By Prof. Dr. Kettehkumehn E. Murray, PHD (Lecturer and former Lawmaker)
After three sleepless nights, twisting and turning like a rope in the wind, NaGee finally had a spark of genius. On the fourth night, before even the first cock crowed, he sprang out of bed singing at the top of his voice:
“I will dance
I will drink
Until my blood turns into wine!
I will eat
Until my belly bursts—
Allll day long!”
His wife stirred under the raffia mat, blinking in the half-dark.
“Husband,” she muttered, “What’s making you so happy this soon morning? Can’t we wait for the day to break before we start singing?”
But NaGee was already doing a foot-shuffle across the red earth floor, his eyes glowing with excitement. He turned up the flame on the palm oil lamp, and as the shadows danced on the mud walls, he sang even louder:
“I will dance
I will drink
All the waaaaay;
I will smile
I will laugh
I will sing
All day long!”
By now, even the chickens had begun to wake.
On the morning of the double feasts, NaGee’s wife was up early. She prepared a light breakfast: cassava and cold-water fish gravy—just enough to hold the stomach before the real celebration. She helped the children dress in their best clothes after bathing and rubbing them down with palm kernel oil and laid out NaGee’s grand bùbù.
It was heavy, richly woven, the kind of robe that only elders or griots could wear—wide-shouldered, stately, trimmed with hand-dyed borders. When NaGee stepped into it, he looked like he had just descended from the clouds.
But even then, NaGee had a secret glint in his eye—because he wasn’t planning to choose between the feasts.
