The Village Well

 

Before the rooster crows to signal the approach of a new day, the women of the village are already there by the well. Plastic basins balancing atop their heads, pails with handles swinging eagerly in their hands, and tears running down the faces of young children trailing the dangling cloth of their mothers’ garments. The children always dread waking up so early. The women quickly separate the laundry and begin to full bucket by bucket until they are satisfied with the swelling of their basins. Young children run around their mothers and their tiny hands make shapes with the suds that explode like lava after their mothers add the soap powder. The clean, fresh scent always makes the children go wild as they inhale the white powder that travels miles across the ocean in wooden barrels on massive steamboats. Their distant relatives who were fortunate to leave the village and go to “big country”, would always send the soap powder back home, in big, cardboard boxes.

 The women wash in tandem. Rhythmic hand washing gestures that send water flying in all directions, washing tirelessly to remove stains yesterday’s stains. Their hands bruise from the persistent rubbing of cloth and skin together, but the washing must be done. The sun quickly creeps and fiercely appears, and it signals the women to send their children to the village bakery to buy bread and butter from Mr. Larson. At that, the children beam with glee. Getting butter in the bread was like gold, a rare delicacy that they only get to enjoy once a month, because the butter comes from so far away. On the way to the bakery, they spot a mango tree, and they pick up stones from the rugged sidewalk and pelt them sharply. Down come some golden succulent “Julie” mangoes that they catch with their wobbly hands. They then continue to the bakery and greet Mr. Larson, place two mangoes on the counter, to which he smiled. He produces two warm turnovers and asks that the children share equally after they have their breakfast. Then, he takes their fifty cents and places six small, warm loaves with butter trapped in the middle, in their wrinkly paper bag and sends them back along their way.

Realizing that the children have been gone longer than usual, the mothers’ loud beckoning calls come cutting through the air and lands in the children’s ears. They pick up their pace and eventually dash until they get to the familiar site of the village well. Their mothers share the bread among the children, cautioning them not to waste a single morsel. The children happily comply and gobble down the tasty bread and butter. A cup of cold, crisp water from the well follows, and it greatly helps the children gulp down their breakfast, for which they are grateful. The women then begin to rinse the clothing with the water from the well and when all the suds are removed, they wring the clothing and the heavy ones, they wring with contorted faces. When that part of the washing is complete, the women arrange the clothes in their basins, gather up the rest of their belongings, say goodbye to each other, and trod back home.

At home, Ma’ Christine prepares the iron on the coal pot. She hot presses little Panto’s shirt and pants and then helps him get ready to go meet the other children under the shade of the giant palm tree. Ms. Yanim comes every morning at nine, from the nearby village of Kinata to teach the village children their ABC’s, their numbers, and to help them write their names. While the children are at school under the palm tree, some of the mothers get dressed to go clean their master’s houses to earn their wages. These masters are not the cruel ones from the time of slavery. They came down from the big countries to work the land and to send crops back for sale. While they are here with their wives and children, they seek the housekeeping skills of the women from the nearby villages. The women do not hesitate because life after the war has been tumultuous, leaving them to carry the burden of finding food and caring for their children. 

As Sarah cleans the kitchen, lifting every jar and wiping underneath, she feels the tickle of a tear trickle down her face as she remembers Peter, the love of her life. When the call for fighters rung out by the village Crier that fateful day in August last year, all the men gathered at the village well. Sarah remembers how Peter rushed back home to tell her the news and to inform her that he did not have a choice. They embraced and knelt, both sobbing silently so that their young son Jenan, would not hear their cries. At the dawn of the following day, Peter said goodbye to Sarah, who stood still and wide- eyed, watching him walk away. The glass jar shatters to the ground and Sarah snaps out of her trance, wipes her tears, quickly cleans the mess, before any inquiries could come from her master. Peter would never come back, Sarah knew. The box of food supplies, with the white envelope tucked on top was all the confirmation she needed in January, that Peter had died. He died along with several of the other men and fathers who left at the meeting point of the well that day. The women and children would never be the same.

Sometimes when the women gather at the village well, with their children sitting at their feet, they tell gruesome stories of the war. With their lamps in hand, they recall the dreadful event, weeping and wailing, causing their children to cling tightly to their ankles, eyes close shut, wishing it is only a dream and longing to feel their fathers’ touch once more. Their tears glisten and sting under the light of the kerosene and cloth lamps and their cries echo through the still of the long, dark night. All they have left is this village, the village of Kuba. All the women must rely on is one another and so they work together, share everything equally among themselves, and look out for one another in the way that a lioness looks after her pride. The few men who remain, most of whom were too old and fragile, or were too young to join on the battlefield have become the protectors of Kuba. They till the soil that helps grow the crops, they rear and slaughter the animals for meat, they bake the bread in the brick and fire oven. They even helped to build the well. 

The well that sits in the middle of the village which serves as the heart for the people of Kuba was built just after the men went off to fight the terrible war. Before, the Kuban men and women would walk miles to the neighboring villages to fetch water and carry back upon their heads in large basins, buckets, or pails. The painstaking journey is riddled with unpaved roads, jagged rocks, and unpredictable predators. With the help of their masters, the old men worked tirelessly and relentlessly to construct the brick and mortar well in the village of Kuba. The natural source for the well is only one mile from the village and is plugged into the Serenity River which separates the village of Kuba from Kinata. Old metal pipes run underground in ridges that the men persistently dug out, and the white men who came from abroad helped them to put an ancient mechanism that would flush and clean the pipes when necessary.

