Legend of the Sanuri

When I was a boy, my grandfather told me a tale. This was not his usual tale about the tortoise and the hare. It was a strange tale. He only told it to me once, but I never forgot it. I do not know how true it was, or if he had all the facts right, but what I do know is that the night he told it to me, he said “son, I want you to listen carefully to what I am about to tell you. Open your ears and pay attention. It will help you, in this life and in the next”. So I listened.

He told me about a tribe of people that occupied the land that became ours very many years ago, long before even he was born. They were called the Yagunus. The Yagunus were a quiet tribe. They kept to themselves, disturbed none of the neighbouring tribes and caused no trouble. Their men farmed and hunted, while their women sold their crops and meat to other villages. They were known for not just their decency, but their honour, integrity and most of all, their festivals. Hmmmm.

The Yagunu festivals were a sight to behold. Lots of food and drink, laughter and dancing. Villagers from far and near came to attend these events. They happened at the beginning of a planting season and at the end of the harvest. It is said that during these festivals, if one was watching, you could see at least one person from every walk of life… and even from the other side of life…the Sanuri.

The Sanuri were people that had disappeared mysteriously from their villages after a brief illness. Nobody knew if they had died or if they had been taken by the gods. The strange thing was that after a fortnight, on the first full moon after a disappearance, the person would be seen again, but this time he or she would be different.

Their skin would be white, as white as the chalk powder used for washing, their eyes would stare blankly at the world as if seeing nothing, but they would move, ever so softly, like they were floating, without hitting anything. That meant they could see, but not with the outer eyes. When a Sanuri appeared, it would move throughout the village where it first disappeared from and all through that night, all the villagers would hear was “Sanuri…sanuri…sanuri…” The next morning, they would notice markings on one tree and one house and a few days after, the marked tree would die and the woman of the marked house will be pregnant. The Sanuri never marked a house without a husband and wife, and if the wife had been sent away to live somewhere else, the Sanuri would find her and mark that house. (backstage dialogue, woman saying no! no! no!crying)

When the child was born, a Sanuri will again reappear and move through the village that night saying “Sanuri…sanuri…sanuri…” and again the cycle continued. The child that was born would then live to a certain age, fall ill and disappear and one day, would return as a Sanuri.

The men did not know what to do and their wives were afraid. Yes, it was a joyful thing to have a child, but not a child predicted by the Sanuri. Some people even said that the children were not children at all! Just the spirits of the dead trees that had taken human form and that was why they did not live long or die of natural causes. Who wanted to carry the spirit of a tree for 9 months? Tufia!

 “Tufia my sister! I will not carry a tree in my womb oh! It will not happen”

“Ah ah! But those children are not deformed now. They look just like us”

“Ok. I am telling you now, Nande, and you are not listening oh!”

“But you know Kabuntu wants us to marry and you know what that means”

“What does that mean?”

“Please stop acting funny, Asiatu. You know what I mean. Once Kabuntu and I get married, we will have a child”

“Hmmm. I don’t know why you people put yourselves in this kind of trouble. Who says that marriage has to lead to children? Ehn? Must the two go hand in hand?”

“Ah! You have started again with all these your strange talks. Anyway, Kabuntu and I are in love and when we get married, we will have children and we will love them too”

“Ok oh! If you want to have a child with an iroko head and bamboo legs, go ahead. Just don’t call me then”

So, on the night of a full moon, all doors will be locked, all lanterns turned off and every voice silent, and maybe…just maybe…the Sanuri will pass by. After a while, people became afraid to even marry for fear of the Sanuri. The tree-born, as the children were called, became village outcasts. Not long after they were born, their parents would throw them out and leave them to fend for themselves. After all, they were Sanuri. They would be fine.

 All the neighbouring villages reported the same happenings in their own villages; Sanuri sitings, dead trees and new-born babies…, except the Yagunus.

In fact, the only other time a person could see a Sanuri, apart from the night of the full moon, was at the Yagunu festival. You could see a flash of White Pass by or turn and suddenly find yourself staring into the blank eyes of a Sanuri and before you blink, it was gone. There were no markings on the Yagunu houses or trees and they even claimed never to have seen or heard a Sanuri. They said it must be because of their way of life. They had no quarrels with anyone and lived pure and honest lives. And so it was that all the neighbouring villages started to pay homage to the king of Yagunu. They asked him to show them how to live so that the Sanuri would leave them alone and in peace. The king accepted. For a price, he would teach them to be better, he would show them the way of the Yagunu.

