Chapter 33

“Please tell us what happened to bring your people here?” Rahim asked Jabali.

Jabali nodded. “I’m not a trained rememberer, but I can say that we commemorate The Day of the Curse every year at its appointed time. Every child learns of the curse from the first year of learning. However, Omari is a trained singer because he is a boatswain, and he has been granted the privilege of speaking of our downfall.”

“Will you sing?” Rahim asked the boatman.

“Yes,” Omari answered slowly in a deep voice. He pushed his pole downward to move the boat forward as they continued to move down the canal. He cleared his throat.

In the fifth year of King Oluwa son of King Olufela,

The rains were late in coming,

When they arrived, they brought all their might to flood the land.

The great men despaired for fear of famine.

As his father before and his grandsire before him,

King Oluwa purified himself and shed all but his modesty.

Alone he climbed the sacred mountain and approached the altar,

Crying out to our god to hear our prayers.

He offered up offerings of praise,

Offerings of sin and guilt,

Offerings of repentance and obeisance,

In hopes that our patron god would heal the land.

In the fifth year of King Oluwa

On the top of the sacred mountain

Standing before the sacred altar

Did our god answer and offer his blessing.

Our king was overcome with gladness,

Our god harkened to our prayers,

Our god found us worthy,

Our god marked us for the good.

When our king returned

Our people danced through the night.

Praise to our god and his deeds,

Praise to our ancestors and their piety.

When morning came and the sun shone,

The sacred mountain rumbled,

The land shook and the animals bolted,

Even the clouds fled, and the wind ceased.

The top of the mountain exploded,

The sky cracked, lightning froze in its courses,

A great miasma descended from the mountain,

No one could run fast enough.

The Yellow sickness enveloped the people,

Old and young, weak and strong.

The god cried out, “Lo, I have come

To recreate the world in my image.”

The pain was unbearable as the

Screams of the people died in their throats,

Their bodies were torn and wrenched,

With their minds aware of every fiber.

When they awoke, they could not unsee.

The land was bent, and the sky was bloated,

Their bodies were twisted and broken,

Misshapen limbs and distended bellies.

King Oluwa begged the god to relent.

Before he finished his petition the god struck him down;

Our king, his wife, his children, and our future

Were destroyed in one simple stroke.

Shaman Chidi climbed through the broken land,

As the god raged over the people

For our ungratefulness and impiety.

Crawl she did, to the untouched land.

There she beseeched the other gods

Who heard our terrible tale.

They sent us their messenger,

Ibados, Blessed be he.

No god could heal us.

No god could break the curse.

Fear our god they did,

And they bound him in chains.

Ibados led us to this god-sanctioned place.

He taught us and trained us,

He bound us to a new purpose,

And returned to us our personhood.

We are the people like none other.

Bereft of our king, shunned and abandoned;

Bereft of our god with no one to hear our prayer.

Rescued by Ibados and returned to life.

Danel collected his thoughts. “Who can say they have walked through the furnace of the anger of their god and now they are whole?”

“Huh,” Jabali said. “We’re not whole. Our bodies are an affront to the rest of the world. We are the cursed and we are an abomination.” There was heat in his voice.

“I do not see this profanation,” Danel said, with his hands spread wide. “I have met elders who lead, and I have learned of prophets and rememberers who invigorate the traditions of the people. With my own ears, I have heard a song of your people that transcends any music I’ve heard before. You procreate, raise new generations, serve a great mission, and live in peace. Tell me how you still live as an abomination?”

Omari chuckled as he continued to pole. “We cannot let go of our past. Our past is our present and the betrayal of our god against his people is an ongoing, never ceasing memory. Our god lives.”

“No god can cure us,” Jabali repeated. “Our bodies are a constant reminder of the madness our god bequeathed us.”

Janner snorted. “The gods will not draw near this place. They could have put your ancestors out of their misery and let them die there and then. The gods would have called it “the good death,” or “the merciful death.” They chose to make sure your people lived. The gods don’t do guilt.”

“Many have argued that the gods let us live out of guilt for what their brother did to us,” Jabali said. He chuckled. “The gods don’t do guilt: How easily your peoples speak heresy.”