Little Chidi, the Great.

(this is my initial and preferred draft)

An angry little man found himself beaten to a pulp by a woman twice his size and only half his disposition . For two weeks after the fact, she nursed him back to health; then she proposed marriage; then he considered it for a week more; then they were married on the third month. The name of their only child was Chidi and they were to be known from then on as Mama and Papa Chidi. Little Chidi, though blessed with his mother’s temper was damned with his father’s frail stature. For this reason, his bold challenge one night of the new yam festival shook the entire village –some with fearful concern, others with fits of laughter.

It had been a night much better than was expected. The winds of the almost-rain had brought a refreshing coolness to the evening festivities. Nnamdi (the village trouble-maker)’s illness had also been a welcome relief –the whole village had wished him a speedy recovery, with a silent footnote to God to delay “speedy” till the three days of the festival had passed. The men had harvested the yams, the boys had peeled them, the girls had cooked them and the women were now pounding them. Mama Chidi had been in the company of the other women, applying her finesse to the making of the nni ji, oblivious and helpless to prevent her son’s ridiculous exertions.

Everyone at the village square had long anticipated the wrestling contest between Emeka and Obinna. Like most wrestling matches, the entire week leading to the contest had been an exciting series of boasts and taunts from each man and his company. No local would ever argue that these verbal exchanges were many times even more exciting than the face-off itself. And in further more enhancing the point, that night’s contest was hardly a contest at all. Alas, it wasn’t even fifteen minutes before Emeka lay flat on his back with Obinna’s foot firmly on his chest. Yet Obinna had barely hit the third verse in victory boast when Little Chidi’s voice was to rise above his, declaring:

“Give me Obinna or any other man in this village and I will feed him the red dust of the village square!”

Ewoooo-ee!

Perhaps he had been heard wrong. Perhaps his words had been misunderstood. That is what everyone wanted to believe. The old wanted to believe that. The young wanted to believe that. Even Obinna wanted to believe that. But so it was that their collective prayer was dashed in Little Chidi’s second rant.

“Obinna, I challenge you! Tomorrow, you shall eat red dust!”

Little Chidi was twenty-six years old, but little he was. The nickname, they claimed, was to distinguish him from the other Chidi in the village –Big Chidi. Big Chidi was the son of Okafor, the palm wine tapper; he was younger than his namesake by many years, but he was of a big-boned, broad-shouldered and leggy stance. Still, in spite of his impressive qualities, Big Chidi would not have dared to challenge Obinna.

All evening long, the exchange between those that had been present and the ones absent was in the same fashion: “Did you hear? Little Chidi challenged Obinna!” This was then followed by a terrified (or deeply tickled) gasp, then the incredulous question, “Which Chidi did you say?” Then tragic (or comic) toned reiteration, “Little Chidi.”

Many factors were to blame for this catastrophe. The first being that the parents of a pretty local girl, Amarachi, had made him repeat his age three times when he had asked for the girl’s hand in marriage. They had all the while been staring intently at his obstinately hairless chin. The second was an attempt at assistance that had been received as an insult –honestly, in the many sides of truth, it may well have been. The other men had sought to excuse him from the ‘rigorous’ task of harvesting yam to perhaps joining the boys in the less stressful task of peeling. This had invoked Little Chidi’s fury and pride, though not necessarily in that order. The third was a happenstance of watery pap.

It had been Baba Chidi’s turn at making breakfast. He had tried at making akamu with bean cakes, and failed at both miserably. The black, crispy, bean-things could not be eaten unaccompanied, and so Baba Chidi had ferried the pot back to the fire, with the hope that the pap might eventually thicken. It was during this frustrated wait that Mama Chidi had told Little Chidi the story of her grandfather, Ezugo the Great –the greatest ever wrestler in their parts… according to her. In all the twenty-one matches of his wrestling career, Ezugo the Great had never been defeated. She even went as far as saying that Ezugo’s blood still ran hot through her, and even through her Little Chidi also.

Had she the foresight of that night’s event, she would have ended her story decidedly differently.

