen because I fell and now, I limp. Still, it doesn't stop me from imagining that I am at Uncle Akayaar's funeral dancing the Kwaghir dance he loved so much.

I can hear the solemn voice of the Adiguve. It always sounds so sad and I love to imagine it as a hungry child, a little smaller than I am. I will put my arms around it and make it laugh again.

In my head, the Kwaghir dancers appear like floating ghosts. They move like Cobras preparing to strike. They curl their bodies slowly into a stump and then release it slowly till their chest and bended knees seem as light as air.

My Uncle had loved them when he was alive and had requested
that the Kwaghir be performed at his funeral.

I am joining them, twisting myself into a ball, bending...

"Ah!"

I shift from where I sit, in fear. Something dropped from the top of the tree and it certainly isn't Mango. It is a mixture of ash and yellow stripes. I do not want to go close to it but I do. I poke at it with a leaf and it turns. It is a bird, a baby bird.

I pick it and put it in my hands. It is shaking, I can feel its fear as it tries to flap its broken wing.

"Poor little bird. I will help you and now you will be my little bird", I say to it.

I struggle to stand, I hold on to the tree bark as I pull myself up.
I push my left leg forward and dragged my right leg slowly, like the logs I used to deliver to my Uncle's wife.

The clouds are darker as the wounded leads the wounded to the Thatch booth that stands in the center of our compound.


* * *
* *

"Kwaghir wam nahan ga o!"

"Nahan ga o! Nahan ga o!"
The children and my brother chant the traditional call and response before a folk tale is told.

I eye the children that are gathered around my eldest brother under the thatch booth. I do not wish to play with them or to sit around the fire listening to my brother tell tales on a harmattan mid-afternoon.

So, I ignore them and walk up to where he sits, at the head of the fire.

"Vershima, Ngohol", I say, opening my palms that were folded over the bird.

"Iveren, go away. brother is about to tell us a story", One of the children say.

My eyes flares like burning coals as I stamp my feet at them.

"You go away. Is it midnight yet? You sit like cripples shouting
'Nahan ga o! Nahan ga o!"

"It's enough", Vershima says.

He pokes at the wild flames that flares like my eyes. Then he turns to look at the bird in my hands.

"It fell from its nest on the Orange tree", I explain but he doesn't say a word.

He takes it from my hands and peers at it for a long time. I want to stamp my feet and tell him to begin the treatment but I do not.

Instead, I stare at the scanty hairs on his head and begin to count them. I distract myself from the bird with the laughter that threatens to burst out from within me.

"Ortom"...

"Yes..."

"Get me a Palm frond and a single thread, be quick", Vershima says to the thin boy with hawk eyes that rose to stand beside us.

"Is he going to be alright?" I ask.

"Who is he?"

Vershima stares confusedly at me. Sometimes, I wonder about that boy.

"My little bird", I half hiss my words but he doesn't seem to notice.

Hawk boy Ortom returns with the palm fronds and thread. My lips are pursed as Vershima tears the leaves to shreds, leaving the fibre. He
then lifts the broken wing.

Little Bird begins to flap furiously at him.

"He wants to help you little bird, just stay still,'' I say softly.

I know It will listen to me. It stares at me through its brown eyes; I want to cry. The soothing effect of my words don't last long and it begins to flap its wing again, frantically. Who wouldn't? I would do the same if I was a little bird lying helplessly in Vershima's great big hands.

"It's a songbird, sing for it", Ortom whispers to me.

I want to slap him, that hawk eyed boy. What does he know?

"It is a pigeon and not a songbird", I correct.

"Small girl, it is a songbird,'' he says with a laughing face.

I dislike his face. I don't mind if the other children call me
troublesome, I will beat him.

"Ma bidi o vindivindi", I say in anger as I limp towards him. I am jolted to reality, my leg hurts and I can only move as fast as a snail with a limp.

"Stop it you two. It is a songbird Iveren, Ortom is right", Vershima butts in.

"But..."

"But what? That you don't recognise the sound it has been making?" Ortom says, mockingly.

Vershima's left hand descends on Ortom's head and he keeps quiet. I chuckled to myself but I dare not laugh out loud. You see, my brother has a terrible temper though he hides it well.

My little bird is going to die if it doesn't stay still. Maybe Ortom
is right, I should sing.

