Nothing Happens
I hear little Etim and the other boys coming long before they arrive at the house. As they walk along the sandy path they are practicing their drumming on the big plastic water buckets they carry. Their perfect rhythm and complicated syncopation rise to a climax and end with a simultaneous booming thump and a shout at the precise instant they come to my door. I wonder how they can do that. Little Etim pokes his head through the curtain covering the door.
"Sah! Alagha? (Sir! Good Morning! Are you up?)" Etim is about eleven. Children here often don't know exactly how old they are. A child's age is reckoned roughly by his or her maturity and not by the calendar. Etim is a skinny, high-energy kid with two new front teeth constantly flashing in a big smile. The top of his head is decorated with a large circle of white soap. Before children go to the stream in the morning, mothers rub a soft bar of soap on their hair, leaving enough behind to accomplish the morning bath.
"We are going to the stream!" he crows, as though it were the most exciting adventure. He says this every morning with the same enthusiasm.
My house is on one side of the school playing field. On the other side of the field are the classroom blocks and the principal's house. Beyond these the village of Akai Isong is nestled in the trees. The path to the stream passes in front of my house then drops down through the school farms before entering the forest.
Outside I greet seven more boys of varying ages. Girls and women also bathe every morning but they have their own stream. The boys are all wearing traditional wrappers, pieces of cloth wrapped around the waist and tucked in, and are barefoot. There are no stones here in Akai Isong - all the village paths are soft reddish sand and are swept and cleaned every week by Etim's age-grade. Etim's senior brother, Effiong, is here today along with his best friend Asuquo. They are about thirteen, both very intelligent and usually full of interesting questions.
We follow the path along the edge of the playing field. Students wielding machetes cut the grass last week and the new growth is a brilliant green that seems to reflect more morning sunlight than it receives. The grass is kept as low as possible to discourage snakes. While it was being cut last week, two cobras were discovered and killed. One was a large Black Cobra and the other was a smaller but equally vicious Spitting Cobra. The people here kill any snake they see since many are poisonous. The venom of some common local snakes causes death within an hour and the nearest medical assistance is several hours distant.
The path winds downhill through small fields of cassava, the staple food here, and enters the forest suddenly so that we are, within a few steps, in another environment. It is cooler and darker and sounds echo as if we were in a cathedral. The favored bathing spot is at the base of a huge mahogany tree. The clear stream emerges from the undergrowth here and forms a shallow pool with a sandy bottom before disappearing again into the dense banks of vegetation.
In an instant the boys have thrown aside their wrappers and are covered with lather. Since it is Saturday, I am in no hurry and move downstream a little away from their boisterous splashing. The Cross River area and this stream are home to many of the tropical fish that are common in the aquariums of Europe and America. I have discovered that if I lie in the water and remain still, these jewel-like fish will come looking for food and pluck what they can find from my skin. There are about fifteen different kinds, none more than a few centimeters in length. I drowse in the dappled shallows with these tiny touches dancing lightly over me, occasionally raising my head to look at the children.
They are now clean and shining and all standing and jumping up and down in the center of the stream in a game they have invented. Their happy laughter rings in the forest gallery above like another kind of bird song. Through the boys' legs I suddenly catch a glimpse of something moving. I lift my head for a better view. Just upstream of the boys I see the triangular head of a large poisonous snake, a hand-span above the water and weaving back and forth as it moves downstream, directly towards that shifting tangle of legs.
I stifle the impulse to scream a warning. It would only cause them to jump about even more and the snake is too close. While I lie there petrified in horror the head moves between the first pair of legs. The boys do not see the snake. It passes between several more legs. In a few seconds that seem to last an eternity the snake weaves its way through all the boys' legs and slides downstream past my feet. Above its eyes are two bright yellow raised projections, like horns. It seems to take a long time passing - its length must be about two meters, mottled brown and green. In another instant, it is gone.
I am totally empty, as if everything that was within me leapt up to heaven in one wordless prayer and there is nothing left of me here. The laughter of the boys seems to come from a great distance.
"Sah! Oh! You are not well!" says Etim bending over me. I hear him call the other boys over.
"You have lost your color!" says Effiong. He and Asuquo pull me up onto the shore and I sit awaiting the return of life.
"Sah!" commands Etim. I feel the warmth of their arms on my shoulders and look up into the circle of faces. I take a tremendous breath and suddenly, I am back with them beneath the mahogany tree.
"Are you OK now?"
I nod.
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"But you look very happy."
"Sometimes, Etim, it is very beautiful when nothing happens."
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© Benjamin Madison 2004
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