We both took a cup of palm wine each and made for the door. As we left the griot’s hole, the wristwatch I wore clicked three. Uncle Jimi stole a quick look at it and said off-handedly. Do remember that it’s our responsibility to tell these stories to our children’s children. Ise t’olorun ran awa niyen (meaning our own God-given assignment is to tell these stories). People and cultures never die except their stories die.
That’s a nice wrist watch he quipped.
Thank you sir.
Can I get a closer look at it?
I gave him my left hand as we moved slowly along the corridors. He simply looked at it and smiled. It’s a very good one he repeated. I was thankful for the compliments. The wristwatch was actually given to me by a friend. A pretty girl.
As we approached papa’s door, I reached out to knock on the door but Uncle Jimi quickly held my hand and did the knocking himself. A simple knock on the door obviously meant a lot to him. I noticed he knocked specifically on the keyhole, not on the door. Almost instantly, the door swung open and papa was waiting to usher us in.
Immediately we got in, he snapped the foam back in its place behind the door covering every crevice as before. Uncle Jimi’s paper was laid open on the table and I could clearly see its contents.