"No one can hurt you
What can pain do that it has not done?
So be still so you can be free".

Little bird stops moving. I do not see its ears but I know it is
listening. I can no longer hear the chirping of birds in the sky above us, they listen too. Even the children that gather under the thatch boots beside the fire are silent as I sing.

Vershima lifts its broken wings and Little Bird stops struggling. He places the fibre under the wings and ties it with the thread. The left wing of my little bird hangs as if it is ready to fly but I know it will not fly.

I stop singing when Vershima finishes the tying.

"You should sing at Uncle's funeral,'' he says and I smile.

I have never seen him smile and I think I like it when my brother smiles because then he will look
less like the carved faces of our village masquerades.


* * *
* *

Our compound is big. My father and his brothers live together while the rest of our relatives have their compounds in a ten minutes walking distance from ours.

I can't sleep. I have been counting the hours. My Little Bird lies in a small basket just beside my bamboo bed. I do not worry, I know it will live. I worry about the new day, the day we will bury my Uncle Akaayar.

My right leg hurts badly, I cannot dance at his funeral, I wish I could.

Father's herbalist says that my leg will be better when the full moon comes out but then, that is a long time from now. I toss and turn. Is it dawn? I get up from my bed and limp to the door, I open it and step
outside.

The night is beautiful with stars that look like the dark blue glass
cups father bought at Agba market. I wish I could touch the sky. I can't help feeling angry at the woman who made the sky go away.

Father told us that there was once a time when the sky used to be close to earth and people could touch him. But there was also a woman named
Kwase who liked pounding yams. She would pound and pound, her pestle hitting sky's head.

One day, the sky got angry and moved further into space. Now I can't touch the sky and those beautiful stars. I like
pounded yam and come to think of it, there is really no way Kwase could have avoided hitting Sky's head.

I walk around, basking in the light of the moon. My elder sister Anaya is out with her lover. She will be out in the bushes with her lover by now. She thinks I am asleep, so
she sneaks out to see the 'him' that I do not know.

When I grow up, I and my 'him' will dance under the moonlight, climb trees and fish in the great Benue river. We won't hide in bushes, that is for sure.

Now, stand in the center of our compound. There is no fence but the yellow shrubs which is planted around our large compound, is like a floral fence.

I want to dance under this moonlight but all I can do is to limp like a mad monkey. So
instead, I stand and imagine that I hear the voice of the Adiguve as its strings are pulled. The solemn tune makes me want to cry but I do
not cry.

Anaya has told me that only small children cry. I am twelve
years old, no longer a child.

So, I sing. I sing of the stars and half moons. I sing for baby
songbirds with broken wings. I sing and sing, I do not notice when Anaya comes out from where she was and stands beside me. I know I am
not alone because I can hear her heartbeat.

She stretches out her hands and takes mine.

"You sing beautifully,'' she says.

I do not say a word. I smile and we walk away, away from the smiling Moon that held strange secrets.



* * *
* *


It is morning and I am limping to my dead Uncle's compound. My sister is ahead of me. She is rushing to meet the other women of my Uncle's
house. Father has gone too along with his other wife. I refuse to call her mother because she hates me.

The crowd has already gathered for the funeral. A group of Kwaghir dancers have gathered in the center just behind the excited drummers. I watch them
with eager eyes.

The drummers begin to tap their drums. I see myself twisting my chest in and out and then I push my waist forward while my knee remains bent. The drums are beating; faster, faster and faster.
My head wants to explode as I dance.

The Adiguve begins to play. The grasses under my feet begin to move. The Sun's eyes are closed. This is how I feel. I do not know why but I begin to sing.

I can feel the morning breeze center on me; the type that pluck leaves off trees but I do not stop.

"There will be flowers where you go
There will be love and smiles to guard your way
When you go beyond the skies
And your face takes the place of the moon
When my tears are dry
I will live because I shall see you another day
In the home our ancestors built".

I stop. My eyes are still shut. I feel like I'm in a trance. I can clearly see Little Bird on a tree. It doesn't fly. It lifts its broken wings. Suddenly, it is swallowed by flames. Ashes drop on the branch where it once perched. I scream and begin to run, away from the center of Uncle Akaayar's compound and
back to the hut I share with Anaya.

I can hear the voices of people call out to me, commanding me to stop. It sounds so far away and I do not listen.

