Short Story: “Son Of Ladi” | Haruna Solomon.

My heart sank into a hole of abrupt panic soon as the news fell on me. I could feel the weight. I abandoned the thatch grasses and sped off to my compound. I swerved in through the narrow entrance of the cactus-fence panting. A spine from the cactus tore into my left arm, but I was numb to the pain. My compound was clustered with people who spoke in low tones as they noticed me, except for the arrival of the child who will carry the name of my father and forefathers.

The height of my confusion touched the sky and the sun scorched the leftover understanding in my head. I freaked out more when I saw the midwife who assisted my wife washing her hands rigorously. She scrubbed with fine clay and warm ashes as if to peel off her skin. She did not stamp the blood of the birth on my hut to signify continuity of my bloodline and heritage, she took off without collecting a fowl.

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