A day before their Yam Festival celebration, Mr. Gbanka Olando, popularly known as Mr. Olan, distributed fifty tubers of yam to each household in the village of Zambatta; a small but industrious community known for their yam cultivation. Mr. Olan was like one cedi note; almost everybody knew him around the village of Zambatta and beyond. He owned fifty hectares of land which was for yam cultivation, each of the three sections of the village, he mounted solar lights which swallowed darkness at night and also allayed terrors of the nights. Mr. Olan also owned four tractors which helped carried peoples produce from their farms to their homes. To know Mr. Olan was to smile over your financial problems: he helped countless of people in Zambatta to sweep away their financial crisis into deep flowing rivers.
It was on Friday morning around 9: oo am, the people of Zambatta were in their smock regalia ready to begin the festival. People from the neighboring communities such as Kampe, Galijual, Duutlotuk, and Naabdoo thronged in their numbers to the durbar. The number of people who were present to grace this occasion could’ve replaced the number of stars in the universe. Everybody including Mr. Olan was readily seated waiting for the chief and his elders and other chiefs to join them from the palace. Mr. Olan sat closed to Biila; his bosom friend and neighbor. Biila was an average man in terms of wealth but hardworking.
“It’s like this year’s Yam Festival bred the largest attendees ever!” Said Mr. Olan. “Obviously true, the eye can even attest.” Said Biila.
“What portfolio do you think they will appoint so far as this year’s festival is concern?” Biila asked Mr. Olan.
“I have no idea my friend”
“I heard the walls around the village whispered into my ears that they will honor Kpaatu Baat to anyone that merits it.” Said Biila.
The seated audience gave a standing ovation to the arrival of the chiefs and their elders upon their arrival. The chief priest of the area, Tingbanyul was also present. The chief of Zambatta; Chamba Baatmong, ordered Tingbanyul to bless the occasion.
Tingbanyul brought out cola nut and a bottle of schnapp from his bag made of wool. He raised his hand into the skies with the cola nut and said “Our ancestors! This is for you.” He started chanting and vibrating his body like an engine of a truck. He opened the lid of the bottle of schnapp to pour libation.
“Our ancestors! We’re here this day to water the roots of the tree that you left for us and our generations, we’re here to bake more bread in addition to that you left for us and our generations, and we’re here to fill the pots you left for us and our generations with water of peace. Please accept our prayers and grant us a memorable celebration.” Tingbanyul prayed to the ancestors and to the gods.
Chamba Baatmong stood up after the libation to address the gathering. He spoke a lot about peace and development, love and affection. He also warned the folks of Zambatta to uphold the laws of the land and never be found wanted. He ended his speech by telling the gathering,
“This year’s Yam Festival will honor Kpaatu Baat to anyone that merits it; this is a portfolio which is honored to someone whose hard work extends its arms to developing Zambatta and beyond, this is a portfolio which is honored to someone whose pockets help to build the walls of Zambatta and beyond. We shall be honoring a person with this personality today.”
Biila sat smiling in the head like a man who is visited by his new date; he knew this honor surely will be given to his friend. He looked at Mr. Olan in the face but Mr. Olan was focused and didn’t mind him.
Hours later, when almost all other chiefs and elders had addressed the gathering with their words, it was now time for the honor. Chamba Baatmong called on the presence of Mr. Olan to join him on the dais. “On behalf of my other chiefs, elders and everyone, I hereby honor Mr. Olan, the portfolio of Kpaatu Baat.” Baatmong pronounced. Mr. Olan was happy to be honored and almost everybody was happy for him except for the two elders, Sando and Tabik. Sando and Tabik never liked Mr. Olan from the beginning, they hated change and development but no one knew about their dark minds.
A week later after the festival celebration, Sando and Tabik met and planned to thwart the reign of Mr. Olan. It was morning when Olan was ready to eat his breakfast. Sando and Tabik entered. Mr. Olan offered them a seat and went in for cola nut. He offered the cola nut to each, then said,
“You’re welcome my elders.”
“Thank you.” Sando and Tabik responded.
“I hope you came in peace?”
“Yes! We came to visit you and to appreciate your new post.” Sando said.
“May our gods strengthen you and prolong your life to continue your good works.” Tabik wished.
“May the gods hear your prayers. Thank you all for the homage.” Said Olan.
Mr. Olan excused them and went into his hut to pick something for them as an appreciation for their visit. Sando quickly removed black polythene from his bag and poured a black substance into Mr. Olan’s drink which he has not yet sipped. Mr. Olan came out and met them standing on their feet ready to fleet from the scene. Olan gave them some amount of money and thanked them for honoring him with a visit. Both friends quickly flew as if they grew wings.
Mr. Olan took his drink to push down some morsels, he raised the cup and was about to sip when his beloved dog called Krag barked at him, he stopped and tried to drink for the second time but the dog kept on its key. Olan put down the drink without taking a sip and had a deep thought over the dog’s unusual reactions. After several thoughts, he poured the drink away. To his surprised the dog started wagging his tale. Sando and Tabik lost their aim for their first attempt.
One month later, Biila and Mr. Olan had a serious quarrel over a parcel of land. The issue was sent to the chief for judgment. Sando and Tabik met again with another plot after their several failures to eliminate Mr. Olan.
One Tuesday afternoon, Biila stretched his legs to that parcel of land, he was strolling around the edges of the land when he spotted two strong men with face masks. They grabbed him in their might, and then squeezed his neck till he was still and cold. It was Sando and Tabik who contracted these two men to kill Biila in order to convict Mr. Olan.
The news spread fast across the village of Zambatta and beyond, that Mr. Olan has killed Biila over land issue. Mr. Olan had no breath to confess his innocence. Chamba Baatmong sent on for Tingbanyul; the chief priest, to come and crack the nut but Sando and Tabik already visited Tingbanyul with One Thousand, Five-Hundred Ghana Cedis (GHC 1,500.00). They soiled his hands with the oil of bribery.
When Tingbanyul came, he falsely declared Mr. Olan as the killer of Biila. Some of the populace did not believe Olan could kill Biila but some too believed.
Per the laws of the land, if a fellow human should kill fellow human, the punishment is death by hanging. Chamba Baatmong had no choice than to pronounce the hanging of Mr. Olan. The time was up for his execution. The executioner asked Mr. Olan to say his last words. He said,
“I will die and go but one day you will realize I was not the hawk who killed your chick, rather the python that hid in your roof for ages. By that time, things have fallen apart and all of you will crawl and depart. Thank you.”
After his last speech, he was executed. The two elders; Sando and Tabik were happy.
Years later, things in Zambatta started falling apart: their produce, businesses were turning into history. Strange sickness visited Sando and Tabik and they both died on the same day. The Chief Priest also died immediately after the demised of Sando and Tabik. Gaxbal; god of thunder, struck him.


  1. Awe! The evil that men do lives with them and after them. You are such wonderful. I knew you were a poet not knowing you are venturing into fiction! More oil in your elbows will I continually pray for you.

  2. Awee! The evil that men do lives with them and after them. I knew you to be a poet not knowing that you are venturing into fiction too!.
    Nice write up the Chinua Achebe of our time. More oil in your elbows will I continually pray for you.

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