Liberian Literary Magazine
Liberian Classic
Murder in the
Cassava Patch III
Bai. T Moore
Old man Joma still
preferred sitting in his
tattered
hammock,
wearing a weather-beaten,
short grey country cloth
gown and smoking a clay
pipe which he boasted was
older than Kema.
I felt unable to turn my
back on the old folks. With
the little money I brought, I
begged
and
dashed
friends to help me collect
building materials to repair
the house and put the back
yard gardens back into
production.
When the girls were
moving back into their
room in the big house, Tene
cried pitifully, “Gortokai,
your God is catching me, I
swear.”
I don't know, rumors soon
started spreading that Tene
would be given me as a
wife. This made me happy,
as well as the news that
Kema would be moving to
her man in Firestone.
Tene soon got the little
child attached to me. I took
Bubu as my own child. Every
time I returned from the
field, she expected fruits
from me. In fact she knew
me simply as Papa or
father.
By the time I settled back
in Bendabli, the farming
season was too far gone to
make a cassava farm. To
support the family I did odd
jobs here and there. With
Promoting Liberian literature, Arts and Culture
plenty free time on my
hand I devoted more time
to repairing the big house
and kitchen. I enlarged the
vegetable garden and built
a new bath fence to keep
the old folks from using
those of our neighbors.
Four
months
passed.
Kema had not been heard
from. After my meal one
evening, I felt like drinking a
little cane juice. I visited
Meine, my littler hunchback
friend who operated the
shop in Amina. Mene told
me something which gave
me the creaps.
He told me confidentially,
that he had heard from a
reliable source that Kema
was considering moving in
the old folks and Tene to
Firestone.
“Meine, for true you mean
what you are telling me?”
“Kai, I am not telling you
any fairy tales.”
“Dammit, Meine, this is a
helluva world isn't it. I had
planned just taking me a
schnapps bottle, but give
me a Tallah instead. News
like this is enough to make a
man feel like getting drunk.
“I gulped the hot liquor
hurriedly and left the shop.
Meine warned me not to
expose him under any
circumstances.
Dot
especially since he was
planted
in
an
advantageous position to
be for further assistance to
me.
Where there is smoke,
there must be fire. I soon
began to detect a secret
line
of communication
between Kema and her
sister, which caused me to
believe what Meine told
me. Tene was receiving
13
expensive gifts from her
sister which she kept with a
friend in Amina.
Whether the old folks
were aware of this or not I
do not know.
To satisfy my curiosity, I
approached them one
evening after meal. Tene
was not around. I began
with the old lady. “Mba,” I
addressed her, “what is this
I hear, that Kema intends
moving the whole family to
Firestone.”
The old lady turned pale
at once. The old man who
was hard of hearing pulled
his stool closter to listen to
the conversation. “Kai,” old
man Joma called, “what is
that you are aaking?”
“No Joma!” The old lady
interrupted. “Kai said he
heard that Kema is sending
for all of us to live with her in
Firestone!”
“What,” the old man
frowned. “She must be
going out of her mind. If the
Kaiser and Hitler wars did
not
move
me
from
Bendabli, I don't see what
else will. Tene too, if that is
what she is up to, the
government
down
in
Monrovia will have to tell
me, whether or not if you
born a child you control her,
or she controls you. I just
dare Tene to make a move
to leave this village. It will be
over my dead body, I swear
on my mother's breast milk.”
Old man Joma was so
furious, he commenced
trembling.
“Never mind Joma, keep
quiet, before you go into
one of your fits.” The old
lady pleaded.
“Who Kema thinks I am!
He-e! He-e! Tell me!”