Liberian Literary Magazine
told Karmo how my woman
palava had been an
unfortunate affair.
“No Compin,” Karmo
drew his face. “You mean
all you did for that Tene girl,
that is how they treated
you? I can't believe it. You
see now when some of
these people be dying they
catch hell, and they
pretend someone witched
them.”
“For instance, right now
Tene is in Bomi Hills. If I am
not mistaken, she has had
her child.”
“Don't give up Compin,”
Karmo advised. “Women
are like a dry leaf floating
up stream.
Eventually, it belongs to a
fish trap down stream. One
day Tene will come back to
you.” My friend predicted.
“It's only her foolish sister
Kema, who made that
match for her, but I am sure
everyone in Bendabli is for
you.”
Many persons had made
similar predictions before. I
certainly did not want to be
disappointed again. If Tene
wanted me, she was the
one who would have to
approach me. On this
point,
my
mind
was
definitely made up so help
me God.
Karmo kept prodding me;
“Compin, Tene belongs to
you. Don't let her remain in
Bomi Hills.
“He was so happy with
Gbiti and wanted me to be
the same way. The more I
thought of it, the more it
appeared
that
a
reconciliation with Tene
was possible, if only her
sister would play the fool
Promoting Liberian literature, Arts and Culture
one day and drown herself
in the St. Paul River.
While
I
was
contemplating on getting
back to Monrovia, Karmo
told me that he had
obtained a few weeks from
his employer, one Mr. Chibli,
a Lebanese trader, to take
Gbiti home to visit her
people near Suehn.
We all joined the same
Monrovia bound truck.
Karmo would take Gbiti to
Suehn, leave her there and
proceed to. Bomi Hills to see
Tene.
When we got to the Truck
depot in Monrovia that
afternoon, I met someone
from Bendabli who told me
that Tene was in town
selling gari or farina.
Karmo got excited when I
told
him
the
news.
“Compin!” he shouted. “Let
us go man, what are we
standing here for, we got to
find the woman.”
We hurriedly carried Gbiti
and all our plunders to a
watchman friend behind P.
Z. Store, on the Water Front.
During our search we
stopped at a stall to buy
some cola nuts. While
waiting for the change, I
saw Karmo dashing across
16
the street. “There she is,
Tene!” He shouted.
In a year's time, Tene had
changed.
She
had
become a bit darker. Her
lappa, buba and headtie,
all looked like cast off
clothes that someone had
handed down to her. Under
her arm, she carried the five
gallon tin in which she
measured her farina. All we
could do was, to look at
each other. “Come on, you
two, say something,” Karmo
prompted. “You just stand
and stare at one another
like bobos.”
Tene raised her head and
looked into my face.
“Came down this morning
to seil farina. Someone
credited one tin and asked
me to collect the money
this evening, or soon in the
morni.ng.” She explained
nervously.
“How are the old folks?” I
inquired.
“You know, Kai, old age is
telling on the old folks, they
are making out as can be
expected.”
At the watchman's place,
we hurried through a meal
of boiled cassava and fresh
bonnie soup which Gbiti
had prepared. Our host we
learned had gone over to
Vai Town for a family
conference, but his wife
told us to make ourselves at
home.
“Compin, we got to wash
our
meal
down
with
something. What will it be?”
Karmo inquired.
Gbiti
who
was
accustomed to teasing her
husband on accasions like
this replied, “I have a bottle
of something hot to drink. If