The Crown of Thorns (2009) PDF

Chief Nchindia held the Elders of his Council in total contempt, inwardly vowing to disagree with them at every point where disagreement was possible. The Crown of Thorns...

Chief Nchindia held the Elders of his Council in total contempt, inwardly vowing to disagree with them at every point where disagreement was possible. The Crown of Thorns The Crown of Thorns What starts like a big joke develops into grim tragedy: the statue of the god of Nkokonoko Small Monje is discovered to have been stolen and sold to a white man! The tradition demands instant execution of the culprits. Was their Chief involved in the theft? What was worse, the crime or the punishment? “There is a certain self-assured confidence in Asong’s handling of plot and characterization that usually goes with maturity and experience. We are not surprised by events and their outcome, we are carefully prepared and everything moves on towards an almost inevitable climax of horror.” - Professor Richard Bjornson, Ohio State University “Asong’s sense of the human predicament is astounding.... It is above all, the story of guilt in a world ridden with self-interest.” - Professor Rudy Wiebe, University of Alberta “There is no such thing as victory, only self-deceit, self-defeat and resignation. The inevitability of doom rises to blood-curdling proportions in this first novel. Read it and read it again. It has a message for man in a century as perilous as this!” - Stephen Arnold, University of Alberta “We discern something irresistible in the author’s style, his sense of structure, and Linus Asong crisp characterization, something that makes it impossible for you to stop reading until you have turned the last page. And then you realize with great satisfaction that it’s a whole new world you’ve been through.” - Douglas Killam, University of Guelph Linus Asong was born in the South West Region of Cameroon in 1947. Asong is a stand-up humorist, a consummate portrait painter, an accomplished literary scholar, and a celebrated prolific writer with over a dozen novels to his credit. Langaa Research and Publishing Common Initiative Group PO Box 902 Mankon Bamenda North West Region Cameroon Linus Asong  Titles by Langaa RPCIG Francis B. Nyamnjoh Rosemary Ekosso Stories from Abakwa The House of Falling Women Mind Searching The Disillusioned African Peterkins Manyong The Convert God the Politician Souls Forgotten George Ngwane Married But Available The Power in the Writer: Collected Essays on Culture, Democracy & Development in Africa Dibussi Tande No Turning Back. Poems of Freedom 1990-1993 John Percival Scribbles from the Den: Essays on Politics and Collective The 1961 Cameroon Plebiscite: Choice or Betrayal Memory in Cameroon Albert Azeyeh Kangsen Feka Wakai Réussite scolaire, faillite sociale : généalogie mentale de Fragmented Melodies la crise de l’Afrique noire francophone Ntemfac Ofege Aloysius Ajab Amin & Jean-Luc Dubois Namondo. Child of the Water Spirits Croissance et développement au Cameroun : Hot Water for the Famous Seven d‘une croissance équilibrée à un développement équitable Emmanuel Fru Doh Carlson Anyangwe Not Yet Damascus Imperialistic Politics in Cameroun: The Fire Within Resistance & the Inception of the Restoration of the Africa‘s Political Wastelands: The Bastardization of Statehood of Southern Cameroons Cameroon Oriki’badan Bill F. Ndi Wading the Tide K‘Cracy, Trees in the Storm and Other Poems Map: Musings On Ars Poetica Thomas Jing Thomas Lurting: The Fighting Sailor Turn’d Peaceable / Tale of an African Woman Le marin combattant devenu paisible Peter Wuteh Vakunta Kathryn Toure, Therese Mungah Grassfields Stories from Cameroon Shalo Tchombe & Thierry Karsenti Green Rape: Poetry for the Environment ICT and Changing Mindsets in Education Majunga Tok: Poems in Pidgin English Cry, My Beloved Africa Charles Alobwed’Epie No Love Lost The Day God Blinked Straddling The Mungo: A Book of Poems in English & French G.D. Nyamndi Babi Yar Symphony Ba’bila Mutia Whether losing, Whether winning Coils of Mortal Flesh Tussles: Collected Plays Kehbuma Langmia Samuel Ebelle Kingue Titabet and the Takumbeng Si Dieu était tout un chacun de nous? An Evil Meal of Evil Ignasio Malizani Jimu Victor Elame Musinga Urban Appropriation and Transformation : bicycle, taxi The Barn and handcart operators in Mzuzu, Malawi The Tragedy of Mr. No Balance Justice Nyo’ Wakai: Ngessimo Mathe Mutaka Under the Broken Scale of Justice: The Law and My Building Capacity: Using TEFL and African Languages as Times Development-oriented Literacy Tools John Eyong Mengot Milton Krieger A Pact of Ages Cameroon’s Social Democratic Front: Its History and Prospects as an Opposition Political Party, 1990-2011 Ignasio Malizani Jimu Urban Appropriation and Transformation: Bicycle Taxi Sammy Oke Akombi and Handcart Operators The Raped Amulet The Woman Who Ate Python Joyce B. Ashuntantang Beware the Drives: Book of Verse Landscaping and Coloniality: The Dissemination of Cameroon Anglophone Literature Susan Nkwentie Nde Precipice Jude Fokwang Second Engagement Mediating Legitimacy: Chieftaincy and Democratisation in Two African Chiefdoms Francis B. Nyamnjoh & Richard Fonteh Akum Michael A. Yanou The Cameroon GCE Crisis: A Test of Anglophone Dispossession and Access to Land in South Africa: an Solidarity African Perspevctive Joyce Ashuntantang & Dibussi Tande Tikum Mbah Azonga Their Champagne Party Will End! Poems in Honor of Cup Man and Other Stories Bate Besong John Nkemngong Nkengasong Emmanuel Achu Letters to Marions (And the Coming Generations) Disturbing the Peace  Amady Aly Dieng Basil Diki Les étudiants africains et la littérature négro-africaine The Lord of Anomy d’expression française Churchill Ewumbue-Monono Tah Asongwed Youth and Nation-Building in Cameroon: A Study of Born to Rule: Autobiography of a life President National Youth Day Messages and Leadership Discourse (1949-2009) Frida Menkan Mbunda Shadows From The Abyss Emmanuel N. Chia, Joseph C. Suh & Alexandre Ndeffo Tene Bongasu Tanla Kishani Perspectives on Translation and Interpretation in A Basket of Kola Nuts Cameroon Fo Angwafo III S.A.N of Mankon Linus T. Asong Royalty and Politics: The Story of My Life The Crown of Thorns The Crown of Thorns Linus T. Asong Langaa Research & Publishing CIG Mankon,Bamenda  Publisher: Langaa RPCIG Langaa Research & Publishing Common Initiative Group P.O. Box 902 Mankon Bamenda North West Region Cameroon [email protected] www.langaa-rpcig.net Distributed outside N. America by African Books Collective [email protected] www.africanbookscollective.com Distributed in N. America by Michigan State University Press [email protected] www.msupress.msu.edu ISBN: 9956-558-56-7 © Linus T. Asong 2009 First Published 1990 DISCLAIMER The names, characters, places and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Accordingly, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely one of incredible coincidence. For the Crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No Thorns go as deep as a rose’s, And love is more cruel than lust.  The Crown of Thorns Contents Dedication.................................................................. ix Part One Chapter One............................................................................. 3 1.......................................................................................... 13 2.......................................................................................... 17 3.......................................................................................... 18 Part Two Chapter Two.......................................................................... 22 1.......................................................................................... 25 2.......................................................................................... 32 Chapter Three....................................................................... 35 Chapter Four.......................................................................... 46 Chapter Five.......................................................................... 52 1.......................................................................................... 54 2.......................................................................................... 55 Chapter Six............................................................................ 61 Chapter Seven....................................................................... 68 Chapter Eight........................................................................ 72 1.......................................................................................... 77 2.......................................................................................... 80 3.......................................................................................... 83 Chapter Nine......................................................................... 90 Chapter Ten........................................................................... 93 Chapter Eleven................................................................... 102 Chapter Twelve................................................................... 108 vii  Linus T. Asong Chapter Thirteen................................................................. 112 Chapter Fourteen................................................................ 117 1........................................................................................ 121 2........................................................................................ 125 Chapter Fifteen................................................................... 126 1........................................................................................ 130 2........................................................................................ 133 Chapter Sixteen................................................................... 134 1........................................................................................ 141 2........................................................................................ 144 Chapter Seventeen............................................................. 147 Chapter Eighteen................................................................ 157 Part Three Chapter Nineteen............................................................... 163 Chapter Twenty................................................................... 167 1........................................................................................ 168 2........................................................................................ 173 3........................................................................................ 174 Chapter Twenty-One......................................................... 179 Chapter Twenty-Two......................................................... 185 Chapter Twenty-Three....................................................... 