Most afternoons, when I’m bored, I come out and squat beside the hole, staring at it and wondering what could be inside. Could it be a cricket? Or a grass cutter?
I mentioned the hole to my grandma several times, and she would always tell me to let it be.
“Why are you bothered about a hole, ehn? Nne, go and read your book,” she would say.
I would forget about the hole for a few days, but whenever boredom struck, I would run back to it.
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One day, after asking my parents if I could seal up the hole with sand, my grandma decided to tell me a story about a young tigress and her family. This tigress was very curious and disobedient. One day, she told her mother she wanted to follow her to see the humans. Her mother refused and warned her that humans eat animals like them. But the tigress became even more curious. So, she secretly put white dust in her mother’s basket, hoping to follow the trail to the land of the humans without her mother’s knowledge.
Her plan worked. She tiptoed and followed her mother silently from a distance. They walked through tall trees that formed a canopy above their heads, swam across the big river that separated them from the humans, and finally walked through thick bushes.
When they reached the humans, the mother tiger quickly removed a dog’s skin and wore it. Then she walked into the village slaughterhouse where all kinds of bush meat were prepared. The young tigress didn’t have a dog’s skin, so she followed her mother with her normal fur. Soon, she was discovered. The townsfolk captured her and gave her to the village king as a pet. One of the little princesses in the palace named her “Cat.”
The young tigress cried and cried, but no one came to save her. She was fed human food every day, and that thwarted her growth.
“Is that how cats came to live with us?” I asked.
“Yes,” my grandma answered.
“Too much curiosity is not good. It will get you into trouble, just like that young tigress,” she said.
I believed her. To avoid trouble, I stayed away from the hole for several days. But then, one Saturday afternoon, I began to think:
“What’s so bad about just seeing what’s inside the hole? What trouble could I possibly get into? This is different from the stubborn tigress,” I told myself.
With that, I ran to the coconut tree with a weeding hoe. I began to dig the hole with the hoe and my little hands. Soon, I got tired because the hole seemed endless. I squatted and peeped inside, and my eyes grew wide with awe. Deep in the hole was a shiny black object. It glistened as I flashed my small torchlight at it.
Excited, I resumed digging with renewed energy, but again, I got tired. I knelt and stretched one hand into the hole. I couldn’t reach the shiny object, so I lay flat on my tummy and stretched out my arm as far as I could. My eyes widened when I touched the object. It was smooth, cold, and soft. I opened my palm to grab and pull it out, only to feel it move over my hand.
I let out a shrill scream and yanked my arm out of the hole. I was still screaming when a thick, long black snake slithered out. My legs felt too weak to move as I screamed louder. I stood there, frozen in terror, watching the snake hurry into another hole in the fence.
I felt like cutting off my hand. I screamed again as the memory of it crawling over me came rushing back. It felt like one of those nightmares where you know you're dreaming and wish to wake up, but you can’t.
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I was still in shock when my grandma found me. She had rushed out of her room because of my scream. She asked what had happened, but I couldn’t move my lips. I was too terrified to speak until my mum came back. They watched as I tearfully narrated my encounter. I told them the color of the snake, how it glistened in the hole, how it crawled on my hand, and how long and thick it was.
“The snake could have bitten me,” I said when no one responded to my story.
“You’re a very stubborn child,” my grandma scolded, her veins popping as she looked at me coldly.
“Next time, don’t put your hand in a hole. It’s very dangerous. What if that snake had hurt you? No one was around, and Mama was sleeping,” my mum finally said.
“Come here,” my grandma said. I moved toward her and stood between her legs as she examined the hand I had already scrubbed with detergent and sponge—and sanitized countless times.
“Ndo!” (Meaning sorry) she said, blowing gently on the hand. Then she went into her room and came out with palm kernel oil. She poured some on my hand and massaged it gently.
“This will kill any poison you might have gotten from it,” she said.
That same day, my grandma sealed the coconut tree hole and the one by the fence with gravel and sand. I watched her from a distance and promised myself never to put my hand into a hole again.
