The Night Monster

Ten years ago, we still lived together without noise or argument. We could describe as a rain of misfortune what happened to us. On the eve of our misfortune to all, we organized a party to honor the memory of our ancestors. I woke up that morning to take water in the well as usual, phew! To my surprise, the well was dry like an empty jar for almost eight months. I was not the only one, even those who were early in their fields noticed that the fields were deserted. Empty well, deserted fields, trees that dropped ripe or not, nothing in the village.

Seven days and seven nights already, but still nothing. We have already exhausted all our reserves, there were only a few jars of water to drink in each dealership and at most a few granaries of harvest to supply a village of about one hundred people. My father is the king of the village. He was both a chief and a prince since the village was founded by my grandfather who was looking for a fertile, habitable and giving easy access to water, a source of life. Reason why the village bears the name "Sifar". My father had cultivated more than twenty hectares of Mil last year, twenty hectares of rice. We could only give to the more than two handles of rice or millet to those who have nothing. I have a little brother Karim and a Houéfa sister. Karim tires by wanting to be mad. My mother, called FIFA, means "midwife" in FON. To find a solution to this curse which was beating its full in the village, my father, nicknamed Nougnouintô by the villagers, brings together men. This meeting only concerned the wise men in the presence of the high priest Houffon. For the village, Houffon is the messenger of the gods on their land. Any word out of the high priest's mouth is respected to the letter, without any contradiction. For the young people of my cohort, Houffon abused his responsibility and his role. Between us, it's a Pochard. Houffon's message for the village was:

- The creation of this village which bears the name of Sifar, our great king, our sovereign, had signed a pact with the night monster. Today, the gods send me this message to you. The time is serious, the night monster demands its offerings. So to live better in this village, we have to give him back his offerings, says Houffon.

- harvests are bad, our cattle no longer survive this drought and we have already almost exhausted all our reserves, said the king.

- We have no choice. Either the or the whole village goes up in smoke, says Houffon.

It has already been fourteen days and fourteen nights that we are struck by this curse. So everyone went home to think carefully about the situation and the measures to be taken before Houffon's latest summons. I'm not yet a good man, but I've discreetly attended Reunion. I am 17 years old and I am the spokesperson for my cohort, an organization of young people in my village. Our mission at the time was to watch over the fields. The next morning, my father brings together the wise men again in the presence of Houffon.

- "I wanted you to know what is the offering requested by the gods of Sifar," said Houffon.

To these words, the Sages questioned each other.

- As offerings, the Sifar gods asked for seven young girls who have never known a "virgin girls" man, not just any girls, but girls from a much superior social class.

The wise men, without forgetting the chief of Sifar could no longer find a word to express their feelings. I fell from the tree that served as a hiding place, it looks like a lazy that missed its branch.

- I am not finished, since to these young girls must add seven oxen, said Houffon, and the ceremony will take place at the prohibited source.

While the Sages and the King thought about their new problem, Houffon called one of his songs that caused fear in the village. I ran to join the cohort to tell them about the bad news. During our gathering, we voted as a goal: to save our sisters from this tragedy. But what will be the fate of the village if we prevent the ceremony for taking place? Houffon confirmed that the ceremony will be held on market day, that is to say in three days, and that it will also be the day of the new moon. So we have a day to find an infallible plan.

All in all, we were the elected officials to bring together the oxen, but we also had to find a beautiful hiding place for our sisters. Personally, I am not ready to lose Houéfa: neither today nor never. Houéfa is a sister like no other. I remember that, since childhood, I was the only one among our parents at bedtime, tell her tales and lulled with the sweet melodies that my grandmother had taught me. She has always preferred my company to that of our parents. It is therefore out of the question that a misfortune is coming. Two days before the ceremony, it's not much time.

Very quickly, the cohort was divided into two groups: one responsible for crossing the herds, the other to find a hiding place. The attic of my grandfather, abandoned in the middle of the field, of which I alone knew the existence, seemed ideal.

Inside this attic, it felt like it was in a bedroom and a living room. He was his reserve attic. We moved it in a safe place to house our sisters.

The days pass, the hours flow and the minutes pass. Today is the day before; Difficult to close your eye overnight. I am in beautiful sheets, even the parents have lost sleep. It is better to have a good sleep than a beautiful bed. The day rises; The songs of birds are becoming more and more intense. The more I close my eyes, the more sleep moves away from me.

The morning wind was in full swing, alternating between intense cold and hot weather. In the morning, a tenuous fog lingered for some time around the concessions, smoking slowly, as regrettable. The boxes were then shaken by strident coughs, and the couretttes of the houses saw the benchmark residents emerge late. Along the palisades in dry millet rods or bamboo slats, kids dressed in rags came out by protecting from the freezing wind. Our parents were still in their rooms. My cohort and I took advantage of this misty moment to wake up our sisters and drive them into the protective attic, without risking many questions from them. It was the moment when the parents had to warn their daughters from a release scheduled for the next day, when they were already being ready.

From left to right, voices rose: it was those of our parents who shouted the disappearance of their daughters. At that moment, fear was our lot. My cohort and I could only pretend to complain with the parents. I saw my mother collapse in tears. I was crying myself, not because of the disappearance of my sister, but because my mother kept screaming the loss of her only daughter. I felt guilty of this tragedy, and everything pushed me to admit the truth to my mother discreetly. But I couldn't do it, knowing our darons well: they are still bread with our damons, especially if the latter turns out to be clever. So, taking the air of a compassionate son and brother, I slowly withdrew from the house, without attracting attention to me. Each parent, having noticed the disappearance of their daughters, already accused the gods.