195 Chapter Twenty-Four......................................................... 203 Chapter Twenty-Five......................................................... 219 1........................................................................................ 223 2........................................................................................ 228 3........................................................................................ 230 viii  The Crown of Thorns Dedication For My Dear Wife Teresa Ajab Our Dear Daughter Njiondock Laura and Our Dear Sons Ajabenyang Stephen & Asongu Edward Your Love Was Always My Inspiration For The Lebialem Genuine Intellectual: You Owe It to The World To Give The Best That Is In You For the Betterment of Mankind ix  The Crown of Thorns Chapter One A CHIEBEFUO ROSE, coughed and cleared his throat to talk, but words stuck in his throat. He felt as though the entire world had come to a standstill. His heart beat so loud that he thought he could never speak above the loudness. The words Ngobefuo had just uttered seemed to pluck his ears and he could not hear anything else. Akeukeuor, the god of gods of the tribe of Nkokonoko Small Monje had been cut off, stolen and sold to a white man. And all the fingers of the tribe were pointing at him. Yes, he told himself, Ngobefuo was insulting him directly. He was really spitting in his face, and without caring about it. He, Achiebefuo, was also an arm of the tribe. He would not sink under a kinsman’s insults like a woman. No, he wouldn’t. He must spit back in his face too. Eventually, the puzzle of that morning began to fall in place. He got that feeling that there was something seriously wrong because Ngobefuo had refused to talk to him. When he entered Ngobefuo’s hut the latter had not invited the young man present to fetch a stool for him to sit on. He had merely pointed at the stool in the far corner, implying that he, Achiebefuo, ought to fetch it himself. Then after he, Achiebefuo had actually gone for the stool, Ngobefuo had pointed to a spot away from him where he wanted him to sit. This he did with the left hand! Achiebefuo did not utter a word disapproving of this strange attitude towards him. He was comfortably seated and by way of gauging the extent of Ngobefuo’s grievances against him, he said: ‘‘My first man, I was here last night and also earlier this morning.’’ 3  Linus T. Asong There was silence, then he continued: ‘‘The children told me that you did not want to see me. Were they talking the truth, my first man?’’ Ngobefuo looked across at him, then looked away again. His lips pouted contemptuously. He had been smoking his pipe when Achiebefuo came in. He withdrew the pipe from his mouth and clasped it with both hands between his legs. He then spoke as though his kinsman had not said anything at all. ‘‘Achiebefuo, a lot of things have happened in this tribe of Nkokonoko Small Monje.’’ Achiebefuo took a mental note of the fact that Ngobefuo had ignored his question, but he chose to show no indignation. He jerked to the edge of the stool and stared at Ngobefuo, mystified. ‘‘One very serious thing has happened in this tribe,’’ Ngobefuo went on. ‘‘And what is that, my first man?’’ Achiebefuo asked. Ngobefuo did not answer directly. Instead he went on to enquire: ‘‘Achiebefuo, is there anything in this tribe of ours which is new to you?’’ Achiebefuo was silent. Why should such a question be thrown at him, he pondered. Ngobefuo went on anyway: ‘‘Is there anything about me, sitting here before you, which you do not know?’’ Achiebefuo still did not answer. He gazed at Ngobefuo’s face, the worry lines on his forehead narrowed until his unusually thick brows almost met. He swallowed loudly. A sudden oppressive silence ensued, like the lull before an on-coming storm. The two friends and help-mates stared fixedly into each other’s eyes and for the first time they saw not love and cooperation but deep suspicion. Achiebefuo broke the silence. 4  The Crown of Thorns ‘‘My first man,’’ he began, ‘‘if you want us to talk like one brother to another in this house, please, let me see your heart.’’ ‘‘Achiebefuo, I will only tell you the things you know already, those things you thought we would never find out.’’ ‘‘And they are what things, my first man ?’’ ‘‘Akeukeuor, the god of gods of the tribe of Nkokonoko Small Monje has been cut off, stolen and sold to a white man. And all the fingers of this tribe are pointing at you.’’ The reply had jarred Achiebefuo’s senses to smithereens. He swore to himself, that infant sitting outside there must know, must hear, must tell them that ask, that Achiebefuo had answered the call to battle. He would answer Ngobefuo like one mad man to another. But no. He must not behave so rashly. Ngobefuo might have talked in jest. And if he said something nasty to him as a result, would he not ask, ‘‘Achiebefuo, do you not know when a man is joking? Do you think I could ever have said that to you seriously? It only shows how little you know me.’’ Then who would have lost? Whose shame would that have been? He stretched his hands and cracked his knuckles. Why deceive himself ? He had known Ngobefuo for years. He never joked, never teased anybody and never laughed but to mock a situation. The Akeukeuor was not a subject he conversed about so freely. Ngobefuo, therefore, meant everything, he had talked in earnest and so it would be wrong on his part to regard the revelation as a joke. He gathered the folds of his sprawling loincloth, put them between his skinny laps and braced himself up. Raising his head which he supported under his chin with his right hand and with the right elbow resting on his knee he addressed Ngobefuo with obvious offended dignity: ‘‘You say Akeukeuor has been stolen, my first man?’’ Ngobefuo ran his tongue over his dried lips and said: ‘‘It is stolen.’’ 5  Linus T. Asong ‘‘And you say all fingers are pointing at me, my first man?’’ ‘‘I will not turn it into a song,’’ Ngobefuo said and looked away spitefully. Achiebefuo’s feet were trembling and with arms now folded, he peered into Ngobefuo’s eyes and asked: ‘‘My first man, fingers are pointing at Achiebefuo. Yes, fingers of people who may not know me are pointing at me. But as somebody who knows me very well, where is your own finger pointing?’’ ‘‘I said all fingers are pointing at Achiebefuo. If my own was pointing at some other person I should have said so. I am not talking with water in my mouth.’’ Achiebefuo absorbed this next insult and sank back onto his stool. After a few seconds he rose again and said: ‘‘My first man, let us not be mad in the day time like this. I do not want to find out whether Akeukeuor has been stolen or not...’’ ‘‘It is stolen...’’ ‘‘Please let me talk. I believe you, not because you cannot tell a lie, but because I know you well. On the other hand you cannot say certain things about me, and I want to tell you that you are not talking like somebody who knows me at all.’’ ‘‘Achiebefuo, don’t worry yourself, I am talking like somebody who knows you very well. And right now I am talking like somebody who fears you.’’ Achiebefuo broke out into a long hollow, grating and mirthless laughter ‘‘Uuuhhuu-kikikiki-hahahaha-kikikiki...’’ Then he stopped as abruptly as he had started, shot his right hand at Ngobefuo and told him: ‘‘It is really true that you fear me now. Akeukeuor is stolen, the god of our gods. My first man hears of it and immediately refuses to see me or talk to me. Why, because he knows that there never can be anybody in the tribe capable of doing such a thing except Achiebefuo. Sorry. 6  The Crown of Thorns Then, the first time I am hearing about it is when I am called upon to defend myself. Me, Achiebefuo!’’ He sat down and then lowering his voice almost to a whisper began: ‘‘My first man, if such a thing appeared to me in a dream about you, I would be afraid even to mention the dream to you. The reason being that I know you. The reason being that I trust you. The reason being that we cannot forget that this tribe of Nkokonoko Small Monje rests on our shoulders. Fuo-Ndee left it in our hands, you and I, Ngobefuo and Achiebefuo. Others are merely our helpers. And here I am, defending myself before you in a matter about the tribe we two were supposed to protect. ‘‘What you want me to believe is that Fuo-ndee made a mistake to have chosen me amongst so many to work with you, to protect the ways and heritage of this tribe of ours. What you want me to believe by this also is that the god who guided Fuo-ndee’s hands into choosing me to work with you for the good of his tribe made a big mistake. My first man, you should know that you made an even greater mistake than all of them. You should never have allowed things to go this far. As a man who is so wise, so upright and so far-seeing, you should never have agreed to work with a thief.’’ Ngobefuo raised his eyes with a quizzical look on his face. ‘‘Yes,’’ Achiebefuo nodded. ‘‘That is the type of person you have conceived me to be in your heart for the past fifty years.’’ He heaved a heavy sigh and asked again: ‘‘What kind of man did you say you know me to be, my first man?’’. ‘‘A carver,’’ Ngobefuo responded firmly. ‘‘I know Achiebefuo to be a good carver.’’ 7  Linus T. Asong Achiebefuo felt thick bile of indignation rise from the pit of his stomach to his throat. He constricted the muscles of his throat and forced back that suffocating lump of anger. ‘‘Have I never meant anything to this tribe and to you than a carver?’’ he enquired furiously. ‘‘Was I chosen to work with you because I was a carver?’’ The declaration that Ngobefuo had known Achiebefuo only as a carver still did not register anything in Achiebefuo’s mind. It did not make him suspect that he was a dupe in some mischief. If anything, he thought that somebody down the coast might have seen the statue which the D.O. had requested to be carved for him. It had been so faithfully copied. The information must have been passed on to Ngobefuo, who in turn must have concluded that Achiebefuo had stolen the god of their land and had sold it. On his part, Ngobefuo did not allow his knowledge of Achiebefuo or the extent to which the latter looked embarrassed and offended to colour the facts of the situation which had been thoroughly investigated. He told his kinsman very calmly: ‘‘Achiebefuo, I do not deny that I had known you for long. But what I know about you now is beyond what I could ever have imagined you to be.’’ ‘‘What do you know about me now, my first man?’’ ‘‘That you have a hangman’s blood in your veins. I am not the one to ask you where you got the money you were spitting out in public in Sowa, the money you were giving out to the Chief when we were here chaffing, eating dried catarrh from our nostrils. That was unlike the Achiebefuo I had always known, the Achiebefuo into whose hands and mine the protection of the tribe was entusted.’’ He paused for a long time and said, rising: ‘‘If you pretend not to understand what I am talking about come and refresh your eyes with the thorn in my heart - your handiwork which you seem now to forget.’’ 