The Hard Way...

CHAPTER ONE

Ubale, a brawny-looking and wide-chested young man of average height with square-shaped face and pointed nose, prided himself as the speediest haulier who amongst his peers stood out and, in turn, earned him myriad of praising names. 

He became undeniably famous with his trailer amongst his fellow for his commitment and intrepidity as a herdsman with his cattle, and he was, of course, one.

He was romoured to have a charm for his evading swift driving, and which had been safeguarding him against accident even when he was not too sober.

He always wore a right-hand amulet that even  his bosom friend, Isiya, with whom he drove all the times, had never seen him without it nor did he ever had time to explain its purpose. 

"We have never been ambushed by robbers nor arrested by police along our way," Isiya, would usually comment boastfully, "And, this is because of his amulet."

From his instinct, he believed the amulet to be protective with enormous power because his friend could pinpoint, as far-fetched as it seemed, the most malicious ant willing to bite him as if he could see through its heart.

Ubale was born in a village founded by his grandfather, a herder. And, it was well-known for its availability of cow milk. Even though it later became a mixed settlement with both Fulani and Hausa tribes interwoven by marriages, the purely-trait Fulani herders still remotely reside in their ruga-settlement.

Ubale's father often considered farming a seasonal work that could kill the spirit of hard work. So, he, for a million times, would prefer roaming the forest and far villages with his cattle to farming. This notion undermined his influence among his clan and even others who had embraced both farming and other menial works. Thus, rendering him too insignificant to the affairs of the village, and which to the dislike of his eldest son, who despite loving heroic activities like rearing of cattle - where one trodded for miles, enduring the edge of the cold and scorching sun and, of course, killing wild animals with unbridled courage - also believed in doing whatever could make this dream come true - his unyielding penchant for wealth and recognition. This, and his mother's death never evaded his memory since his childhood... 

It was during a bizarre night that made everyone to be on edge. The air was too reluctant to sway into the thatched roofed huts. Fear seemed to have not only permeated everywhere but also made her presence felt indignantly. 

No one had an inkling for what the jiffy concealed in the mammoth darkness. As the darkness kept growing, babies, stubborn enough to still be awake in the early night, began to cry. Then, there was mysterious heat pouring rather profusely and whirling smoke crawling from beneath, and before they could make head or tail of the situation, seeming like a dream, the fire, angrily lit, had consumed them.

The hubbub was filled up with cacophonous voices seeking for help. The water to douse and soothe the already nervous dried reeds was nowhere to be found. In fact, there was no river nearby except in the far village of Baro. 

But during the intervals, he, luckily, was out of their hut by the trees peeing when all of a sudden he realised everywhere was ablaze. As he ran, as if he were a firefighter trying to play hero, he felt a wide muscled hands thrown around him - stopped and saved. 

He could still recollect having heard his mother's voice echoed, seen her skin blackened, and suddenly became motionless and muffled in the precipatated inferno while dissolving into ashes! 

His eyes, red and swollen, wept and wept profusely that could make one mistook them for a heaven in a raining season.

It was around 4:00am at dawn that the fire became fully managed, and by morning, the faces of the few survived members were curved by mournful tears.

He wished his father was there to save her. But, as usual, he left with his cows for grazing, and only to return and find out that his only wife had been crimated by a herder-farmer conflict. 

Mayhem almost broke, again, if not for his intervention, many of his clan members would have travelled to retaliate. But, his indomitable presence could not have allowed his people to avenge. Instead, he advised they should move a bit further from their present location termed as "Ash-graves" in order to rebuild their settlement. 

He also wished his mother died a natural death, though, and at least, he would have had her grave available for him to always pay his respect and love. Since then he vowed to avenge his mothers death and later his father who two years later, when he was seven, died during another mysterious conflict while his cows were grazing. Not only was his father's throat sliced but his cows equally met same fate. 

He could recall how he used to argue with his father over his desirous thrust, burning in his blood, and which had disturbed his conscious. He was always crestfallen when he examined his only child, the pride of Jauro family, was messing up with his heritage for wanting to take part in anything worth recognition by all means. And, it was even more pathetic how he was willing to go away to the farthest city, if that could make his dream come true.

"Since your birth, son, I knew you are exceptional. I would wish to have you concentrate on your heritage than gallivanting in cities like a zebra, shortening his neck and knees, trying to be adopted as an hourable jackass," his father, with a long-smoothed stick over his shoulders, would always taunt him.

"Baffa, why do you abhor the city-life? I am told that it is the only place where glory and opportunities can be sighted..."

"No, look, the place called city only corrupts the heart. There, everyone grows greedy like a hungry hyena. The value of life is lost without sense of togetherness and morals. No one cares about others except for personal advantages. So, people pay little concern for honour inasmuch as they get what matters to them. Even the air they breathe to survive is polluted for their nonchalance. Moreover, I saw it, too, how trees are uprooted to the detriment of soil erosion. That's the kind of cities we have these days."

As a consolation, "son, hold your heritage - your cattle - because that's your biggest opportunity and where honour lies," said his father, tapping his right shoulder, wishing he could win over his son's obstinate heart. 

He felt sad how despite his love for his father, they both see life differently. Yet, the bond between them remained unbreakable until when death crossed and took him away. This left him with no cows nor reason to stay behind to hold onto his father's creed. 

The only thing he could think of was the city, and its yet unpredictably untested juice.

To be continued...

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