Read Yefon: The Red Necklace for Free Online Page A

the legendary Kadoh. Nobody could tell a story better than her! She was as lively as a
grig
and her tales had soundtracks, sounds, and pauses. Leave it to Kadoh to bulge her eyes out from behind one of her droll clay masks and talk in several voices and tones. It was not uncommon for her to say something like, “they walked in, chip, chip, chip, chip, and then the boy slapped the girl,
pam!
The girl held her jawwwwwwwww, then she slapped him back.” While she said this, Kadoh would stagger three steps back, then, look around angrily before she continued. It was just like a reality show, only better!
    My favorite story was “
wanyeeto and Bah
” which was about animals who spoke and behaved like humans.
    One night, Kadoh’s story was different. She told us the folktale of
Naa’
and the frog. It is the Nso version of the Princess and the Frog I suppose, and it was in the form of a song.
    Kadoh began to clap her hands and we joined in, beaming as we clapped, the fire warming our cold feet. I was wearing a cotton dress, and I pulled the hem to my toes so that my feet were bundled under my skirt like a fetus in its mother’s womb. Sola looked at me, and I smiled back. If smiles had voices, mine wouldsay “hello there, how is the cold?” This is because I was the only one of my siblings who owned a cotton dress. But that’s a story for later.
    Kadoh was now walking around the circle, looking each of us in the face, her giant thighs walloping as she stepped.
    “Hebbei Naa’ hebbei,”
Kadoh called out, opening her eyes wide.
    “Rimtii
,” we responded, singing the chorus.
    “Hebbei Naa’, wom,”
Kadoh called out again.
    We responded musically,
“Rimti.”
    “Naa’ki boti mo!.”
    “Rimtii.”
    “Boti mo’ wiy nkang!”
    “Rimtii.”
    “Noh nkang ku’y I nkang ku’y I nkang!.”
    “Rimtii.”
    “Ki’ bete’ rim kibete’.”
    “Rimtii.”
    The story telling took turns after that. Being a dutiful audience member at the time meant one had to be an actor, a poet, a singer, and a dancer. The older women used this opportunity to reminisce about their youth, and they always lied to us about how perfect they were as children. Even Ma was agile and friendly during storytelling.
    “I was the most beautiful girl in my village back in my day,” she bragged. “And I never disobeyed my mother.”
    “That was why I married her,” Pa boasted one night when he was around, and we covered our wide giggles shyly for the whole man-woman conversation was a no-go area in my culture.

    I was the only one who had white people clothes in our house. I used to feel like a one eyed man in the country of the blind. My little shiny calico dresses kept me warm when the cold harsh wind blew early on Sunday mornings. The other local children would tremble as they walked to the water point to get water, but I walked with a colorful feeling of warmness, admiring the envious stares that I perceived from my peers.
    It was the only time that Sola felt inferior to me. Shewould look at me grudgingly since her mother forbade her to wear clothes like mine. According to Ya Buri, it was unbecoming of a future palace wife like Sola, and wearing clothes would cause Sola to hide her figure, thus reducing the amount of attention that the pair got from suitors. It felt good to see Sola long for something I had, even if it was only for one second.
    Somewhere inside, I was resentful because not only was she beautiful but also because her mother spoiled her and excused her from chores.
    While some of us had to labor hard on the farm, women like her sat down and waited for a large bride price from a rich suitor. Sola’s mother treated her to all types of expensive beauty treatments, and her hair wasn’t braided with thread like the other girls. It was curled with short logs and so her mane was long and curly.
    Sola and I had never gotten along and she started this enmity. It all began when she called me
mbav
in front of all the girls at the stream