The Drummer Boy of Aiyedun

Orange tint had been painted in the sky above the Aiyedun village as the sun started to rest. The wind was blowing with the scent of smoke and roasted maize. Chickens clucked. There were children running after each other, barefoot, and smiling along dusty roads. Not Timi though. Timi was sitting by the big mango tree over the compound of his father. his hands were tapping the rhythm of a small, battered drum of carved wood and goat skin. The drum was an antique drum. There were incisions on the skin. but what there was of it. And he liked it better than anything in the world. Timi was 14 years old, skinny, had eyes a dark brown color, and curly hair. His father, Pa Durojaiye, tapper of palm wine of the village. Sturdy, but hard. Pa Durojaiye had become distant since the death of Timi's mother. According to him, drums could not take care of a man. one morning he shouted thus, hauling a sack over his shoulder, in which the garbage of the family was packed, and such was its nature that it did most displeasing things when he threw it out;- throw away that nonsense, and come to the farm with me! But Timi however, wasn’t looking up, she gazed onto her feet. But Baba, I would like to be in the drumming team during the next festival. My uncle Rafiu told me that I was talented.” Pa Durojaiye hissed round, and stared. “Talent? Can skill satisfaction your belly? Or, repair a leaking roof? Timi bit now his lip. He adored the father. Yet his inner man told him that he was born to drum.  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/drum-musical-instrument-hand-drum-96179/) The Aiyedun village was getting ready to host the largest festival in the past five years the Igunuko Masquerade Festival. Individuals were coming back to Lagos and Ibadan. There was a painting at the palace of the king. Women went shopping wrappers. Hunters were cleaning their dane guns. and what of the drummers? they were the spirit of it all. They saw Timi being watched by the village lead talking drummer uncle Rafiu. One night he summoned him to his presence. You pick up the beat in your blood, Timi, pat, pat, said he, slapping his shoulder. You can hear beats as other people can hear silence. Come join us. However prepare yourself. Your papa will not think it is fine.” Timi said, his voice hard as iron, he was ready. I can go and play drums secretly, even then. And so, Timi started practicing at nights when it was a full moon and the daddy was snoring. Uncle Rafiu taught him to speak with the drum to tell him to come near, to scurry, the king is coming and even to tell him I love you. Timi acquired the drum which was her tongue. He used it to talk better than he had words ever before. However, secrets such as smoke always come out. On Thursday it came; Pa Durojaiye came back early, after the market day. It gave him a beat as he passed the back of the house, like flowing the water. He creeped and got at a loss. And Timi was sitting down under the orange tree and beating out tunes on his drum. The voice of his father divided the night like the thunder. “Timi!” Timi froze. What is this nonsense again! exclaimed his father and grabbing the drum beat it on the tree. the timber snapped. The skin tore holes. The rhythm went out of the beat. Timi dropped on his knees, and gazed at the fragments. His father pointed out the house. And this time you and your foolish drum: if I find you again with one I swear on your mother to sober earth, I will send you off to your uncle to the cocoa-soil. You will not leave here till your head is alright!”  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/snare-drum-drum-drums-music-2716881/) Timi did not say anything. He was silent [and] he didn’t cry. A little in him was shattered. During that night he was sleep-less. It was a loud silence which surrounded him more than his drum ever did. He looked out of the ceiling with clenched fists. A strange thing occurred three days before the festival. At the palace gate the messenger of the king ran in. Uncle Rafiu is sick!”, he yelled. He is not able to lift his arms. Who shall beat Igunuko? Panic spread. There is no festival that has been held in the Aiyedun without the talking drum. Igunuko could not dance without it. The name of the king was not allowed to be stated. The ancestors were unable to be praised. People whispered. Well what will become of Timi? He is a good o that boy is, o. Said some one, But his father will not consent. In the afternoon the council of the king summoned Pa Durojaiye. In a confused condition came the, smell of palm wine in him. Chief Olamide, adviser to the king said, we heard your son play drums. Will ye permit him to play at the festival” Pa Durojaiye scratched himself about the head. He is still a youngster. He is unaware of the royal rhythms.” Another chief said, he knows. Rafiu himself said. It was a secret that he developed the boy.” The eyes of Pa Durojaiye opened wide. That night he didn't have any conversation with Timi. He simply stared so long at him, and then went in. Timi was amazed and collected his belongings following the palace guards to the royal compound. “The day of the festival arrived. A reception of people resulted in the village square. Masquerades danced. Sellers were selling fried akara and puff- puff. Gunmen fired in the air. New clothes were worn by children. Then came the king. Tall and white and like a ghost, the Igunuko started its slow graceful measures. The beaters of the drums lifted the sticks. Next Timi came forward. He was dressed in white cloth, and red beads. A present of the king to him was a new drum shining in the sun. He stared out at the crowd and through a gap in between people saw his father standing under a tree with his arms crossed. Timi inhaled, and struck the initial stroke. The sound broke and sang like thunder and like the birds. The pressures made the crowd gasp. More than ever the Igunuko danced. On Timi her hands flitted, gently. His heart pulsed inside the drum. He was summoned to the ancestors. He was summoned to the king. He referred to it as joy. and the people said. Cheers stood loud. When the feast was over the king summoned Timi. today you have made history. Hereafter you will be a royal drummer. and we will send them to the city that we might learn more. Your gift must increase!! Timi threw himself to the ground Trembling. When the crowd began to disperse Pa Durojaiye walked very slowly towards his son. you played well, he said, in a low voice. Your mother would have been so happy about it. and Timi gazed at his father and his eyes were wet. I said thank you Baba. Pa Durojaiye, had a folded piece of cloth, drawn out his arm. This was made up by me, he said, and gave him a new drum strap, made by hand in red and black thread. You are drums of the Aiyedun now: and yet with all that, you are my boy. And that same night father and son walked home together to the beat of the drums, to the laughter of joy, and to the peace of years.