- It is not a coincidence. Tomorrow we will see our daughters for the last time, and already tonight, they have been removed. Houffon! Come and tell us more, says a desperate daronne and filled with rage.

It was panic throughout the village. The sun, after having hesitated at the Zenith, wondering if it would come back to its steps or if it would continue its way, began to descend to the West. In each house was a crowd, but in mine, it was almost the whole village. In the courtyard of my concession stood up a huge mango and an orange tree. Under the mango tree were grouped all the people, with FIFA in the center. However, under the orange tree, we saw the king and the wise men. On this one, we were only children, but we had struck hard.

When you heard the sound of a gong and bells, Houffon appeared. The most surprising thing is that it appeared without saying a word, then left. It was terrifying. My cohort and I were very anxious, because Houffon had kept silent. So, my friends and I decided to go to the secret source prohibited to see more clearly, without measuring the consequences of our actions. This source, far from the village, was prohibited, and no one had ever set foot there, apart from Houffon. He had installed two large fetishes on each side of the path, impressive and frightening in the sight of all. We read on the pediment of these fetishes: "Tolêgba". They had cauris eyes, a mouth, a nose and even ears. They were covered with red oil mixed with corn flour, with coagulated blood on their head and chicken feathers. On the ground, there were red and white beans. The smell of alcohol was omnipresent.

At five more meters, was a large Iroko, similar to that that Dossou had cut in *the favorite tree *. This Iroko was surrounded by white, black and red fabrics – if we added yellow, it would have looked like the German flag. Breathing became difficult, but our curiosity won. Near Iroko, there was only one circular box, filled with small objects and saturated with an unbearable smell of perfume. Suddenly, we saw Houffon to exchange words in the box. Fear was holding us, but we had to stay on our guard. Behind this box was a river. The water of this very clear river was the prohibited source. But on the other side, it was a huge forest. It was still only sixteen hours, but inside the secret source, it looked like it was already twenty-three hours. Total darkness reigned, which explained the presence of lamps made with papaya, buried branches and red oil. The area gave off an disgusting atmosphere. I detached myself from my group, attracted by something under the Iroko that deserved our attention. As I approach, I saw strange objects: pieces of wood cut in the form of twins. These sculptures are used by part of the African people to represent the real twins. There were others linked by natural strings, some placed in wooden coffins or in boxes, and other red fabric.

Pictures sunk into the ground crossed leaves bearing inscriptions. These stakes were also surrounded by red or black fabrics. The more I got closer, the more fear was overwhelming, but it was impossible for me to retreat. It looked like a magnet, whose North Pole was under Iroko, attracted me the South Pole. On the first sheet in front of me, I recognized the name of a died sage a few months ago: Yovo. He was the only one to firmly oppose Houffon's ideas. Without taking care of the other names, my gaze arose on another inscription, that of Sifar. I quickly gave my friends, who saw the same thing as me.

A shadow then enveloped the top of the place, and the water of the river became darker than usual. We already heard the cry of the owl, impatient to see the darkness fall to get out of her hiding place and join the army of the wizards. The surroundings of the Champs de Sifar were immersed in a blinding and religious silence. Even the birds were shaking with anxiety, as if they were pressing what was going to happen.

Take for fear, Nabou panqua. We returned together to the village. He was always immersed in sadness, still ignoring the big news that we brought him. During the day, Houffon appeared in white, but after dark, he was in black: the night monster. All were convinced that the ceremony would take place the next day. Upon entering the house, all eyes were riveted on us.

All together, we gave the alert without realizing it: Houffon is the night monster. The parents, very surprised, asked us for explanations and told us about the consequences if it was false. This is how we described everything we had seen at the prohibited source. Suddenly, everything became dark. For some time, a strange noise had started to disturb the stunned solitudes. This noise moved from one horizon to the other, approached, moved away, then approached, stirring dry herbs, vanished, to be reborn, less deaf and closer, in anxious space.

An oppressive silence cried again the bush where the last cicadas were killed, while the first toads coassed. Suddenly, a whitish lightning tore the night and the thunder broke out. The unleashed wind immediately rushed over the void. His burning breath raised high whirlwinds of dust, and his gusts ransacked everything in their path, beating on the trees whose whistling branches flogged the air, lacerating and shredding their leaves with rabies. The bush, prostrated with terror, moaned at length, like a tortured slave. Then came the first drops of rain: Ili. The mystery had been pierced.

Part of my cohort was on the way with our sisters to return to the village. At the sight of the girls, everyone was amazed, but everyone understood that the blow came from us. The sky regained its clarity, and everything returned to normal. Joy returned to hearts.

In the early morning, the jars were filled with water. The awakening was made in immense joy. The parents decided to go to the prohibited source, but I let you imagine the continuation. There was no more prohibited or houffon source. The cause of his disappearance remains a mystery. Houffon and his fetishes had disappeared without leaving any trace.

Since its mysterious disappearance, everyone had a real paradise on earth. It was then that we understood that we did not need a houffon to pray to our own God.