My feet seem light like wings, I do not limp. I do not stop till I am in front of our round hut. I kick the door open and rush to the basket where I kept Little Bird after feeding it. That was before I left for the funeral.

It is gone! I search and search; under my bamboo bed and around. Someone must have come in and took my Little Bird. They probably thought it fell into our hut from the thatch roof. Who could it be?
Everyone has gone to the funeral. Everyone but...

I rushed outside. Jamail my cousin is sitting in the phone booth, roasting yams I guess.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Uncle Akaayar's funeral?" I challenge him, out of love for our uncle.

He doesn't turn to face me even as he speaks.

"You know I hate funerals and..."

Little Bird is forgotten for a while. I give him a thousand reasons why our Uncle's funeral should have been the exception. I talk and talk but I doubt if he is listening. His back is still turned to me.

I am about to tell him that I should be listened to because I am older than him by a year. I am about to tell him that he owes our Uncle this last respect
when the aroma of roasting meat reach my nostrils.

I glance at his hands and then the ground beside the fire. There they were; ash and yellow coloured feathers; feathers of the bird in his hands.

I scream.

The pain in my leg shoot through my body as I fall backwards, hitting my head against the earth. It's late! Too late. I do not rush to take
Little Bird from his hands.

The Sun is going out. I think the Sun is growing black. I can hear the Adiguve solemnly play and the tears drop from my heart. I do not think I do not breathe. I do not even hear
clearly, Jamal's voice.

All I hear is the Adiguve; the instrument of death. It plays for
Little Bird and this time, I do not sing along. Father carries me and Anaya whispers to me. I do not feel pain; I do not even turn my neck to the side. I do not even wonder how they got to me that fast.

I just think about poor little bird which I loved. I am a wounded bird with a broken heart. My heart will never heal, I
can never fly. I know
The sky is dark but it doesn't rain. I do not have an extra wrapper
around me even though the weather is cold, as cold as the water we
keep in our earthen pot. I can't stop hugging my knees and sucking my
cracked lips. I am sitting under the Alon tree that is beside the hut
I share with my eldest sister Anaya and it is directly opposite the
Ate where we build big fires to warm ourselves, visitors and to roast
yams.

I should be with Vandekar, rehearsing the latest Kwaghir dance steps
but I am not. I am not chosen because I fell and now, I limp. It
doesn't stop me from imagining that I am at Uncle Akayaar's funeral
and dancing the Kwaghir dance for him.

I can hear the solemn voice of the Adiguve. It always sounds so sad and
I love to imagine it as a hungry child, a little smaller than I
am. I will put my arms around it and make it laugh again. In my head,
the Kwaghir dancers appear like floating ghosts. They move like Cobras
preparing to strike. They curl their bodies slowly into a stump and
then release it slowly till their chest and bended knees seem as light
as air. My Uncle had loved them when he was alive and had requested
that the Kwaghir is danced for him when he dies.

I am joining them, twisting myself into a ball, bending...

"Ah!"

I shift from where I sit, in fear. Something drops from the top of the
tree and it certainly isn't Mango. It is a mixture of ash and
yellowish stripes. I do not want to go close to it but I do. I poke at
it with a leaf and it turns. It is a bird, a baby bird. I pick it and
put it in my hands. It is shaking, I can feel its fear as it tries to
flap its broken wing.

"Poor little bird. I will help you and from now you will be my little
bird", I say to it.

I struggle to stand, I hold on to the tree bark as I pull myself up.
I push my left leg forward and drag my right leg slowly, like the logs
I used to deliver to my Uncle's wife.

The clouds are darker as the wounded leads the wounded to the Ate that
stands in the middle of our compound.


* * *
* *

"Kwaghir wam nahan ga o!"

"Nahan ga o! Nahan ga o!"

I eye the children that are gathered around my eldest brother in the
Ate. I do not wish to play with then or to sit around the fire
listening to my brother tell tales on an harmattan mid-afternoon. So,
I ignore them and walk up to where he sits, at the head of the fire.

"Vershima, Ngohol", I say, opening my palms that were folded over the bird.

"Iveren, go away. brother is about to tell us a story", One of the
children say.

My eyes flares like burning coals as I stamp my feet at them.

"You go away. Is it midnight yet? You sit like cripples shouting
'Nahan ga o! Nahan ga o!"

"It's enough", Vershima says.

