Others accused one of the contending royal families to be responsible for the chief's illness which from all indications was dragging him closer to death than life.
Nyor, what do you call this thing? Samba one of the villagers notorious drunk asked as he held up a small gourd containing some palm wine and examined it closely.
Water. Nyor retorted.
Right, I am happy you know what you sell us here. Samba teased and burst into a hysterical laughter.
Samba if you've drunk to your fill, leave.
Not I am inch from here. Samba stammered then bemed a smile which turned into a roaring laughter.
