Let me tell you about this village people we always talked about here in Nigeria...
One Orieagu market day some years ago, I was at the market square to sell my clean broilers. Orieagu market doesn't bring me joy. I preferred Ekeikpa market. Oriagu would garner uncountable number of poultry farmers and their caged birds or free ones at the back of pick-up vans plus innumerable number of middlemen who hope to buy the products of our labors with angry sums of money that either equaled your production cost or gave you an added layer that is far from the profit you, the primary producer envisioned.
So, I had a few birds left and as the intensity of the Sun increased, the birds grew weaker and sick. If at this point, I decided to take them back home, I'd have to spend not less than a thousand five bucks on preventive measures against communicable diseases that roamed the animal market. So I usually sold off because there were more birds back home and I needed to sell them all before going back to school early January.
The real deal here is the one woman that sat behind but kept turning her head 180 degrees to stare at me and my animals. She was my favorite feed seller back when I was a teenager and tried my hands at poultry keeping but recorded losses every now and then. One of my birds was about dieing and she called out, gave me a sharp kitchen knife to slaughter the bird before it breathed its last.
I watched the bird nod like someone sleeping and nodding recklessly in a moving vehicle. You know how that forward falling of the head can be.
I returned the knife and bagged my slaughtered bird. I was going to eat it at home. wear won't be washed away liketthat. But we had enough fried chicken untouched.
The woman hissed and I looked.
"Nnaa, bia" she gestured at me to come.
I walked to her spot.
"I ga enyem nkea nwuru anwu ego ole, how much will you sell this one that you just cut to me?"
I was speechless. I didn't even know how much was good because death has devalued it.
"2000" I told her.
"Haba" she exclaimed. Pushing her head backwards and erect.
"Pity me Mma. Okwa I mana enweghi ihe mere the okuko, nothing happened to it but death"
Akuko. Story.
We arrived at a meagre sum and I gave in.
She is one of those village people.
She waited for my bird to die before buying from me.
I stopped going to Orieagu market. Ekeikpa market became my wonderful consolation.
Ije uwa.