He pokes at the wild flames that flares like my eyes. Then he turns to
look at the bird in my hands.

"It fell from its nest on the Alon tree", I explain but he doesn't say a word.

He takes it from my hands and peers at it for a long time. I want to
stamp my feet and tell him to begin the treatment but I do not.
Instead, I stare at the scanty hairs on his head and begin to count
them. I distract myself from the bird with the laughter that threatens
to burst out from within me.

"Ortom"...

"Yes..."

"Get me a Palm frond and a single thread, be quick", Vershima says to
the thin boy with hawk eyes that has risen to stand beside us.

"Is he going to be alright?" I ask.

"Who is he?"

Vershima stares confusedly at me like I was wearing grass instead of
wrapper around me. Sometimes, I wonder about that boy.

"My little bird", I half hiss my words but he doesn't seem to notice.

Hawk boy Ortom returns with the palm fronds and thread. My lips are
pursed as Vershima tears the leaves to shreds, leaving the fibre. He
then lifts the broken wing.

Little Bird begins to flap furiously at him.

"He wants to help you little bird, just stay still", I say softly.

I know It will listen to me. It stares at me through its brown eyes;
I want to cry. It doesn't last long and it begins to flap its wing
again. Who wouldn't? I would do the same if I was a little bird lying
helplessly in Vershima's great big hands.

"It is a songbird, sing for it", Ortom whispers to me.

I want to slap him, that hawk eyed boy. What does he know?

"It is a pigeon and not a songbird", I correct.

"Small girl, it is a songbird,'' he says with a laughing face.

I dislike his face. I don't mind if the other children call me
troublesome, I will beat him.

"Ma bidi o vindivindi", I say in anger as I limp towards him. I am
jolted to reality, my leg hurts and I can only move as fast as a snail
with a limp.

"Stop it you two. It is a songbird Iveren and not a Pigeon", Vershima butts in.

"But.."

"But what? That you don't recognise the sound it has been making? Does
it sound like..."

Vershima's left hand descends on Ortom's head and he keeps quiet. I
chuckle to myself but I dare not laugh out loud. You see, my brother
has a terrible temper although he hides it well.

My little bird is going to die if it doesn't stay still. Maybe Ortom
is right, I should sing.

"No one can hurt you now
No death for the wounded heart
What can pain do that it has not done?
So hear my song, be still.
Let pain be the prisoner".

Little bird stops moving. I do not see its ears but I know it is
listening. I can no longer hear the chirping of birds in the sky above
us, they listen too.

Even the children that gather under the Ate
beside the fire were silent. Vershima lifts its broken wings and
Little Bird does not struggle. He places the fibre under the wings and
ties it with the thread. The left wing of my little bird hangs as if
it is ready to fly but I know it will not fly.

I stop singing when Vershima finishes the tying.

"You should sing at Uncle's funeral,'' he says and I smile.

I have never seen him smile and I think I like it when he smiles
because he looks less like the carved faces of our village
masquerades.


* * *
* *

Our compound is big. My father and his brothers live together while
the rest of our relatives have their compounds in ten minutes
walking distance from ours.

I can't sleep. I have been counting the hours. My Little Bird lies in
a small basket just beside my bamboo bed. I do not worry, I know it
will live. I worry for the new day, the day we will bury my Uncle
Akaayar. My right leg is bad, I cannot dance at his funeral, I wish I
could.

Father's herbalist says that my leg will be better when the full moon
comes out but then, that is a long time from now. I toss and turn. Is
it dawn? I get up from my bed and limp to the door, I open it and step
outside.

The night is beautiful with stars that look like the dark blue glass
cups father bought at Agba market. I wish I could touch the sky. I
can't help feeling angry at the woman who made the sky go away.

Father
told us that there was once a time when the sky used to be close to
earth and people could touch him. But there was also a woman named
Kwase who liked pounding yams.

She would pound and pound, her pestle
hitting sky's head. One day, the sky got angry and moved further into
space. Now I can't touch the sky and those beautiful stars. I like
pounded yam and come to think of it, there is really no way Kwase
would have avoided hitting Sky's head.

I am outside the thatch hut I share with my sister Anaya. She will be
out in the bushes with her lover by now. She thinks I am asleep, so
she sneaks out to see the 'him' that I do not know.

When I grow up, I
and my 'him' will dance under the moonlight, climb trees and fish in
the great Benue river. We won't hide in bushes, that is for sure.

