That summer, Ade finally took me up through the Fango hill. It was mid-August. The hills were mounds of dark brown, polished earth. They swelled in huge lumps from the ground beneath them, clustered together as though they feared being apart. The sky, always a sharp blue, would throw her lights on them at dawn. The brown hills would glow with hints of blue, a brilliance of a hinted morning. At twilight, with the sun fading into a clear orange ball of fire, the faint dazzle of its orange light would glaze over the skins of the hills and they would seem to look skyward to the sun in sweet gratitude.
Ade loved going to the hills. He was just 12. I was 14, yet I felt he was wiser than I was. For three consecutive years, spending my summer holidays in Kanchan, I watched Ade everyday ease to the top of the huge udala tree in the backyard. He'd set his sights on the brown out-pockets in the far distance.
One day, I asked him:
"Ade, why do you always look at the hills?"
Ade looked at me. His eyes held neither amusement, nor annoyance. But he would not answer. He merely went about cracking the kernel nuts on the upturned mortar with the fat piece of iron he held in his hand as if to say, I would soon find out.
For the next three days, I let the issue drop. I would still see him, after meals, while I and the boys gathered in front of the house to play. He'd join us for a small moment, then excuse himself; in that manner that suggested he had something exceedingly pressing to do. Ade would slip to the udala tree. He was an expert climber. I wondered if there were marks on the trees which he followed. His feet clung to points, his arms stretched infinitely, clutching the branches with a confident strength. I would watch him pull himself clear of the earth beneath us. And rise to his favourite branch, somewhere hidden behind a curtain of leaves, where I'd watch him lose himself and forget everything.
Summer last year, as we entered my uncle's house in Kanchan, while my dad and his brother hurriedly tucked themselves into their gists, as though each saved so much for that relieving period of time, a waggish Ade held my hands and pulled me fervently to his room. His eyes shone with a pleasurable secret he needed to share. I knew he'd finally gone up the hills.
"Muji, Muji," he said ecstatically to me, "I went to the Fango hills!!"
Ade was almost bursting with pleasure. I felt a kind of pleasure too which began in mild ripples in my stomach, as fluttering butterflies disturbed the calm lake therein. A smile developed on my face; but with it, a hunger. I wanted to see the Fango hills too.
So, over the weeks, as we were not allowed to go out, I followed Ade to the udala tree. I was curious about him. It appeared going to the Fango hills had only whetted his love for them. In his bearing, once he sighted the hills, was a wild longing, visible in the lines of his face, drawn with an everlasting stretch of need. His eyes at instants went remote, lost themselves in the depths of the rising forms and many times, he forgot I was there with him.
When we were due to leave, l told him:
"Ade, next summer, you must take me to the Fango hills".
Ade nodded to me. He rarely spoke to me. Between us was a quiet understanding more intimate than speech. It would take but one look in his dark brown eyes and I would see his feelings, spread out as on a white canvass before me.
The summer finally came. We went to Kanchan. Ade appeared to be waiting for me, calm and collectedly. When I saw him. I knew he had a plan for us to slip out and see the hills. But five days passed and Ade had not said anything about the hills to me. We were always busy - him especially - doing chores and running errands. We needed next to nothing outside the house. We could slip out unnoticed, but the danger was in the fact that we could be wanted at any time, and no child ever left my uncle's large compound without permission. During summers like that, there would be at least 11 children in my uncle's house. Four were his. Three, including me, were my father's and my paternal aunts, two of them, would have their four children with them - they had two each. But work never seemed to end. The workforce didn't matter in the least. As food was prepared in large, boisterous quantities, water too was so needed. Plus, there were always washing to be done, floors to be swept, floors to be mopped. We were lucky. Our uncle had a well in one corner of the house. It was from there we drew all the waters we needed from.
On the sixth day, I brooched the subject to Ade. He sat on a low stool, knees close together, grating cocoyam for my aunt. I disposed of a bowl of sewage and went to him.
"Ade," I called, my voice reduced to a whisper.
He turned to me.
"When are we going to the Fango hills?" I asked. He looked about him quickly to be sure none was in earshot, then said irritatedly:
"We'll talk later. Go first"
His brusque coldness pricked me. But I knew he was right. Such topics were not mentioned in my uncle's house. So I waited. A week passed, and another, then another. There was only three days left of our stay in Kanchan. My patience was transitioning to a sickly, bleak despair. But I still said nothing.
I was rewarded for my patience when the next day, my father and his siblings prepared to take us all out to visit their mother. Ade pretended to very sick. I didn't know it was feigned for he looked terribly ill. His eyes became shallow and black as though with lack of sleep and he could barely walk. He said he would be fine, that all he needed was rest. While I was preparing to go with them, my uncle called me:
"Muji!!"
"Sir" I answered.
"Ade requested you stay with him, so stay and look after him. Sorry, you hear? You'll see grandma another time."
I clamped my teeth on each other to stifle the wide grin that was trying to force its way through. When they were getting in the car, about to leave, I went to Ade's room and he lay quietly on his mattress, his eyes closed. I didn't know he was listening. When he heard the last tire screech away, he jumped up and spoke quickly, startling me:
"Muji, we must go now!"
And so we left. He led the way expertly as though he knew the place like the back of his hands, while even I knew he'd only been there a few times. As we drew closer, with the small hillocks rising to full hill-height, Ade seemed to grow more remote. He placed his fingers on the brown mounds and traced a line of fault. The dust clung to the tips of his fingersand I watched him bring the fingers to his nose and smell them with a sensual relish.
I dallied away from him and skimmed the tops of the highest hills. They made me feel even smaller that I was. I climbed the smallest ones, flung my arms wide apart and laughed. I walked amongst the hills, feeling my skin browning to blend better with them. I observed the small insects that crawled out of their safe havens to taste the sun. I watched the sombre looking birds on the far west of the hills and wondered if all the stories I'd been told about man eating vultures were true. Overhead, the sun was dying. The orange in its glow smoothed the fur of the hills and it was at that moment that I knew, just why Ade could never stopped looking at them. I laughed again. My voice echoed and fainted into the evening. I looked again at Ade's eyes, brilliant in excitement, and concluded, this was a passion such as I would never see.