Then one day, the women come to the well and discover a ghastly, gruesome sight. The village tailor, Mr. Pat, hangs there staring at them wide- eyed, gaze fixed, swollen bruised neck with a note that reads; “stay away from our river or more will pay”. Ma’ Christine wretches at the sight, throws down her basin and screams in anguish. The other women run frantically around the village alerting the other men to the scene. Billie quickly recalls how Mr. Pat left the village a few days ago to go to a neighboring village to purchase cloth for some work that he had to complete. As the men run back to the well to confirm that it is in fact Mr. Pat, distant sounds of angry shouts come booming from the masters who were also alerted to what had transpired. When the men see for themselves, Mr. Pat hanging and dangling from the piece of wood at the top of the well, the baker Mr. Larson kneels in anguish and grabs at the red dirt until his knuckles bleed. Who could do such a wicked thing? All Mr. Pat wanted was some cloth to make garments for his master. There is a sense of immediate dread among the women and men and now the young ones run to the mothers in fright, as they all stand around the well, looking upon their dearly beloved, Mr. Pat.

When the next day comes by, the women make their way to the well of Kuba with sulking shoulders, heavy sighs, and fearful, scrutinizing eyes. When Tammie sends her bucket down to fetch the first fill of water, to her dismay, it comes back empty and dry. She holds her hands up in confusion, beckoning for some explanation that would magically come from the sky. The other women clammer around the well and look down in remorse, only to look right back up and around at each other, as if searching for an answer to why the village well is suddenly, barren. The village Crier sounds the alarm and the men, children, and masters come running down. The men quickly gather up their cutlasses, pickaxes, and hoes, and march on towards the Serenity River. The women wait patiently for Ms. Yanim. When she arrives, they set the children at her feet and then scramble to find whatever tools they could use as weapons or shields in case of the inevitable.

The women trail the men in the mocking heat of the sun, soles blistering on the jagged stones of the unpaved path. When they meet up with the men at the mouth of the Serenity River, what they find awaiting was enough to send Sarah tumbling down faintly in the smoldering heat. Not one pipe is intact, and mountains of sand clog the part of the river where the pipes sucked the water from. A charcoal sign catches the eye of Ma’ Christine and they all run towards it. “No Kuba dogs”, the sign reads, and it sends chills down the spines of everyone at the banks of the river. No sooner do they read the sign, than a group of angry village men and women charge from the opposite side of the river holding homemade knives, cutlasses, bricks, and pieces of wood. The Kuban men rush to the front of the women to provide a human shield. They ground their feet into the moist river sand and wait in anticipation of the oncoming battle.

Everything that happens next is a boiling pot of blood, gore, and bones. The wails from the women echo as brutal, angry cutlasses pierce their skin and twist into their organs, leaving them to stumble haphazardly and then tumble heavily into the river. The men try desperately to defend the women and to protect their honor, but the other villagers are numerous, strong, with intense, ferocious weapons. As Panta, the Kuban village welder, falls down into the river from the slash of a knife, he hears one man say, “stop taking our water for your well.” Jonah backs away slightly from the mayhem and silently crawls out of the river to head back to Kuba. He has been injured too but he must go there and try to protect the children who have all been left behind. No one notices him slip away and as he makes it a safe distance; he glances back in horror at his people writhing and twisting from the anguish and then pain. The ones he sees motionless, like Mr. Larson, tell him all he needs to know; they are dead.

Meanwhile in the village, classes have long finished, and all the children rush to the well in anticipation of seeing their mothers. They are only greeted by a soft wind, and leaves rustling all about. The children look around at each other and raise their shoulders, hands, or eyebrows, trying to make sense of this unusual absence. Even Ms. Yanim seems perplexed. She leads the children away from the well and they quietly and solemnly approach each building in search of the children’s mothers. By the fourth house, there is a feeling of dread that overcomes them all and two children begin to cry. Realizing that they are all alone in the village, the children begin to wail and moan and scream. One child runs in the direction of the well, looks down frantically, looks back up, and then dashes towards the footpath. The other children follow, and Ms. Yanim trails behind, while she secretly hopes that everything will be alright.

About half a mile down the jagged, dirt road, the children and Ms. Yanim see a man lying alongside a rock. One of the children recognizes him as Jonah and they all run towards him. Barely able to speak, with blood circling the corners of his mouth, he lifts his hand slowly and points in the direction of the river. Ms. Yanim and the children help lift Jonah and set him under the shade of a nearby tree. They all continue in search of their mothers and the rest of the villagers. What the children find is enough to send them wailing, with their little hearts pounding in their chest. Ms. Yanim falls to her knees, holds the sides of her head and screams. Seeing their mothers lifeless in the river and on the ground makes the children sick to their stomachs. Their cries intensify, and they shudder at this ghastly sight. When the children realize that some of the angry, murderous villages are starting to return, they quickly grab Ms. Yanim’s hands and run. They run so quickly, that some stumble and fall, they roll, but they did not dare stop. 

With bruised knees and twisted ankles, the children make it back to Kuba. Ms. Yanim trails behind holding Jonah around the waist and helping him to lean alongside the village well. Everyone is frightened, they look towards one another, searching for answers in the pupils of each other’s eyes. There is no sign of the angry villagers, but the children frighteningly peek every minute. Tired, confused, and mourning, they all slouch down around the village well. This is supposed to be their safe place, but it sure does not feel this way anymore. As Ms.Yanim tries to comfort the children, their screams and wails get louder. One boy kicks at the dirt, another bangs his fists on the walls of the well, while another child calls out his mother’s name. The children look up to the sky and call on the names of their ancestors. They beg and them shout for answers, asking the God they worship to bring their mothers back.

Annouk sits quietly in a corner, to the far right of the well. He stares blankly but, in his heart, he prays. He pleads and bargains and asks to grow older quickly. He stands up slowly, grabs the wall of village well, looks around with fire in his eyes and screams, “one day we will grow older, and then they will all pay!”