“My name, is not Cudjo Lewis. It Kossula. When I gittee in Americky soil, Mr. Jim Meaher he try callee my name, but it too long, you unnerstand me, so I say, ‘Well, I yo’ property?’ He say, ‘Yeah.’ Den I say, ‘You callee me Cudjo. Dat do.’ But in Afficky soil my mama she name me Kossula.1
“My people, you unnerstand me, dey ain’ got no ivory by de door. When it ivory from de elephant stand by de door, den dat a king, a ruler, you unnerstand me. My father neither his father don’t rule nobody. De ole folks dat live two hund’ed year befo’ I born don’t tell me de father (remote ancestor) rule nobody.
“My people in Afficky, you unnerstand me, dey not rich. Dass de truth, now. I not goin’ tellee you my folks dey rich and come from high blood. Den when you go in de Afficky soil an’ astee de people, dey say, ‘Why Kossula over dere in Americky soil tellee de folks he rich?’ I tellee you lak it tis. Now, dass right, ain’ it?
“My father’s father, you unnerstand me, he a officer of de king. He don’t live in de compound wid us. Wherever de king go, he go, you unnerstand me. De king give him plenty land, and got plenty cows and goats and sheep. Now, dass right. Maybe after while he be a little chief, I doan know. But he die when I a lil boy. Whut he gointer be later on, dat doan reachee me.
“My grandpa, he a great man. I tellee you how he go.”
I was afraid that Cudjo might go off on a tangent, so I cut in with, “But Kossula, I want to hear about you and how you lived in Africa.”
He gave me a look full of scornful pity and asked, “Where is de house where de mouse is de leader? In de Affica soil I cain tellee you ’bout de son before I tellee you ’bout de father; and derefore, you unnerstand me, I cain talk about de man who is father (et te) till I tellee you bout de man who he father to him, (et, te, te, grandfather) now, dass right ain’ it?
“My grandpa, you unnerstand me, he got de great big compound. He got plenty wives and chillun. His house, it is in de center de compound. In Affica soil de house of de husband it always in de center and de houses of de wives, dein in a circle round de house dey husband live in.
“He don’t think hisself to marry wid so many women. No. In de Affica soil it de wife dat go findee him another wife.
“S’pose I in de Affica soil. Cudjo he been married for seven year for example. His wife say, ‘Cudjo, I am growin’ old. I tired. I will bring you another wife.’
“Before she speakee dat, she got de girl who he doan know in her mind. She a girl she think very nice. Maybe her husband never see her. Well, she go out in de market place, maybe in de public square. She see disa girl and astee de girl, ‘You know Cudjo?’ De girl tellee her, ‘I have heard of him.’ De wife say, ‘Cudjo is good. He is kind. I like you to be his wife.’ De girl say, ‘Come with me to my papa and mama.’
“Dey go, you unnerstand me, to de girl’s parents together. Dey astee her questions and she answeree for her husband. She astee dem questions too and if both sides satisfy wid one ’nother de girl’s parents say, ‘We give our daughter into yo’ care. She ain’ ours no mo’. You be good to her.’
“De wife she come back to Cudjo and makee de’rangements . Cudjo got to pay de father for de girl. If she be a rich girl dat been in de fat-house long time, you unnerstand me, he got to pay two of everything for her. Two cow, two sheep, two goat, chickens, yam, maybe gold. De rich man, keepee his daughter in de fat-house long time. Sometime two year. She gittee de dinner in dere eight times a day and dey don’t leavee her git in and out de bed by herself. De one whut keep de fat-house he lift dem in and out, so dey don’t lose de fat.
“De man not so rich, he cain keep his girl dere long so she not so fat. So po’ man don’t send his daughter.
“Derefore, you unnerstand me, de man pay different price for different girl. If she de daughter of a po’ family, or she been married before or somethin’, he don’t pay much for her.
“When de new wife come first to her husband compound she live in de house wid de old wife. She teach her what to do and how to take keer de husband. When she learn all dat, den she have a house by herself.
“When dey gittee ready to buildee de new house, de man takee de machete and chop de palm tree to mark de place where de house goin’ be build. Den he throw down a cow and have plenty palm wine. Den all de people come and eatee de meat and drink de wine and stomp de place smooth and buildee de house.
“My grandpa, he buildee wife house many time.
“Some men in de Affica soil don’t gittee no wife ’cause dey cain buy none. Dey ain’ got nothing to give so a wife kin come to dem. Some got too many. When you hungry it is painful but when de belly too full it painful too.
“All de wives make food (udia) for de husband. All de men dey likee de fufu. He eatee de big calabash full to de top wid fufu, den my grandpa he lay down to sleep.
“De young wives (before they are old enough to take up the actual duties of wifehood) help put de husband to sleep. One makee wind for him wid de fan. Another one rub de head. Maybe one clean de hands and somebody look after de toe-nails. Den he sleepee and snore.
“Somebody stand guard before de door so nobody make noise and wakee him. Sometime de son of a slave in de compound makee too much noise. De man what stand guard ketchee him and takee him to my grandpa. He sit up and lookee at de boy so. Den he astee him, ‘Whoever tellee you dat de mouse kin walk ’cross de roof of de mighty? Where is dat Portugee man? I swap you for tobacco! In de olden days, I walk on yo’ skin!’ (That is, I would kill you and make shoes from your hide.) ‘I drink water from yo’ skull.’ (I would have killed you and used your head for a drinking cup.)
“My grandpa say dat, but he don’t never astee de chief to sellee nobody to de Portugee. Some chief dey gittee mad when de slave talkee so sassy and don’t do work lakee dey tell ’em. Den dey sell him to de Portugee. De chief throw orange under de table. Den he call the slave boy he goin’ sell and say to de boy, ‘Pick me de orange under de table.’ De boy stoop under de table. De chief got a man standin dere. Maybe two. When de boy go under the table to gittee de orange, de chief say, ‘Ketchee de bushman!’ De men grabee de boy and sellee him.
“De chief he ain’ always glad. One day de wife die. She still in de old wife’s house and ain’ never been no wife to the chief yet. She too young. Why she die, Cudjo doan know.
“When dey come to tell de chief his young wife dead, he go look. He slap his hand on his wrist. Den he scream in his fist and cry. He say, ‘Yea! yea! yea! my wife dead. All my goods wasted. I pay big price for her. I fatten her and now she dead and I never sleep wid her once. Yea! yea! I lose so much! She dead and still a virgin! Yea! yea, tu yea! I have a great loss.’”
Cudjo looked out over his patch of pole-beans towards the house of his daughter-in-law. I waited for him to resume, but he just sat there not seeing me. I waited but not a sound. Presently he turned to the man sitting inside the house and said, “go fetchee me some cool water.”
The man took the pail and went down the path between the rows of pole-beans to the well in the daughter-in-law’s yard. He returned and Kossula gulped down a healthy cup-full from a home-made tin cup.
Then he sat and smoked his pipe in silence. Finally he seemed to discover that I was still there. Then he said brusquely, “Go leave me ’lone. Cudjo tired. Come back tomorrow. Doan come in de mornin’ ’cause den I be in de garden. Come when it hot, den Cudjo sit in de house.”
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