I stand in the middle of our compound. There is no fence except the
yellow bush that is planted around our large compound. I want to dance
under this moonlight but all I can do is to limp like a mad monkey.

So instead, I stand and imagine that I hear the voice of the Adiguve as
its strings are pulled. The solemn tune makes me want to cry but I do
not cry, Anaya has told me that only small children cry. I am twelve
years old, no longer a child.

So, I sing. I sing of the stars and half moons. I sing for baby
songbirds with broken wings. I sing and sing, I do not notice when
Anaya comes out from where she was and stands beside me. I know I am
not alone because I can hear her heartbeat.

She stretches out her hands and takes mine.

"You sing beautifully,'' she says.

I do not say a word. I smile and we walk away, away from the smiling
Moon that held strange secrets.


* * *
* *

It is morning and I am limping to my dead Uncle's compound. My sister
is ahead of me. She is rushing to meet the other women of my Uncle's
house. Father has gone too along with his other wife. I refuse to call
her mother, she hates me.

The crowd has already gathered. A group of Kwaghir dancers have
gathered in the center just behind the eager drummers. I watch them
with eager eyes. The drummers begin to tap their drums.

I see myself
twisting my chest in and out and then I push my waist forward while my
knee remains bent. The drums are beating; faster, faster and faster.
My head wants to explode.

The Adiguve begins to play. The grasses under my feet begin to move.
The Sun's eyes are closed. This is how I feel. I do not know why but
begin to sing.

I can feel the morning breeze center on me; the type that pluck leaves
off trees but I do not stop.

"There will be flowers where you go
There will be love and smiles to guard your way
When you go beyond the skies
And your face takes the place of the moon
When my tears are dry
I will live because I shall see you another day
In the home our dead fathers build".

I stop. My eyes are still shut. I see Little Bird on a tree. It
doesn't fly. It lifts its broken wings. Suddenly, it is swallowed by
flames. Ashes drop on the branch where it once perched. I scream and
begin to run, away from the center of Uncle Akaayar's compound and
back to the hut I share with Anaya.

I can hear the voices call out to
me, telling me to stop. It sounds so far away and I do not listen.
My feet seem light like wings, I do not limp. I do not stop till I am
in front of our round hut. I kick the door open and rush to the basket
where I kept Little Bird after feeding it. That was before I left for
the funeral.

It is gone! I search and search; under my bamboo bed and around.
Someone must have come in and took my Little Bird. They probably
thought it fell into our hut from the thatch roof. Who could it be?
Everyone has gone to the funeral. Everyone but...

I rushed outside. Jamail my cousin is sitting in the Ate, roasting yams I guess.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Uncle Akaayar's funeral?" I challenge
him, out of love for our uncle.

He doesn't turn to face me even as he speaks.

"You know I hate funerals and..."

Little Bird is forgotten for a while. I give him a thousand reasons
why our Uncle's funeral should have been the exception. I talk and
talk but I doubt if he listens. His back is still turned to me. I am
about to tell him that I should be listened to because I am older than
him.

I am about to tell them that he owes our Uncle that last respect
when the aroma of roasting meat reach my nostrils. I glance at his
hands and then the ground beside the fire. There they were; ash and
yellow coloured feathers; feathers of the bird in his hands.

I scream.

The pain in my leg shoot through my body as I fall backwards, hitting
my head against the earth. It's late! Too late. I do not rush to take
Little Bird from his hands. The Sun is going out. I think the Sun is
growing black. I can hear the Adiguve solemnly play and the tears drop
from my heart. I do not think I do not breathe. I do not even hear
clearly, Jamal's voice.

All I hear is the Adiguve; the instrument of death. It plays for
Little Bird and this time, I do not sing along. Father carries me and
Anaya whispers to me. I do not feel pain; I do not even turn my neck
to the side.

I am a wounded bird with a broken heart. I wonder if my heart will heal. I wish I never saw it, then it wouldn't have died.

My mother used to say before she died that everything that died simply went back to God. So I know Little Bird will go to the sky and meet with
Aondo. I can only sigh when I think of the wounded little bird I loved so much.

THE END

Kwase- Tiv wordmeaning woman
Aondo- Tiv word for God
Benue- A state in Nigeria(which has the Tiv tribe as the major tribe".

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