He said to some, “you should not wear that hat. It makes you look offensive”, and they stopped. To others, “I think you should stop farming. You are not doing it right. It’s too much time spent in the sun and I think it’s making you angrier. We have more experienced farmers here. Let us help you. We will even pay you for allowing us farm your land! You won’t be as angry and we will pay you for it!” whatever he said, they did.

“I say go, no, come. (Laughs). Ok. Ok. Sit, no wait, wait. Stand instead. That’s better. You don’t look right. Go and change, dress like a Yagunu and come back and I will teach you how to be”.

Soon, for all the villages that paid homage to the king of Yagunu, and lived as he asked them to, the Sanuris were history.

But there was a small village not too far from the Yagunu tribe that could not afford to pay homage to the king. They did not have much crop or beasts. All they had was just enough of all they needed to live from day to day. They did not know what to do. They thought and thought about a way to pay the king of Yagunu. They slapped their heads and stamped their feet in frustration. They farmed more hours, hunted more hours. Still, they had just enough for them and not enough for the king. There was no hope.

So, as the next full moon approached, they prepared to send their wives as far away as possible, shut themselves in and pray that the night passed quickly. It was on this same night that Zamane was planning to carry out his mission.

You see, Zamane was a child of the tree, a child of the Sanuri. But he was a tree-born like no other. He was not an outcast. His house had been marked many years ago and his mother had gotten pregnant with him. He was the child of Kabuntu and Nande and his parents loved him completely. They taught him to be strong and brave and to choose the path his life would take. However, it was expected that in a few years, he would fall ill, disappear and become a sanuri. His parents had made peace with it. But he was not going to let that happen. He had a plan. On the night of the full moon, when the sanuri appeared, he would follow behind it silently to see where it went and after that, he would watch it, study it and learn about it and when he was fully equipped with knowledge, he would kill it. If he was successful, and he planned to be, he would teach the warriors of his village the way to kill a Sanuri and together, they would free their village from its bondage. If the Sanuri were killed, there would be no changing for him or anybody else, ever again! They would be free! So he armed himself with a dagger, covered his body in white powder and waited at the back of his house to hear “sanuri…sanuri…sanuri…”

As the moon rose high and bright in the sky, the village went dark and still. Not one light was left on, not one breath was heard. Zamane waited.

“Sanuri…”

The first sound was carried on the night air and it floated slowly towards Zamane.

“Sanuri…”

He felt his skin crawl and his heart start to race as the voice came closer.

“Sanuri…”

He moved, slowly, carefully. He caught a glimpse of white sail past him. He stood still and waited. A few seconds passed then he moved again. He was at the front of his house now. He could see the Sanuri gliding slowly towards the forest. It was leaving. Zamane started to move making sure not to make a sound. By the time he got to the forest, he could barely see the Sanuri.

He increased his pace. “Sanuri!!!” The voice shrieked in his ear! He screamed and fell to the ground, afraid to look up. When he did, he was looking directly into the face of a Sanuri. What he saw, he did not understand. Its eyes were blank as it looked back at him. It shrieked at him. But Zamane was not afraid. He had waited for this moment for a long time and now he was here, nothing was going to stop him. He stared right back at it. He looked into its empty eyes and willed it to look at him, to see him. For a split second, it seemed as though he saw a flicker, a movement, in its eyes; a slight pause before it moved away. It was probably nothing. So he picked himself up and ran after it. After a few hours, he was tired. He could not see the Sanuri anymore. The forest was so dark he could hardly even see his own hands.

But as he stopped to rest, he heard drumming in the distance. Puzzled, he moved closer to the sound. Who would be making such noise on the night of the full moon? It was true that most of the other villages were free of the Sanuri now, but still everyone was being safe until such a time as they could boldly say “the time of the Sanuri are over!” Only one village would be so bold on a night such as this: the Yagunus. But why would the Sanuri come towards the Yagunu village? Or had he lost his way while running after the Sanuri and somehow ended up here? Well, if that was the case, at least he could go in, ask for something to drink, rest a while and be on his way back to his village come sunrise. He would be better prepared come the next full moon. Hopefully, he would still be himself then.

