Chapter 2: No More Hope

1

Today, S3 season don start. The air heavy, sweat dey gather for back like say rain wan break harmattan stubbornness. People from all the different clans for the world just dey show face for one big arena, the kind wey you go see only for grand festivals for home. This na war wey dey happen every hundred years—dem dey call am the War of Ten Thousand Tribes. Omo, the tension no be here. Some people dey ginger with hope, others dey mourn like say burial dey ground. For Umuola side, you fit feel the sadness—everywhere just dey dull, nobody dey even raise voice. Even market women for junction no dey price garri, everybody just dey look ground.

As people dey gather, the murmurs just dey loud:

"E don finish. If we lose again this time, Umuola fit just disappear." One uncle just talk am, him voice dey shake.

Another one shake head, "For S1 season, dem collect eighty percent of our spirit energy."

"For S2 season, dem take eighty percent of our treasures."

"This time, nothing remain for us to give again o," another aunty wey tie wrapper for waist add join.

"E be like say God wan finish Umuola for good." One old man raise him hands to heaven, tears dey for him eye.

People just dey shout to the sky, dey cry anyhow. Some go kneel for ground, dey beat chest, dey lament. Umuola wey before fit stand gidigba, na so everything scatter finish. But if you ask anybody, dem no even sabi why—na so tradition just cut off, nothing remain from the proud old days.

With this small thing wey remain, how we wan take fight all those other strong tribes? E be like say even the wind dey pity us. We don already lose two rounds for the War of Ten Thousand Tribes, and this time, fight never even start, but even Umuola people no believe say dem fit win. The hope just dry, like harmattan breeze.

Foreigners no even get pity, dem see am, begin dey run mouth like say dem get award for bad mouth.

"Umuola never die finish? Wetin una wan give this time? Eighty percent of una fine girls?" one from River Clan just dey mock.

"Why una dey stress? Make una just surrender jare." Another one dey laugh, teeth white like coconut.

"Me sef, I go like carry some fine Umuola babes go house." Boys dey nod head, dey hail themselves.

"See as all the people wey Umuola bring this time na small children—abi all the elders don kpai? Hahaha." Laughter full everywhere, but our people just dey look ground, no fit talk back. Some of our boys clench fist, but nobody fit talk—na only eye dey answer insult.