8  The Crown of Thorns Stunned by the force of the accusation and the certainty with which it was made, Achiebefuo staggered to his feet and followed Ngobefuo, his feet shaking at every pace like those of a man crossing a hammock. They passed through the palace, entered the holy grove and went on until they reached the holy shrine. Beckongncho, the man who had brought the news of the stolen statue, and whose investigations had sparked off the wave of accusations, was following them, but from a distance. It was the custom that any entrance into the holy grove and shrine must be preceded by the dancing forward and backward of two masquerades, each holding a flaming torch, amidst other formalities. But Ngobefuo, to Achiebefuo’s astonishment, ignored all ceremony and virtually strolled into the place, a strong indication that something unusual had happened. Without the solemnity and reverence which for ages had always bespoken the total helplessness of a mortal in the presence of that deity, Ngobefuo crossed the River of Forgetfulness, walked up to their god and wrenched off the thick black cloth which had always covered it. As he did this he turned sharply to Achiebefuo and with a cadence in his voice asked: ‘‘Is this our god, Achiebefuo? Tell me that!’’ Achiebefuo felt like urinating where he stood, his stomach ached instantly so that he also felt a strong urge to go to stool, he felt like vomiting, like sneezing, like crying, like dashing his head against the foot of the statue and dying at once. No, the statue that stood there was not their god, it was not Akeukeuor! Was that not the same statue he had carved for the D.O.? Had the D.O. not told him that it had been sent to a far off country? How then had it managed to find its way back into the shrine to stand in the place of Akeukeuor? Yes, Ngobefuo was right to excrete in his mouth, he told himself. 9  Linus T. Asong ‘‘Is that our god?’’ Ngobefuo shouted. Achiebefuo opened his mouth to speak but he could not move his tongue. He stood looking down at his own feet like a guilty infant who surrenders himself to his father, knowing that he must be punished, knowing that there was no point in escaping. ‘‘Is that not something made by a carver?’’ ‘‘It is, my first man,’’ Achiebefuo answered from somewhere down his throat. ‘‘Achiebefuo, tell me, who carved it?’’ ‘‘I did, my first man.’’ In his benumbing mind Achiebefuo thought that Ngobefuo would ask him why he did it. To which he would have explained: ‘‘My first man Goment*, came to me one day last year and asked me if I could carve for him a replica of Akeukeuor. He said he wanted to take it to a Show in the white man’s country. I told him that I could do it. He promised to give me fifty thousand francs, and told me that I would do the work only in his storeroom, that if I let anybody know what I was doing in his place he would divide the money he was to give me among as many people as knew about it. I did the work and I did not tell anybody. But I thought that by using the money to save the Chief ’s face, I was putting it into common use. How it happened again that he brought it here and cut away Akeukeuor and put the statue in its place, I do not know, and I can swear by Ku-ngang that I am innocent.’’ That would have been the truth, but not the whole truth. The whole truth lay in the fateful visit Nicholas Virchow, a certain white man, had paid to Nkokonoko Small Monje. He had come all the way from Texas to see and perhaps take some photographs of that very famous statue he had so often heard about in Texas. * A mispronunciation of the word Government. In this context, it denotes a reference to the District Officer (D.O.) 10  The Crown of Thorns He had come as a tourist and, as the regulations required he had first presented himself before the D.O. There he had disclosed the purpose of his visit. The D.O. learned for the first time that there was a craze for antiquities from Africa in the United States and Europe. The D.O. had been excited by the news. Now instead of continuing to the palace to see the statue as Virchow had said, the D.O. had suggested that they drive to his residence. That night the tourist had dined with the D.O. and his family. As they ate and drank, Virchow had made a seemingly casual and insignificant observation that a statue of the size of Akeukeuor could fetch Small Monje millions in the United States, if the people ever thought of selling it. [He would say later that the expression millions had been intended as a metaphor, implying simply that it could cost quite much]. Whether this statement was a result of a premeditated plan which had necessitated the visit in the first place, or was meant to be taken as a compliment to the cultural heritage of the people of Small Monje, it is hard to say. But it had struck the D.O. at a point of keenest interest - money. The readiness, however, with which Virchow had agreed to pay for the statue when the D.O. made him believe that it was possible to convince the people to sell the antiquity, seemed to indicate that he too must have been thinking of possessing such a thing before he left the United States. When it came to the money actually changing hands it did not cost millions as Virchow had intimated. In fact, it was to cost only a few hundred thousands - four hundred thousand francs. The D.O. did not look too disappointed. He had only one suggestion: It was not going to be a direct deal. He knew that the circumstances of the Chief were such that he could easily be convinced to work with them. He felt too that the presence of the white man could create some suspicion which would ruin the whole deal. He decided therefore that Virchow would keep out of the scene completely. 11  Linus T. Asong But he gave Virchow a different reason. He told him that although the natives had expressed the desire to sell the statue, they had made it plain to him that it must be sold only to a black man. He had a personality which could put an air of candour over the most blatant lies, and make him sound like a saint. This trait he had long recognized himself and always exploited it to the fullest advantage. Virchow was to return to the coast immediately to expect the statue. But first he was to give an advance payment of two hundred thousand francs after a tacit written agreement had been made between the two. The rest of the money was to be paid upon receipt of the statue at the coast. The D.O. knew that Achiebefuo was a carver of mortars, wooden spoons, drums and masks which he sold in the markets. On one of the market days he met Achiebefuo on his way to the market, bought everything he was taking to the market and then asked Achiebefuo to come with him to his house for an assignment. Within two weeks Achiebefuo had completed a huge statue which the D.O. painted black, the colour of the god of Small Monje, as described by Achiebefuo to him. 12  The Crown of Thorns 1 he Chief was the D.O.’s next target. In a private T interview - Satan’s temptation of Eve in the Garden of Eden could not have been better - he talked to the Chief about the latter’s plight, his abject poverty and ‘the danger,’ as he put it, ‘of falling from grace to grass through no fault of his.’ At this the Chief told him: ‘‘Whatever suffering I am undergoing it is you and the Government who have caused it. It could not have been like this if I was still earning a salary.’’ ‘‘Do not think that the Government is so wicked and short-sighted,’’ the D.O. told him. ‘‘If you are suffering, that is entirely your fault. The Government has always had the interest of the Chiefs at heart. We still need them now just as we need oxygen. The point that you must understand here is that before the Government ever passed that decree and make it a law, it had taken into its wise consideration the irrefutable fact that there were means within reach of the affected Chiefs, which can always sustain them.’ ‘‘Like what, sir?’’ the Chief asked him. ‘‘I will explain myself,’’ the D.O. said. ‘‘We, the Government, have taken cognizance of the fact that the paramount Chiefs like yourself rule over traditional societies. It therefore stands to reason that they are bound to be found in your Kingdom, and in large quantities, antiquities such as old stools, pipes, horns or even old statues. These things, if well treated, could fetch quite a handsome amount from tourists.’’ He did not mention the Akeukeuor. He merely talked of statues in general. It was when the Chief confessed that they had not got anything of the sort which could fetch him 13  Linus T. Asong money that the D.O. mentioned it. And even then, although it was the main purpose of the meeting, the D.O. only mentioned it in passing. He said: ‘‘You can’t afford to say that. If you have been very observant you would have seen many. A thing like Koko, or what is it your people call their god, (he deliberately mispronounced the name to dispel any iota of suspicion that he had any particular interest in the art work) could bring money. Not less than a hundred thousand francs.’’ The Chief fell for it. He sat still for a very long time. On his own he could never have conceived that kind of idea. But the mention of one hundred thousand francs raised a kind of feeling in his breast which destroyed any instinct to resist the idea on grounds of the supreme importance of the statue in the lives of the people. He found this suggestion dovetailing conveniently into an already carefully worked out plan to resign that post of Chief and take up trading in the coast. One hundred thousand francs was the right amount of money he required as capital for embarking on a trade. He had only one fear: It could go seriously against him if the people found out. He tried to figure the extent of the gravity of any action the Elders could take against him if the theft were discovered. He could not see beyond a dethronement. And if dethronement was the worst to be expected, what else could be more welcomed? He was asking God for nothing less. What did it matter to him if he was dethroned after he had amassed enough money to settle down to a peaceful life? He had already got quite much from his very intelligent manipulation of the money that was given to him to keep for the construction of the new school. When he expressed that apprehension the D.O. encouraged him: ‘‘Your people should not know, unless you tell them. You do not need to go to the palace with a gong and go about announcing that you want to sell statues and that they 14  The Crown of Thorns should put the matter to the vote. You know how often they have disagreed with you. They can’t agree. You may even be surprised to hear that they are very happy to find you in this disgraceful situation. If they are pleased that you are like this, I am not. That is why I am making every effort to get you out of it. If you are interested in saving your life and prestige, I will send for a statue of the same size as the one that is there to be carved. We shall put it up in the same place for them to worship. Do they ever open it to see the body of the statue?’’ The Chief answered in the negative, completely overwhelmed by the D.O.’s argument. ‘‘Then where is the fear? They will worship anything, so long as they do not know what it is. And even if they know, that should be no problem as far as I am concerned. I am the law. The discovery cannot even be in your own life time. Nor mine. Even till the end of this century. Assuming that they see it, I will simply tell them to shut up and that will close the matter.’’ And so he had proceeded with his casuistry, the kind of logical hair-splitting that cast a spell on the Chief. By the time he had finished making his point the Chief had vowed three times to take his revenge on those old men, to outwit them. And with this in mind he set out to work. It was he who contacted and got the men who cut the statue and carried it out of the palace. In the tribe, Ngobefuo seemed to stand all alone. Not everybody liked his dictatorship. It was therefore not difficult for the Chief to enlist the service of some Elders who, upon the promise of the sum of five thousand francs and a bottle of gin each, brought the statue to the D.O.’s waiting Land Rover at the gate of the palace. The same people took the fake god back and had it planted with wax on the stump of the real god. Then they covered it again to make it look as if that was the way it had always been. 15  Linus T. Asong 2 ack in his compound, the D.O. embarked on the B last phase. Although he had succeeded in convincing the Chief and some Elders, he knew that it would be foolhardy to carry the statue out of Small Monje exposed. So, as soon as the D.O. had paid the Chief and the Chief had in turn paid the men who helped him, he had a large coffin made to contain the gigantic statue. A certificate of death and other accompanying documents were prepared for the fictitious corpse inside the coffin. Two professional mourners were hired to pose as relatives of the deceased. They were to accompany the coffin to the place of burial down the coast. That was how the Akeukeuor travelled from Small Monje undetected, a distance of about seven hundred kilometres. Unfortunately, like most conspiracies that fail, there had been a loophole. The D.O. had duly delivered the statue and had received his money. It had been left at the harbour because Virchow meant to send it home by sea. It had arrived two full days before the ship was expected to start loading. So, while Virchow looked for a place to preserve it, widespread suspicion was aroused by the presence of such a very large coffin in the possession of a white man. The police had been alerted. Neither Ngobefuo nor Achiebefuo knew anything about this subsequent development. Ngobefuo believed that their god had been stolen and sold by Achiebefuo, and the accused had admitted his guilt. Nothing else mattered. 16  The Crown of Thorns 3 s for Achiebefuo, he knew that the D.O. had once A asked him to carve a statue which he used as a ruse to steal their god. He thought it was still possible for him to explain himself. But Ngobefuo turned his back on him and walked off. Achiebefuo ran like a child after him and barring his way went down on his knees and begged: ‘‘My first man, if I have ever meant anything to you and to the tribe for all these seventy years that we have eaten together, walked together and slept together, please listen to me.’’ ‘‘You do not expect me, Ngobefuo, to listen to a creature like you, Achiebefuo. After living with me for one hundred years, after working with me for one hundred years and protecting the ways of our people, I should not be the one to tell you how wrong it is for you, an ordinary mortal, to imitate the nature of our god - for whatever reason.’’ Achiebefuo blamed himself. How could he have failed to see something wrong in accepting the D.O.’s request? ‘‘And you did, Achiebefuo! Akeukeuor was stolen in the eleventh moon. We offered the sacrifice of cleansing the tribe the following moon. We offered the sacrifice which was supposed to wash our tribe clean to the god you made!’’ Achiebefuo was silent, his head bowed in guilt and he was full of remorse. ‘‘Achiebefuo, do you hear how it sounds in your own ears? The god you made,’’ he repeated. ‘‘Achiebefuo, have you now started making gods for the tribes? You said you had meant something to the tribe. If you had been anything 17  Linus T. Asong to this tribe let me tell you that this one act of yours cancelled all. If our lives have had any meaning at all either to each other or to the tribe, it only came from the protection we gave to our tribe, its interests, its laws which our fathers and forefathers laid down for us to follow. If you have decided to turn against me in this sacred duty, then I do not know how you expect me or the tribe to take you seriously again. You have failed me and so I do not have the ear to listen to you at all.’’ So saying Ngobefuo spat in front of Achiebefuo. 18  The Crown of Thorns Chapter Two B ECKONGNCHO, A teacher from the coast was the one who had brought the news of the stolen god. This effort endeared him to Ngobefuo so much that he was the only person Ngobefuo trusted and could listen to at the moment. He told Ngobefuo: ‘‘Father, we shall do it this way if we are to succeed....’’ ‘‘When the god of your tribe is stolen, my son, you don’t talk about succeeding any more. Things have never been like this anywhere, never. What else is there to be done, son? Tell me, we have changed places.’’ ‘‘To cut Akeukeuor and carry it to the coast cannot possibly be done by one man, father,’’ Beckongncho told him. ‘‘What I suggest is that we find out who else worked with my father, Achiebefuo. Akeukeuor is too big to be carried by one man.’’ ‘‘So what is to be done? Tell me.’’ ‘‘We should call an emergency meeting of all the Elders. There we break the news to them and watch the reactions of the Chief and the other seven people whom I told you might be involved in the incident. If that fails, we go to the D.O. and, father, let me tell you that right now I see the D.O.’s hand very deep in the matter.’’ ‘‘My son, there is dust in my eyes, there is cotton wool in my ears. I hear nothing and see nothing, only wickedness and treachery.’’ ‘‘You just summon that meeting and I will see and listen for you.’’ ‘‘I will, son. But did I hear you say Goment’s hand is in it?’’ ‘‘Father, Akeukeuor could never have reached the coast 21  Linus T. Asong without the help of a lorry. The D.O. is the only person here who has one. There are road-blocks in the villages along the road down to the coast and there are policemen at every one of them. If Akeukeuor passed through them without being stopped and brought back, the carrier must have been somebody with supreme authority over the police. Only the D.O. has such powers. Achiebefuo will have to be present. We shall have to force him to say who asked him to carve it. It is not enough that he had admitted his wrong.’’ ‘‘My son,’’ Ngobefuo began as soon as he heard Achiebefuo’s name mentioned. ‘‘I need not tell you that Achiebefuo was my shadow for all the years we worked together. I have seen things these last five years that would make me grind my teeth if I had any left. I was Fuo-ndee’s shadow from the day they put the crown on his head to the day he was put into the earth. Not a single word of shame was ever heard about this tribe. Now things are happening before our own eyes which in the days gone by would have been impossible to dream of. Look at the crown! Look at our god!’’ He rose as soon as he finished the last word and went down to the nteuh, took up two sticks and, now intoxicated with rage, struck it furiously. The sound of the nteuh at 4 o’clock in the afternoon sent waves of alar m and bewilderment throughout the eleven villages that made up the tribe. The nteuh was never struck by day. It was not struck by an ordinary mortal. And Ngobefuo knew that. Yet it was the only thing to do. To wait until it was dark before going to tell the Chief to ask his masquerade to do it, meant taking too many chances. Knowing the Chief for what he was, the possibility of a refusal to order his masquerade could not be ruled out. He did not want to risk alerting the Chief who may likely frustrate his efforts to get at the root of the mystery. Ngobefuo’s mind had become poisoned to the extent that he could not delay breaking the news for another day. 22  The Crown of Thorns As soon as he struck the nteuh he assumed the duties of ‘caller’. Anticipating much confusion he descended into the main compound and stood there, telling everybody who came rushing down to enquire what the matter was, to go into the ndie-ndee and wait. He did not tell anybody why. Important Elders who were absent at the time were immediately sent for, while the others settled down in the hall. Within an hour, with only a few exceptions, they were all gathered in the great hall. The Chief, most unconstitutionally, had not been given as much as a whispered hint of the purpose of the meeting. He was simply told that the Elders had something to say in his presence. He came in one hour later when everybody had assembled, and he was coming only to protest against the sudden encroachment on his royal prerogative. He would use that kind of behaviour as one of the reasons for resigning his office as soon as the occasion presented itself. 23  Linus T. Asong 1 xcept for the brief calm following the sudden E closure of the house of Chiefs to which he was a member, Chief Nchindia had always believed in presenting a very sophisticated appearance. He had lived at the coast for most of his life and had never ceased trying to look enlightened. He had never drunk from the traditional horn of office right from the very first day he started earning a salary as the Paramount Chief. He had refused from the first day of his coronation to touch the Royal Pipe. There was something in its bulk that repulsed him, though he smoked cigarettes regularly. When he appeared for this particular meeting he was wearing a spotless white nylon shirt with a silk scarf round his neck. He was also wearing his favourite blue jeans whose folded hem contrasted with his traditional loincloth. As ever, a packet of Benson and Hedges showed in very clear outline in his breast pocket. His silver gas-lighter was in his right hand, and he held a cigarette daintily between the thumb and index finger. As soon as he was comfortably seated he seemed to draw attention to himself by striking the lighter several times without using the flame. Then he finally lit the cigarette and started smoking in his characteristic manner: He would pull at the cigarette for a very long time and then blow out the smoke in puffs which he caused to rise up towards the roof in spirals and rings. He would then raise his head a bit and blow a whiff of air through the spirals and rings. There was nothing actually new in all these antics. The old men had seen them quite often; an attitude they considered as a milestone in the eroding of the awe and 24  The Crown of Thorns respect which was once shown towards the throne of Nkokonoko Small Monje. On this occasion Ngobefuo viewed these mannerisms as a blind defiance and insolence on the community; an arrogant display of royal nonchalance, an unabashed confirmation of his involvement in the selling of their god. The Chief himself spoke first: ‘‘Fathers, I do not know the purpose of this meeting. If I should take your hundreds of pieces of advice seriously, then I think that to strike the nteuh is an affair of the night, done only by the Chief ’s masquerades. The summoning of a meeting in this hall is the expressed right of....’’ Ngobefuo would not allow the Chief to finish talking. He rose to his feet: ‘‘Son of Fuo-ndee, this useless old man talking to you now was twenty and five years the masquerade of a Chief. A real Chief.’’ He stressed the last two words. ‘‘We are glad to hear that our Chief knows so much about the tradition of his people.’’ Nobody took this statement for a commendation, not even the Chief himself who knew he never met Ngobefuo on any level other than conflict. The man wiped his mouth, looked round the hall and went on: ‘‘My brothers and the Chief, you know that before a dog impregnated its mother, it all began like a joke - scratching her back, smelling and licking her anus while she urinated. Then one day it happened. But what am I saying?’’ There was silence. He looked round. ‘‘When on the day of the big sacrifice rain fell and we were forced to put it off for another day. People were saying that Ngobefuo was wishing the tribe ill when I said the gods were not yet happy with us.’’ He paused for a very long time before breaking off again in a flight of oratory which instantly put the fire out of every listener’s pipe. Very graphically, he traced the history of the tribe, where they came from and the thousand-and- one mortal combats they had encountered and survived 25  Linus T. Asong throughout those centuries. All along he laid the greatest possible emphasis on the importance of the tradition, the omnipotence and omnipresence of their ancestors and their continuous protective influence in the management of the tribe from the very beginning of things right down to the last Catching Ceremony which made Nchindia the Chief. This he called the end of an epoch: the epoch of order and respect, and the beginning of another epoch, an epoch of confusion, disrespect and shame. Very specifically he told them what had throughout been responsible for their miraculous deliveries, even during that period of shame. It was the Akeukeuor. He described its origin, size and power and its rank in the hierarchy of gods anywhere. He told them that both in conception and execution it was not the work of an ordinary mortal. It had been wrought, he said, from the hands of a being who had dined with the gods of old, at the tables of history. At this moment of climax in his speech he swung round and facing the Chief announced: ‘‘The bottom of our world has fallen out. Some among us here have cut Akeukeuor and sold to a white man - for money.’’ On that note he virtually staggered back to his seat. Half way through his very emotional address, the fire had gone out of his own pipe. Deeply engrossed in his message he had not had time to put it back in his bag. He had merely bent down and placed it on the floor. When he turned to resume his seat he stepped on it, crushing it. Such an accident could have occurred to anybody in the same frame of mind. But in the Biongong culture of which Small Monje was a part, to step on one’s pipe or to sit on it was an act bordering on real insanity. It implied a total lack of control of one’s senses. Everybody saw what had happened, nobody knew which to react to, the heart-rending news of the loss of their god or that major sign of insanity which Ngobefuo had just manifested. It was mainly this act which in the hearts of 26  The Crown of Thorns the truly honest men, seemed to cast a doubt over the veracity of his declaration. He had started talking by calling his brothers first and not the Chief. He had talked of the impossible - the stealing of their god. And then he had worsened matters by stepping on his own pipe! Ngobefuo seemed straightaway to read their minds. ‘‘I am not sick in the head, my dear brothers,’’he rose again, contemplating the broken pieces of the pipe in the centre of the floor. ‘‘I know I have stepped on my pipe. But let that not worry you at all. We have a case in hand.’’ Beckongncho’s eyes were fixed not on Ngobefuo or the broken pipe but on the Chief and some of the Elders whom his investigation considered likely suspects. The people of Nkokonoko Small Monje have an expression for describing the reaction of a man surprised in an act. They say he behaved like a rat caught in the centre of a dark room by the sudden introduction of a blazing flame. Chief Nchindia and his accomplices had been caught in that unguarded position. The Chief immediately went through an abrupt change of countenance that made his breathing difficult and his chest palpitated visibly. Ngobefuo’s speech and the news it brought with it was apt to enrage an innocent person, not to mention the Chief who occupied such an important position of power. But the Chief had only stretched and coughed and then, holding his head down for a full minute, he decided to smoke another cigarette. He pulled out one which he stuck to his shivering lips and tried to light it. The lighter glowed at the first attempt and then he tried to make the cigarette catch fire. It wouldn’t. Perhaps he was trying to light it from the wrong end. He eventually abandoned the fruitless effort and threw both the cigarette and lighter on the ground before him. The words of the D.O. came to his mind: ‘‘The discovery will never be made in your lifetime. It will take a miracle for anybody to discover the loss.’’ The miracle had occurred, and in his own lifetime! He rose to go out, but Ngobefuo too got up and, standing in his way, he said: 27  Linus T. Asong ‘‘His Highness, I beg in the name of all my brothers who run this tribe, to say that nobody will leave this hall until we have known who have done this cut-throat act to the tribe.’’ His voice was charged with hate and there was every indication that if the Chief dared to insist he would be restrained by force. ‘‘Even me?’’ the Chief asked wearily, without conviction, and even smiling drily. ‘‘I don’t know anything about it. I am completely innocent.’’ ‘‘We have not said His Highness knows anything about it. We only said our god is stolen. Let His Highness not bring suspicion onto himself,’’Ngobefuo said grimly. Casually and amidst much cross-talk, murmurs and grumbling, Chief Alexander Nchindia made the undignifying retreat to his seat. Some people thought Ngobefuo had gone too far. One of the Elders rose to the centre of the floor to talk. He was Ndenwontio. He was one of the two Elders whose involvement in the outrage Beckongncho’s investigation had failed to make clear. But as far as Ngobefuo was concerned, since Achiebefuo had confirmed his guilt, it was hard for him to consider anybody else innocent without valid proof to the contrary. The man said: ‘‘His Highness and my brothers, Akeukeuor is not the god of Ngobefuo. It is our god. Ngobefuo is the caretaker of the tribe and not the caretaker of our god. Who asked him to take things so personal as to be the only one to know about such an important secret, and only let us know in the market like this? Are we children to him? And if it happens that what he is saying had actually taken place, I will never pardon him for holding us all of so little account. This kind of dance he is doing with our Chief does not please me at all. And look at those attending meetings in the ndie-ndee with our Chief! Children!’’ He was directing the comment at Beckongncho who, according to tradition, was not supposed to be there. ‘‘And I know this must be Ngobefuo’s idea. Look around you, are 28  The Crown of Thorns we all here? I do not know whether it means anything at all to Ngobefuo.’’ It is true for those who know the story of the two men that his confrontation with Ngobefuo was always coloured by the thought that it was he and not Ngobefuo who ought to have been the caretaker of the tribe. But what he had just said won the approval of all. And as soon as he resumed his seat another elder rose. He was Ajem-abeule. He told them: ‘‘I also felt the spittle of Ngobefuo on my face. Akeukeuor was not made for you, or you,’’ he went on pointing from one person to the other. ‘‘It was not made for Ngobefuo. It was made for the whole tribe, which is more than the few grains of us sitting here now. This is not a dream for Ngobefuo to dream alone. It is not right for a single man to judge for us all, if anything of the sort has happened, may the gods pardon me for repeating the words!’’ At this point he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Ngangabe, weeping. The new-comer announced that Achiebefuo had died! ‘‘Died?’’Everybody was shocked. ‘‘How?’’ Ngangabe explained: ‘‘When I heard the nteuh and was coming I met my father-in-law going back. I wondered and asked him whether he was not going to answer to the call of the drum. He said he would not go. I asked him why, and he said Goment had killed him. I was still on my way down here when a child came riding behind me to tell me that he had hanged himself.’’ ‘‘Yes, that is quite in order,’’ Ngobefuo jumped up to clear the confusion. ‘‘If Achiebefuo has hanged himself, let nobody mourn for him. His death is connected with the theft of our god. He was in my hut to confess that he carved the statue we have been worshipping and offering sacrifices to.’’ At this juncture Ndenwontio and Ajem-abeule began, as did several others, to discern some reason in Ngobefuo’s madness. They all decided to go first to the shrine and see it for themselves. 29  Linus T. Asong 2 here they saw the truth. It was not their god. T Ngobefuo went to the earthen wall behind the shrine and lifted a piece of bamboo with which he began to push away the earth which had been carefully used to cover the pedestal. To everybody’s painful view the layer of thick wax which had been used to fix the fake statue on the stump of the real god was exposed. Ndenwontio was not only convinced but inflamed. He asked Ngobefuo: ‘‘My brother, tell us. How did you get to know that the thing under that black cloth was no longer Akeukeuor? How did you even go to fine out?’’ Ngobefuo called for Beckongncho from behind the group and he told them the story: A statue had been seized from a white man at the coast some months ago. Its enormous size had attracted the attention of a worker in the Ministry of Cultural Affairs and eventually the police had come in. The exact story of how the man came by the statue had not been obtained. But the news of the statue had spread very rapidly, drawing the attention of hundreds of people who flocked into the Ministry to see it. There were several Biongongs amongst those who came to see it. The Biongong Cultural Association in the coast had delegated its President, Kevin Beckongncho to go to Small Monje and make sure that it was not their great god that had been the subject of such scandal. Ndenwontio’s reaction to the story was instantaneous. The shock of discovery, the sincerity of Beckongncho’s account and the very enormity of the crime drove away any private differences he had ever had with Ngobefuo. He quickly believed and forgave Ngobefuo when the latter said 30  The Crown of Thorns it was distrust which made him reluctant to discuss the matter privately with any other person, after Achiebefuo had admitted. Ndenwontio marched up to the statue, pulled it down and then told Ngobefuo: ‘‘This is what you ought to have done in the first place. You don’t allow its roots to enter the soil on which Akeukeuor ever stood.’’ He gave orders for it to be dragged to the palace arena. That was done. Throughout the trip to the shrine and back the Chief had not as much as uttered a single syllable. His reactions were very unspontaneous, conditioned only by those of other people. His hands went up to his head each time a man instinctively threw up his hands in surprise. Each time a man bit his finger and shook his head in bitterness he would do same, if that was the general reaction. Back in the palace, Ndenwontio gave orders (he had suddenly assumed control of the situation), for the fake god to be chopped into pieces. When this was done he asked for some kerosene to be brought which he poured on the wood and set it ablaze. Then as the last bits were being consumed he conferred with Ngobefuo and then told the people: ‘‘We shall all swear our innocence in this matter by licking the ashes of this demon, in the name of Ku-ngang.’’ Another half hour was spent in wondering whether it was not an act of greater impiety to the ancestors to ignore the ashes of a statue which had been used to defile the image of their god to swear to such an important deity as Ku-ngang. This was especially the point of view held by those who were not exactly innocent, and who seemed bent on prolonging the arguments. But how else were they to detect the traitors? Ndenwontio had made the suggestions upon the confident assumption that no true Biongong in his right senses would 31  Linus T. Asong agree to swear by Ku-ngang when he knew deep in his heart that he was culpable. It meant sudden death. On the other hand, Ngobefuo made it clear that it was no impiety because people had been known to swear by Ku-ngang by licking excrement. He told those who were trying to distort the tradition in their self-interest that to swear over anything was essentially to ask Ku-ngang to reduce the individual to the state of the substance he had sworn with, if he was perjuring. But when he insisted on the swearing they were not brought any nearer to the solution of the problem because everybody swore and stood back, looking doubly healthy. Some of the culprits even swore twice and more to emphasize their innocence. Ngobefuo refused to consider the possibility which was beginning to take root in his mind that Achiebefuo had acted alone. He asked Ngangabe what Achiebefuo had really told him. ‘‘He said Goment had killed him, father.’’ Ngobefuo reflected for a whole minute and then asked: ‘‘As people who have heads, what do you think Achiebefuo meant by that?’’ At this stage it was unanimously agreed that the matter be referred to the D.O. They allowed themselves only a few minutes within which somebody was sent round to get lamps. Ngobefuo insisted that they all stick together until the real facts had been known. He stood by the Chief, with Ndenwontio on the other side, and the two prevented Nchindia from taking anything else apart from his wallet and pullover. His wife and children were no longer in the palace, he had long sent them to the coast to wait for him. He regretted parting with his family. He wondered what the future held for them. A rare feeling came over him and he began to fear that he may never see them again. 32  The Crown of Thorns Chapter Three T HE D.O. was at home. There in Small Monje he had nowhere else to go for relaxation outside his home or office. It was half past 9, but he was already in his pyjamas. He had just taken several shorts of Gin and was browsing over a book to invite sleep, when he sighted lamps at a distance through the corner of his eye. He looked out of the window and called for the officer who guarded his compound. When the man came he asked him to go up to the people and ask them why they were coming to disturb him. At the same time he unchained the dog which had been sleeping beside him and ordered it to chase them off. He then retired to his room and laid in his bed. A few minutes afterwards the officer was knocking at his door to tell the D.O. that the Chief and the Elders of the Council of the tribe said they wanted to see him on an important issue. ‘‘Go and tell them that I am asleep.’’ he told the officer. When the officer took the message to them the people said they would wait until he woke up, even if it meant staying the whole night at the gate. They knew the D.O. was not yet in bed and that he just did not want to speak to them. After some twenty minutes when they made it plain to the officer that they may have to force their way into the compound and wake him up to listen to them, the officer took fright and went in to consult with his master. Ten minutes later the D.O. appeared at the window of the parlour and, leaning out, asked: ‘‘Why do you people want to see me?’’ Although the compound was heavily fenced it was not very large. Anybody like the D.O. with a big voice could 33  Linus T. Asong easily make himself heard at the gate from the house. It was Ndenwontio who answered him: ‘‘We have not been coming to see Goment in the night. Goment should have known without out telling him that our reason for coming is very important. Something terrible has happened to us. If he does not want to receive us let him tell us, we shall go back as we came.’’ His voice was deep, clear and vibrated with suppressed indignation. Indeed it seemed to quaver as he spoke, as though he was trembling. ‘‘Is it about your land?’’ he enquired. ‘‘It is not about our land,’’ Ngobefuo told him. ‘‘And what if it is about our land?’’ Ngangabe spat just when the D.O. was about to give orders for the gate to be opened. Ndenwontio told the fiery Ngangabe to be patient until they had trashed out the issue uppermost in their hearts, the issue which had made them miss their sleep. The D.O. hesitated when he heard the voice of Ngangabe. He had not imagined that the man would be there with them. What was he going to do with the rascal that night? And now Ngangabe had spoken to him rudely again. What could they have come for? War? Obviously Ngangabe was the only sprightly young blood in their company. One tree cannot make a forest. He leaned out and peered again just to assure himself that it was not the whole tribe that had come. They were hardly more than twenty. Were the rest hiding in the bush? Were they waiting for him to let in the old men? If so, then they had not planned the strategy well because if he arrested those he was seeing at the gate, it would be too late for those in the bush to do anything. No, he resolved, they had not come for war. He decided he would listen to them. He called the officer and told him to ‘open fire on anybody who tried any dirty tricks.’ He was not taking any chances. Then asking the officer to let them in he walked out to the veranda to receive them. The dog too came back after having tried unsuccessfully to frighten them away and he chained 34  The Crown of Thorns it. They marched in and as they climbed to the veranda, the Chief stepped forward and greeted. The D.O. answered with a condescending nod, offering his wrist because he was still holding a book in his hand with his fingers stuck between the pages. The Chief received the wrist with a respectful bow, an act which stuck the old men like an arrow through the heart. ‘‘Tigers have become goats!’’ Ngobefuo mumbled, shaking his head resentfully. A suppressed and aching sense of personal inferiority expressed itself in their Chief ’s whole bearing. It made the more reflective Elders think about the good old days with profound regret. They remembered the days of Fuo-ndee. He was a fearless and absolute monarch, who could, even in the days of the white man, give any orders to anybody. His words were the law and everybody obeyed. It was the D.O. who would have been sent for to answer them in the palace with just one word from the Chief! The D.O. offered the wrist to another elder who following the Chief ’s example, received it with equal reverence. Ngobefuo was next. He would have kicked the hand away if he had the energy and nerve. He just stood there, staring at it until the D.O. showed it to another person, Ndenwontio. The man turned his face away. The rest were not given the opportunity to decide what to do with it because Ngobefuo stepped forward and interrupted what he considered an insult with: ‘‘Goment, we have come to see you at this time of night because of an affair which threatens our very existence. Will Goment listen to us? Or not?’’ ‘‘What is it about?’’ the D.O. asked after a very long silence. He was standing against the wall with hands folded and regarding Ngangabe in the face with intense suspicion. Then he lowered his eyes and stared around their waists in case they carried any swords. There was nothing. Just then Ndenwontio responded to his question: ‘‘Goment, if it was a thing we could talk on our feet we 35  Linus T. Asong would not have suffered to come here at this time of the night....’’ ‘‘Do we have boils on our buttocks and jiggers in our feet that we cannot enter under the roof and sit on the chairs in a house which was built with the labours of our hand and on our own land?’’ Ngangabe asked. The D.O.’s first instinct was to tell them to go away. After all they no longer mattered to him. Besides, Ngangabe had stated an unconscious fact. The D.O. knew they really had jiggers in their feet, though he was not so sure about the boils. He knew that each time he received people from the village the servants had to sweep the veranda and spray it with insecticides to protect the children’s feet. He reflected and then asked them again what they had come for. Although the suggestion to go to the D.O.’s house had been so unanimously accepted, the reason for doing so varied with the number of people present. The suggestion had been made by Ngangabe, but he had anticipated Ngobefuo’s consent. Going to see the D.O. was exactly what Ngangabe and Beckongncho had agreed upon if the meeting had failed to produce any good result. Ngangabe had said so, not because it would lead to any discovery of the thieves. He wanted an opportunity to go near his arch-enemy and make him understand his grievances over the land. And coupled with other reasons he wished the D.O. could drop dead for all he cared. For the Chief the suggestion came as a God-sent blessing. In that heavily charge atmosphere he could think of no safer place than the D.O.’s house. Besides, it lay on the way to the coast from Small Monje. If by any means it became impossible for him to return to the palace as he silently prayed and hoped for, he would have no cause for regret. The suggestion found favour with the culprit Elders who had co-operated with him in the theft. The D.O. had promised them that in the very unlikely event of a discovery, he would use his power of office to silence Ngobefuo or 36  The Crown of Thorns anybody else who dared to contradict him. The rest of the Elders supported because nobody protested against it. And throughout the four kilometre journey to the D.O.’s house they had not thought it necessary to work out any careful method of presenting their case, who would talk, in what order and what to do if things turned out one way or the other. When the D.O. enquired, Ngobefuo rose and stood silent for a long time without speaking. He was a very sombre man, always sensitive about his conduct in a crisis involving the breach of an article of their tradition. He stood almost paralysed. The unexpectedness, the sheer monstrosity of the theft of their god, together with the involvement of his intimate friend had shakened him. He was no longer his former self. He made three attempts to tell the D.O. exactly what had happened, what they felt about it. But on all three occasions bitterness, disappointment and disillusionment crept into his mind and overwhelmed it to the point that he could not talk. Noticing this Ndenwontio came to his aid. He decided to begin the story his own way by tracing the history of gods in their tribe. Ajem-abeule interrupted him and asked him to go straight into the heart of the matter. ‘‘Which one of you is talking?’’ the D.O. asked exasperatingly, glancing at his watch for the fifth time. ‘‘Things are never done this way,’’ he added. ‘‘I have often told you people this.’’ ‘‘We are all of one blood and one mouth goment,’’ Ngangabe said. ‘‘We do not have any one person who will talk for us. Everybody’s heart is full. If you will not listen to all of us you will listen to nobody.’’ ‘‘What has happened, Chief ?’’ the D.O. turned to Nchindia, completely ignoring Ngangabe’s fury. Like a child reporting to an adult the loss of another’s plaything Nchindia said off-handedly: ‘‘They say their statue is stolen, sir.’’ These words brought Ngobefuo suddenly back to his 37  Linus T. Asong senses and he analyzed them in his heart. They implied that he himself was not convinced about it and could never have said the statue is missing. And to put it so carelessly, ‘‘their statue has been stolen’’ - showed how little he valued Akeukeuor. ‘‘What did His Highness say?’’ Nchindia did not repeat himself. Ngobefuo put the point across to the D.O. more clearly: ‘‘Goment, Akeukeuor, god of gods of this land has been stolen.’’ The D.O. shuddered momentarily and smiled. He then asked, looking at the Chief: ‘‘Were they told that it was stolen and kept here?’’ Nchindia shrugged and looked round at them. ‘‘Yes, Goment, it was our father Achiebefuo, whom you have caused to die who said so,’’ Ngangabe answered. Ngangabe was naturally a very careless and impulsive talker. He had not meant by that response to accuse the D.O. He had merely wanted to give an answer, to make his voice heard, no matter how inappropriate, no matter how unfounded. It was this impetuous retort, however, which turned the key that set the truth of the mystery free. Not only did it immediately turn the scales against the Chief and the other collaborators in the act, but it also determined the course which the complaint was to take for the rest of the evening. It indeed determined the course the entire history of Nkokonoko Small Monje was to take thereafter. Immediately the D.O. heard this he asked a bit nervously: ‘‘What did you say? You say Achiebefuo has done what?’’ ‘‘Achiebefuo hanged himself ’’ another Elder told him. ‘‘And what has he said?’’ the D.O. pressed on, his nervousness becoming more and more obvious in his visage. ‘‘Goment,’’ Ngobefuo stepped in. ‘‘We shall not talk of Achiebefuo here now. This is our trouble...’’ Then Ngobefuo narrated his story. 38  The Crown of Thorns The D.O. was compelled to listen until he had finished talking. Another hour of bitter arguments, accusations and counter accusations, recriminations and even direct insults ensued. The Chief maintained a discreet countenance throughout this time. Although the D.O. had been a bit unnerved and continued for some time to be so because of the mention of Achiebefuo’s name, he did not allow himself to panic because he had no illusions about his ability to deal with such yokels. He was certain that the same wits which had enabled him to execute the theft so successfully would come to his aid again. His main worry was whether Virchow had really taken it away from the country or not. He tried at one point to convince them that their statue was actually still where it had always been, and that the news of the loss was a mere figment of their imagination. That would not work for they told him how Achiebefuo had confessed to having carved the statue which they had worshipped for the past months, and which they had already burnt that evening before coming to see him. This was the point at which the real facts became known. It is often said that when thieves fall out honest men get their due. The first cause of this disclosure was the mention of Achiebefuo’s name. In the D.O.’s guilty mind he thought that Achiebefuo had told them many other things which they might be concealing for some sinister purpose. The cause lay in the old men’s manner of talking to him. Then came the D.O.’s attitude towards the problem itself. He did not know how close to their hearts was the existence of that statue. And this determined his entire conduct towards everybody on the issue. It seemed to him that they had taken too much for granted in believing him so readily. The assurance was never a licence for them to talk to him the way they deemed fit. The fact that they were accomplices to that crime did not automatically place them on an equal 39  Linus T. Asong footing with him. That promise was made in secret and only to a handful of people whose existence or death meant very little or nothing to him as D.O. The Elders, especially Ngobefuo and Ndenwontio, who noticed his changed demeanour, knew he was obviously guilty. They called him names and jeered at him telling him most disrespectfully to stand in the market and clear himself. Up to this point, although all evidence pointed to the D.O. and the Chief, the former refused to accept openly. In the confusion that arose he noticed that the five Elders who had brought the statue to the Land Rover joined the Chief and others to ridicule him. They seemed by their actions to imply that it was none other than the D.O. who had single- handedly stolen into the shrine and cut and carried away the statue. This was unfair. Then, he had below his belt five shots of Gin which though taken for some other purpose added a streak of carelessness to his sense of understanding and interpretation of facts. The old men involved in the theft knew that they were not sincere in accusing and laughing at the D.O. They had intended it as a mere defence-mechanism which the D.O., they thought, would understand as such, stand his ground and use his authority to intimidate his accusers as he had promised. But as the supreme representative of the Government there, the D.O. saw his prestige so badly threatened that it would have been technically wrong for him to ignore them, admit his guilt and bear the shame. Not even if the story were to end there. So when Ngobefuo called him an uncircumcised dog, a mad man, and the insults were echoed by the Chief and some three of the men who had cut and carried away the statue, he could no longer bear it. He rose and declared: ‘‘You people are stupid to think I am a mad man and even dare to say so to my face. Go out if you want and consult yourselves, or your gods. And if any of these wretches sitting in here and vomiting rubbish to me (he 40  The Crown of Thorns mentioned exceptions and then pointed to those he accused) can say that they do not know who cut your statue, when it left the palace, and for how much it was sold, I will pay it back on the spot, no matter how much it cost’’. ‘‘If people like you Mbenwo, like you, Tembueloh, Bengobah, Emadomang, like you Konfumong, and especially you Chief, if you took even your palace to anybody to sell, he would not be afraid to pay for it because he knows your position in the tribe. It was long after midnight when Ngobefuo eventually got everybody gathered again in the meeting hall. Six important personalities were not there. They were the Chief and the five men who had been proved guilty. They had been abandoned in the D.O.’s house. The reason for this second extraordinary meeting was clear: to work together to mend things as far as was humanly possible, and then to decide what to do with whoever had a hand in the crime. A new Council was formed, six men having been selected to take the place of Achiebefuo and the other five they had left in the D.O.’s house. Since the circumstance now called for men of action rather than words, it was found necessary to incorporate one or two people from the younger generation who could defend their cause if it ever came to violence. Ngangabe was unanimously chosen with this purpose in mind. The new Council then proceeded to take very important and very delicate decisions which they swore by Ku-ngang and by licking blood to keep the secret from the culprits. Ngobefuo remained the spokesman. Like the typical Biongong that he was, there was in his nature a puritanical strain of ruthlessness which did not permit him to prescribe half-measures when it came to dealing with transgression against the tribe and its customs. First of all the five Elders were expelled from the Advisory Committee of the Elders of the tribe. As a matter of formality he gave the reasons: ‘‘By this one act of betrayal they have spat on the face 41  Linus T. Asong of the tribe and on the faces of our fathers who had gone before us. They have robbed us of the respect which our old age was supposed to confer on us. These five will never more be with us. Achiebefuo had already solved the problem his own way’’. This was unanimously acclaimed as right and just. On the point of Nchindia he said: ‘‘I fear he had made me and my brothers doubt our belief in the protective powers of our ancestors. This thing that he has been doing and which has ended like this, has caused our fathers to turn their eyes away from us their children, just at the time we most needed their guidance. And this has allowed us in our ignorance to violate the sanctity of the shrine of our fathers. In offering a big sacrifice and a solemn prayer to a god who was not there, we have made a mockery of the mystical powers of the spirit that guides us. And this is Nchindia’s fault.’’ He paused and then added: ‘‘Even if this was the first and only thing Nchindia ever did, if he had never done anything before to offend us, this is bad enough. And our custom cannot forgive him. So Nchindia Fuo-ndee will never more be our Chief. The throne is henceforth taken away from him, today, in shame.’’ This too was unanimously accepted as right and just. In fact, any decision which did not favour the quislings was acclaimed as right. There was silence. He took his time and then went on to give the last word on the matter: ‘‘If ever we are to get another god in this tribe, the stump of the god that was left behind by these wicked brothers of ours, must be watered with blood. And if the blood of the sons of Nkokonoko Small Monje shall spill, then the man who led them, the man whose presence has caused the destruction of everything we were once proud of, shall not be spared. I am talking about Goment. Goment will have to go with them.’’ 42  The Crown of Thorns There were no questions. A monstrous crime was about to be answered with an even more monstrous crime. But in their minds nobody could tell anymore which was worse - the crime or the punishment. For those whose memory had not yet failed them, however, this kind of end had been visible right in the beginning. 43  The Crown of Thorns Chapter Four N CHINDIA NEVER wanted to be Chief. On the day of the Catching Ceremony, when the hands of the Chief catcher fell on him instead of falling on Antony Nkoaleck, he fled. Ngobefuo gave him time to come back. When he noticed that Nchindia would not return he called Beckongncho and asked him to fetch some ten strong men to go after the fleeing Chief and bring him back. He then added: “Tell Nchindia that we have seen enough of their play. Tell him that Biongong is still waiting to crown him here as their new Chief. Just tell him that when you reach him. Do not beg him. This is your spittle, don’t let it get dry in the dust before you return.” He spat on the dusty ground and sat back to contemplate the gravity of the situation. After sometime he rose and with an impudent nod of the head he asked the D.O. to follow him. They went into the chamber. Picking up the fragments of desecrated clothing Antony Nkoaleck had thrown away, he asked: “Goment, do you see these things which I am holding like nothing?” The man remained guiltily silent. He knew that it was his intervention that had sparked off all the confusion. “This is spittle which we have spat above our heads. One day it will fall back to foul our faces,” Ngobefuo added with great foreboding. “We shall never wash our hands clean,” he went on. There was a silence in which a distant voice echoed, like a battle cry. They listened for a while, cleared their throats and then cried back in acknowledgement in the traditional manner. The new Chief was being brought back. First 45  Linus T. Asong Beckongncho appeared shaking the afuke-eh, then another man, and then another, all shaking theirs. Finally came the new Chief borne shoulder high. The group bearing him danced round the arena several times and before they finally put him down, the embarrassment of the last hour or so had long disappeared to be instantly replaced by the hysterical rejoicing for the Chief ’s return. The rapturous crowd chanted songs of praise joyously tracing the history of the achievements of their Chiefs down to Nchindia. Songs of thanks to the gods of the land who had made this event possible filled the air. As soon as they lowered Nchindia to the ground the drummers ran mad with excitement again. At the same time, as the custom demanded, people flocked from every angle to encumber the Chief with fanning. But the new Chief still seemed to be making desperate efforts to run away, even pushing away those who came to fan him and causing some to fall in the attempt. Ngobefuo came up to him and, holding his hand asked him to follow him. They were going towards the holy grove. Achiebefuo, Ndenwontio and three other Elders followed very closely behind them. Three other Chiefs came afterwards, followed by the D.O. and some policemen. They all passed through the grove and came to halt just at the small stream that ran in front of the shrine of Akeukeuor, the god of gods. The statue was completely hidden under a mask of blue- black cloth. Only masquerades ever saw its body. Ngobefuo caused the Chief ’s stool to be placed on the other side of the stream. The crown of the Paramount Chief of Nkokonoko Small Monje was placed on it. He told those present to form a semi-circle opening up at the stream with the new Chief sitting in front of them. He adjusted the folds of his loin cloth, picked up the sceptre and then pointing to the small stream said to the Chief: “That is the River of Forgetfulness. There we shall wash 46  The Crown of Thorns away all your past. There is the stool of our Chiefs. Yesterday it was for your father. He has gone. Today it is for you. There is Akeukeuor, the god of all our gods. He will look after you. And here we are,” he pointed to himself and to the other old men. “We are your fathers. We shall advise you.” He paused and then said: “Our child and father, we have seen too much already. We do not want to see any more of this kind of thing. Your brother has spat on the face of the tribe. See his spittle,” he said holding up the things Antony had torn and thrown away. He threw them into the stream, waited until they had been swept away completely by the current, then he turned to the Chief again: “Tell me here and now, I am asking you with the tongue of your father, with the tongue of your forefathers, with the tongue of your ancestors. Will you accept this crown and lead your people as the gods had foreordained, or not?” There was silence. “The crown of Nkokonoko Small Monje has never been forced down the head of anybody who is to be their Chief. So we shall not force it on you at all. We only want to make sure that the blame is not on us.” There was silence. Nchindia still held his head down as he did the moment he was asked to sit on the stool. “Speak,” Ngobefuo urged, and then turned to flattery: “Prince of light, speak. Speak, son of Fuo-ndee himself, king of kings. Conqueror of conquerors. Speak. Are you our Chief or not?” “I am not the right person to be Chief,” Nchindia strained to tell them. But the words stuck in his throat, taking his mind farther and farther back into his past, his days with Antony, the days of their childhood. Why should it be him to take the crown, and from no other person but Antony, his own beloved brother? Did his mother not start telling him since some twenty years ago that these same old men had said that her father had slept 47  Linus T. Asong with his half-sister, and had said that he would never succeed the Chief because he had bad blood in his veins? Were these not the same people who encourage Nji to be calling him a cat without claws? Had he ever been jealous of the fact that it was only between Nji and Nkoaleck that the new Chief would be chosen? What had Antony not done for him as a brother? When Nji insulted him to his face that he would be his slave and that his mother would be the very first woman he would sleep with as soon as he became Chief, was it not Antony who beat him until he bled through the ear? Was it not Antony who used to console him every day, telling him not to worry because it was not his fault that he could not be Chief? Was it not Antony who taught him how to choose a career? When Antony completed college did he not come to that same Nkokonoko Small Monje and hold his hand to take him to Likume where he introduced him to the principal of their college who made him the store-keeper? When Antony was leaving for the University in the white man’s country was it not him who in the presence of the whole tribe which gathered to give him a send-off presented him with a cutlass and a broom? How is it possible, O God, that he should now turn round and become the obstacle? When Nji slept with the Chief ’s wife and was driven out of the tribe, and their father was dying with Antony still in the white man’s country, what did these same people say to him for the four years during which they awaited the return of Antony? Was a regency not formed which was to rule if the Chief died while Antony was still away? Was he not there all that time? Was Ajem-abeule not asked to pay eight goats and work on the Chief ’s farm for two months for daring to suggest that he, Nchindia, could rule while they waited for Antony? When Antony came back afterwards did they not come together to receive him in the traditional manner of a man who will be Chief ? Did they not continue to talk about him until the day before? 48  The Crown of Thorns He ground his teeth, tightened his lips and told them without lifting his head from that drooping position: “My fathers, this crown belongs to my brother Antony....” “Our son and our father,” Ngobefuo called out in a full throated anger. “This crown belongs to Nkokonoko Small Monje. It belongs to the Chief. It belongs to you. You are the Chief.” “My brother Antony is the Chief,” Nchindia said as soon as he finished talking. Ngobefuo threw his hands in the air in utter frustration, paused for a very long time and then said with infinite patience: “Our son, it is you we have caught. Nkoaleck will never be Chief. He cannot be Chief. Do you agree or not?” There was silence. Nchindia lifted his head, and slowly began to look from the trees above to the maddening crowd that seemed to close in on him. His eyes came to rest on the D.O. and the armed policemen by his side, all looking down furiously at him, daring him to deny again. His blood ran cold and he wished he had not raised his head at all. “For the last time,” Ngobefuo began, “do you accept or not?” There was no answer. “Look at Akeukeuor. It is looking at you. If you answer you are answering him, the god of the tribe. If you answer you are answering Goment who is looking at you and who is waiting to hear you talk. Speak, we beg you.” “Okay, I agree. I will be Chief,” Nchindia gave in finally. Then almost immediately he begged Antony in his heart: “My dear brother, this is not my wish. I have wronged you. Because they are forcing me. You will never forgive me, will you?” Ngobefuo made him answer three times. Then he turned to the rest of the people and as if they had not been listening said: 49  Linus T. Asong “Nchindia is our Chief.” This was greeted with a very long and deafening applause. Ngobefuo uttered a few words in front of Akeukeuor and then placing the crown on the Chief ’s head led him back to the arena. He was again greeted with cheers and rejoicing. He was shown where to dance, to the centre where he was asked to declare his own dance. He did so. Ngobefuo gave him the sceptre of office and then with a gesture of the hand asked the others to join. They all danced to the tune and as they did so, one traditional robe after the other was placed gracefully on Nchindia. When he was fully encumbered he was led amidst great pomp and pageantry to his throne. One by one, the other Paramount Chiefs, then the sub- Chiefs, came forward to pay their first official respects to him. The Sub-Chiefs would clap three times and bow until their faces almost touched their knees, then they would follow up the bow