However, the wrestling match was now set and there was no turning back. Most of the village was already given to a grave mood. They would miss the boy. He was very sensitive about his stature, true; but he had a way of humour that everyone enjoyed; and, unlike his father, he was a wonderful cook. Indeed, he had provided the spread for many a wedding ceremony in the village.

Amarachi had been the first in a line of many that tried to dissuade him.

“Please, Chidi, do not turn up for the match,” she had said. “Everyone would know that you have come back to your senses and leave the matter alone.”

“So that on top of being tagged ‘Little Chidi’ by these fools, I should now also be labeled a coward? No. The insults will all end tomorrow. When I feed Obinna to the soil, everyone will finally start according me some respect.”

Mama Chidi had been next.

“My son, biko, don’t let their taunts and nicknames push you into such a rash decision. We all had nicknames that we outgrew eventually.”

“Eventually? Mother, if I am still ‘Little Chidi’ as a grown man, when shall I outgrow it? If truly I the descendant of Ezugo the Great, then everyone shall know better than to taunt me from tomorrow.”

Papa Chidi had also tried.

“My son, our Christian religion says that we should let God judge those who have offended us. Forget this whole matter and let God avenge you instead.”

So said the man who had never won a fight to anyone’s memory. The sermon was ignored for this reason and not for any lack of merit.

The Day had followed the Night and the heavens had mourned till it was almost evening. It was just as everyone was about to cheer that the fight could be cancelled because of the downpour that the rain had stopped. Cheerful as a funeral procession, they had begun to gather at the square, young and old, men and women –Little Chidi’s anticipated heaven-call was to be well attended. The inevitable would now come to pass before a throng of many witnesses and before any of the new yam festivities shall continue. Nothing and no one could save Little Chidi now. It was said that the young men of the village had sought to kidnap him, and hold him till the time of the tournament had passed. But Little Chidi had caught wind of the plot and hidden himself the whole day till the final hour. During this time, Obinna had been loud with a single brag. That he shall floor and cripple Little Chidi with his dreaded leopard dash within the first few seconds of the contest. And, if nowhere else, Obinna always kept his promises in the wrestling arena.

Along with every other supplication uttered over the issue since the preceding evening, the prayer that Little Chidi might fail to turn up fell back from heaven ignored. Little Chidi strode into the arena with an obdurate determination set in his face. Obinna returned with the sneer of butcher attending to a prize kid. The demise of a young man named Little Chidi was soon to begin.

It seemed that forever passed before the referee walked apologetically into the arena and then swung the local primary school bell in an arc, high and overhead, so that the chime rung out across the square. The contest had begun!

Obinna wasted no time. The man who did not make empty promises in the ring had already started into his dreaded leopard charge! Obinna streaked across the square at his prey! And so he already found himself three bounds into his dash when he realized that the wet clay was too slippery to permit him a fourth. He then tried to halt, midway into his dash, only to realize that the wet clay was too slippery to forgive him his change in momentum. His leopard dash a forgotten promise, Obinna pressed forward with outstretched arms knowing that his footing was fast betraying him yet determined not to meet the soil alone. The wet clay would not give a third warning. Obinna saw his feet flying up at his eye level, just before his head went hurtling back into an explosion of darkness!

From the oblivion of unconsciousness, Obinna blinked enough sight to see Little Chidi standing over and upon him. He then blinked a little more sight, to see Little Chidi travelling from the village square on the shoulders of cheering villagers. Then, just before he succumbed back into the embrace of an impact-induced sleep, he had also summoned enough senses to taste the red earth in his mouth.

The impossible had happened and it was a victory –neither question nor excuse was permitted for it. The whole village and the many visitors who had flocked in to witness the travesty ate their pounded yam and egusi with relief. Little Chidi’s ‘feat’ would echo forever as a local legend. Plead all he might, Obinna would never get a rematch and Little Chidi, like his great grandfather long before him would retire undefeated. The whole village would now make it their special business to keep the boy sated so that the disturbing episode need not repeat itself.

Little Chidi would now and always be known as… Little Chidi the Great!

The no small matter was finally at rest… and thank goodness!