The village has waited three seasons for this day.Bent like watsonias blowing in a field, she comes down from the mountains on the winding path. Her arrival is announced in whispers which travel from hut to hut until knowledge of her presence reaches the ears of everyone.
"Crack! Crack!" says her walking stick against the ground. The dirt and dust dance at her bare feet. The villagers sing, shake their shiny kalloos, and beat their drums in her honor. Like tiny white seeds, her teeth appear. She is pleased with the reception.
The village is silent as she stops in front of the hut of Tamubu and his family. She circles it four times, chanting the familiar words:
"The moon and the stars
have called out to me!
The sun and the clouds
have called out to me!
The sun and the clouds
have called out to me!
The ground and the seas
have called out to me!
The lion and the ant
have called out to me
The ancestors and gods
have called out to me
and they have told me your names!"
Tamubu's wives bow before her then run to slaughter five goats for the ceremonial feast. Four goats for each of the child's names and one goat for the Namecaster.
Tamubu throws more wood upon the fire. He puts a newly woven mat nearby so the Namecaster will be comfortable when she reads the flames and receives his son. Tamubu bows low and averts his eyes as she enters the hut.
After three season's wait, she is here and the young son of Tamubu will receive his names at last. And Tamubu bows again and again before her; his heart beating in welcome and in happy anticipation.
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Story by Pamela Tyree Griffin
Excerpt from the upcoming book of fiction:
"The Namecaster and Other Stories of Traditional Superstition"
Photo by Sofia Henriques