So Zamane walked towards the Yagunu village. As he got closer, he saw that it was a celebration. The king sat amidst a crowd of people as they sang and danced. He might as well join in, he thought. The Yagunus were always welcoming. At that moment, he saw something move from the corner of his eye. He fell to the ground quickly and called for help. There were people everywhere. Somebody must have seen something or at least heard him. When he looked up, he saw the Sanuri standing in front of him, backing him. Somebody was talking to it. Impossible. He slapped himself. He must be dreaming. Immediately, the Sanuri turned towards him and he saw who had been talking to it. The Yagunu king! What was going on? He was confused. He looked back at the sanuri and again, just like before, he thought he saw something move in its eyes, something…human…

“Kill him!!!”

At the King’s command, the Sanuri raised its hand to strike Zamane. As its hand came down, Zamane drew his dagger and slashed it. “Aaaaarrrrrgggghhhhh!!!”

Blood. Red blood. Then he took off into the forest. When he got back to his village, he went straight to the elders and all he could say was “It bled.”

That same night, the elders of the village sent messengers to all the other villages, excluding Yagunu. All the message said was “It bled. It bled. The Sanuri bled.”

By morning, the story of Zamane, the Sanuri and the Yagunu king had spread through the entire region. All the villages came together. They put aside their differences and quarrels and united in one cause: kill the Sanuri.

“My people, friends and comrades, the time has come for us to take back what is ours. We have been deceived for far too long. But today, our deliverance has come! The tree-born has seen it. He has seen the blood of the Sanuri! Today, we fight for our freedom. Today, we kill the Sanuri!!!”

So, they assembled all the warriors from every village and prepared to match on Yagunu. But by the time they arrived at the village, everyone was gone. It was as if the Yagunu tribe had never existed. There was no sign of life.

That was the last anyone ever saw of the Sanuri. Zamane became a hero. Because of him, the other tree-borns were embraced. Their parents were ashamed. If only they had treated their children the way Zamane’s parents had treated him, with love and encouragement, maybe they all would have defeated the Sanuri sooner! A strong sense of self; that was what Zamane had. He knew who he was and not who people said he was, he knew what he wanted his life to be and not what people said it would be. And all these because his parents gave him a chance, and formed him with love.

“That Zamane, I know his mother well. I was the one who encouraged her to get married. I knew the tree-borns were special”

“Wow. Thank God for you then. Who knows what would have happened if you had not been a good friend to her?”

“Yes, yes. Thank God. I don’t know how I knew, oh, I just did”

“I think it is a gift”

“You think so?”

“Yes. You are gifted”

“I think I agree with you”

Nobody knows to this day exactly what the Sanuri were and how the Yagunus were able to control them. Some say they were spirits of dead children that the Yagunus had sacrificed to their gods and in return the gods sent them to protect the people from evil, but that did not explain the blood. Others say they were abandoned children that the Yagunus had captured and, with the help of the medicine man, turned into slaves to do their bidding. But that still did not explain their ability to appear and disappear.  All they know is that after that night, there were no marked houses, no dying trees and no disappearances.

The villagers went back to living their lives the way they had before, before the Yagunu came and taught them different, before the fear of the Sanuri kept them in bondage; but this time, they had a stronger sense of oneness, of responsibility to each other. And whenever something strange happened, something new and different, together they tested it… they found out if it bled.

The Tale of AGBALUJALA

I will be telling you a story tonight. A story my father told me, and his father told him. It is a story about a monster, a demon-man that walked on this earth many years ago. It is the story of Agbalujala. So sit back, relax and enjoy as I take you down memory lane, to a village far, far away, where this monster lived. 

I heard of a man, a long time ago; a man with fish hands and snake eyes. They said he lived in the same village my great grand parents lived in. Nobody ever says where this man came from or how he got to the village, so I can’t tell you that. But all they talk about are his fish hands and snake eyes. I will tell you this tale as it was told to me. You see, his hands were so scaly that tiny things could get trapped between the scales, and his eyes, like the colour of wet grass and the size of a dangerous black python (sounds of snake hisses and water), was like the eyes of the gods! His eyes would pierce through the dark forests as he took his nightly, mighty stroll. It almost seemed as if the forest was echoing around him, welcoming a long lost friend.

                It is said that during his strolls, he would turn into a snake or a fish if he was by the river, and he would feed on what snakes feed on and eat whatever it is that fishes eat. A few women in the village witnessed his transformations and that’s how they know! They were terrified!

They said: “as we were on our way to the stream, we saw him standing at the bank of the river, wriggling his body like a snake!”

“yes! It is true oh! He was moving his arms up and down and before we knew it, right in front of our eyes, he transformed into a green monster! a sea-creature!”

Hmmm. Imagine that!

Even the villagers that refused to believe these women still could not explain his pattern of behaviour. First of all, nobody ever saw him work; he never sold fish even though he was always by the river, so he was not a fisherman; he never hunted with the other hunters, never tapped palm wine, but he always bought things at the market. Where did he get his money? He would stop at the village market once a week on market days, early in the morning as the very first market women to arrive shed their goods, before anyone else was up. He would buy a lot of things, some things normal, like soap and fire wood, but others, just random, like raw spices, oil, green leaves, local herbs and sometimes dried cassava grains. Yes, a man can live on these things, but not a real man! Isn’t that so? Real men don’t just eat leaves! Do they?

“(laughter). Leaves for what? a man says. To clean my mouth after my meal, maybe”

“ah! I am a man! A warrior for that matter! When I want to eat, I eat pounded yam, goat meat, cow hide and stock fish in the same meal! What is this spices and garri nonsense?”

 No. This was not a real man. In fact, the real men of the village, those that eat well and do what real men do had had enough of him! After all, they had defeated a monster before! Once, a tiger had made this same village its home and its people its food! For months, the villagers had lived in terror of this monster. It raided huts both during the day and at night. Nobody could step out of their huts to fish or farm.

“this woman stay here! Where do you want to go that is more important than staying alive?”

“I have to go and get water for our daughter. I cannot just watch her cry and do nothing!”

“it is better for her to cry and have her mother alive until the warriors defeat that animal than for her to be motherless! Will her cries stop then?”

“I have decided already. I am going. I”ll be back soon. You’ll thank me then”

She Never returned but was killed by the Tiger!!!

Ah! People starved. The cries of the little ones rang through the village like music from the under world. Until they killed it. Ah! That glorious day of jubilation when the strongest warrior in the village majestically stood at the village square, the tiger’s head sitting on his stick, dead eyes wide open! Ha! How they danced! How they danced!

How did they kill it? Hmmm. That’s a story for another day.

So, filled with courage from this historic victory, the warriors of the village got up! They called a meeting!

They decided to confront this man-like monster that was terrorizing their women and children. They had done it before and they would do it again! At his moment of weakness, when he was just about to transform by the river, they would capture him; they would find out why he was in their village and what he wanted from them. But they would not go foolishly without expecting him to attack. The strongest man in the village would lead the pack, (warrior comes on stage), the same warrior that had defeated the tiger before! They picked up their machetes and cutlasses. Enough was enough! This was war!

So they marched, that fateful night, they marched to victory. They sang their war songs at the top of their voices and beat their chests while their wives, mothers and sisters cheered them on as they headed towards the forest (increased momentum of war song and singing; drums). They marched. They sang. They beat. They Marched. They Sang. They Beat. Marched. Sang. Beat. Marched. Sang. Beat. 

WHOOSH!!! Water! Everywhere!!! The beast arose from under the water flanked by other viscous sea creatures. They were going to attack! Scattered feet everywhere! The men took off! They ran so fast that they left a screen of dust as high as the tallest tree in their wake! None of them looked back. None of them dared. 

 The women shook their heads in shame but the warriors did not care. They were alive.

That was the last time anyone tried to confront the man-like monster. What he was, they did not know, where he was from, nobody dared ask, why he was in this village of all places, the king would not say, then add his looks to the list too!!! Ah… this was no ordinary man. They called him… they called him… they called him… AGBALUJALA…

                

After that night, nobody walked past his house for fear of what he might do. They only ever heard him come out for his nightly walk. And if at that time he raised his fish hands to wave at any unlucky passer-by, it was advised to quickly duck and avert your eyes. Who knows if his powers were stronger just before he transformed? Into the monster that he really was and not this… this … monster-like man shape that he deceived us with. We knew better, he was no ordinary man. 

                When the people of my village tell this story, it is to remind us that we are not alone in this world. That there are beings unlike us in this world, and if they are unlike us, they must be dangerous; if they are unlike us, they must be mysterious; if they are unlike us, they must be against us. Therefore, always stick with what you know and who you recognize. That’s what my father told me, and that’s what his father told him. This has been a guiding principle for me all through my life, and I have turned out ok, at least in my opinion. I have a family, no crushing debts to pay, no unlawful charges against me and a few friends I can call true. Occasionally, I enjoy a good book. It relaxes me.

                In fact, it was on one of my usual book hunts in a library not far from here, a few years ago, that I stumbled on a story about a young researcher who had found a certain breed of water creatures thought to be extinct, in the waters surrounding my village.

“Sir, I believe they are there. All the evidence supports my theory. Let me go myself. If I’m wrong, I’ll take full responsibility. It won’t come back to you in any way. But if I’m right! Just imagine sir! You will be the talk of the next dozen centuries! Maybe more!”

“(Sighs) Alright. You can go. But if this turns out to be a hoax, I’ll have your head, and you know I mean it”.

I was intrigued! No one ever mentioned anything to me about this!!! Extinct water creatures. Who would have known? So I read on. This young man moved to the village he deemed close enough to the creatures, my village, and lived there until his research was complete. Amazing! This could be life changing for me and the people of my village! If there really was this extinct creature that a researcher had found in my village, we would be rich! People will come from all over the world just to see these things and they will pay big bucks too! Finally! Wealth had come.

                I was excited as I read on to get my answer. According to him, these creatures only emerged at night and towards dawn. So he would put on his night goggles that glowed green and wear his diving suit under his clothes. However, his sleeves would stop at his wrists, revealing his diving-gloves and he always had them on! He would then head out into the forest that led to the water every night. At the water, he would undress, put on the rest of his diving suit, dive into the river and study the creatures.

It was at this point that I started to remember the tale of Agbalujala. I could not believe it. Fish hands, monster-green eyes, sea creature, came out only at night… I did not want to believe it. Impossible. But the description of this researcher, his story, the time in history…I could not believe it. If I did, one big principle that I had up to that moment, built my life on, would be false. Everything I knew to be true about life, about living, about identities, passion, dreams, people, relationships, seemed to shift before my very eyes. No! It was not him. If it was him, if Agbalujala was this…man…then who was I? who am I?

                His name was Andrew Bacht Ajala. He was a marine biologist. He had been funded by a body that cared for animals facing extinction so he had no need for money or work. He was a vegetarian. No need for meat. He studied the creatures every night as they only came out at that time, and he always went in full diver’s gear. He had an accent, so every time he tried to introduce himself, his name came out sounding like…

“Andrew Bacht Ajala”

“(Whispering someone said to the other) he spoke! Did you hear him! What did he say?”

“I wasn’t standing close enough so I didn’t hear. If you want to hear, go closer”

“Do you want me to die? Can’t you see his hands and feet? Do you know what will happen if he touches me?”

“No oh! What will happen?”

“Well, I don’t know and I don’t want to find out!”

“I’m Andrew Bacht Ajala”

“He said it again!”

“ehn?”

“He said it again. He said Agbalujala”

“Agbalujala”.

“Yes. Agbalujala”

‘What kind of name is that?”

“I told you he is not normal. Please let’s go. He is coming closer. Hurry!”

 I felt my throat tighten and my pulse race faster and faster as it seemed I had unravelled the mystery of my people. The mystery of the being that walked amongst my ancestors. It could not be…. Could it? At the end of the story, there was an insert. It was the image of a man, a man just like you and me.

                Sometimes, I wonder how Andrew must have felt, living amongst a people that saw him as a monster, people that turned away when he walked past or ducked when he tried to wave…being misunderstood like that. I will never know what it was like for Andrew Bacht Ajala, but I know what it is for me now. I know my life will never be the same again.