Marko looked at Elara, frowned, and continued walking.
"It seems he doesn't want to talk to me", Elara thought.
She kept silent throughout the rest of the journey.
Far away behind the village stream, there was dark thick smoke rising from hot flames. The fireblazed and consumed anything that stood in its path without mercy.
"Fire, there is fire", a woman screamed, drawing the attention of the farmers nearby. They sprang into action. Each one carrying whatever container they could find: watering cans, buckets and some wheelbarrows. The situation was urgent.
The farms were what villagers of Norham thrived on, their only livelihood.The fire was growing rapidly, fanned by the oxygen-filled air. The fire jumped from farm to farm consuming whatever it found along its path. The desperate farmers were drenched in sweat as they kept running back and forth with buckets of water from the stream.
Some women who weren't brave enough to go near the fire just stood far away from the heat, sobbing and beating their chest in grief.
"Who did this?" Halima asked her sister.
"This had never happened before."
"The one who did this is really wicked", Fatima replied.
There was confusion all around: Wailing, screams, running, smoke and heat.
As they kept beating the flames with buckets of water, and an old petrol pump donated by the village chief, they realized that their efforts wasn't doing any good. They were in despair.
"Why don't we dig around it instead of water", a farmer suggested.
"You are right Mintah, I get your point", another replied.
Immediately they went to work again. Some with hoes and pickaxes, and others with cutlasses, they dug around the farm areas where the fire had not yet reached, about a meter and a half. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and smoke. Some of the farmers had shriveled shirts.
"Hey, instead of just standing there wailing, bring water to fill the trenches…tears won't solve the problem." Talila shouted at the women standing idle.
They took buckets, and started bringing in water to fill the trenches that have been dug.
After an hour of hard labor, the fire began to die down. Most of the farms were burnt. As they looked at the ash fields the villagers were consumed with anger.
"Someone had intentionally set our farms on fire", one said.
"That person will not go free", another continued.
"They won't live long", still another cursed.
Many began to go back home, weeping and wailing as they went. The sun was now setting, and the sky was painted with the glow of shades of reds and oranges. Talila stumbled down the rough dirt road toward his home, his steps uneven. He smelled of alcohol, sweat, and smoke. As he walked unsteadily, he kept cursing, his frustration evident in his voice.
"Damn that fire," Talila held the bottle of alcohol tightly. "All that hard work… gone. Just like that."
Depression opened its eyes to see what had become of him. Talila's thoughts were a complete mess. His maize farm had been burnt beyond recognition. Every few wobbly steps, he stopped, glaring at the darkness, his eyes wide opened as if it was to blame.
When he reached his house, the sight of the old door made him even angrier. The structure was made of mud. Some parts have peeled off revealing the bamboo that had been used as reinforcement in the walls. The door was made of bamboo placed side by side to form a panel. They have been held in place by a twine. Some parts were already peeling, and a rusty metal hinge was barely holding the door in place.Talila fumbled with the handle, his movements unsteady from drunkenness.
"Damn thing," he grumbled, banging his fist against the door, but it barely made a sound.
"Ouch! Why is my door attacking me now?"
He screamed in pain, rubbing his fist. In frustration, he knocked the bamboo door with his head, trying to fight back at the door. The pain sobered him for a second, but the alcohol quickly clouded his mind again. Without waiting for the door to open, he pushed through and fell to the ground just outside the entrance.
He hit the ground so hard, "Crack!". He sprawled out in front of the door, one part of his body inside the room and the other part outside. The old door remained open, the alcohol bottle tightly clasped in his bosom refusing to let go. There, he laid unconscious with a bleeding fore head.
Marko walked really slow; each step was painful especially around his rib zone.
"Ryan is heartless", his thoughts were flooded. He wondered why Jake, John and Ryan would try to cause him trouble. He rarely mingled with his classmates because he felt out of place due to his poor background. However, these boys won't let him be.
When he finally arrived at home, what he saw there at the door shocked him even more. His father, Talila was sprawled on the ground across their small, over-worn house, half in and half out of the dirt door. Unconscious, his sense of smell showed that he appeared even weaker than usual.
."Father?" Marko's voice broke and he shuffled forward but had little more to give. He knelt beside Talila and attempted to rouse him, but there was no reply.
His mind was fogged with the tired desperation of fighting Jake and his cronies, it had made him weak. Elara, having followed him to where he lived, also quickly knelt.
"Marko, I can do this," she said just as softly but with a little more fervor. She could see how scared and frustrated he was, and it made her heart ache. Marko looked at her, his face full of desperation.
"I can't do this by myself," he admitted, the weight of everything crashing down on him.
Without another word, Elara lifted Talila's shoulders while Marko, despite his injuries, grabbed his legs. Together, they carried him into the small, dark room just past the door. The room was barely furnished. It had just an old chair in one corner, a shaky table with a single flickering candle, and a thick straw mat that looked as worn out as Talila himself. The room smelled damp and stale, adding to the sense of neglect.
They finally got Talila onto the straw mat, where he lay still, breathing heavily and unevenly. Marko wiped sweat from his face, every muscle in his body screaming from the effort. Elara watched him closely, she was worried.
"Marko, you're hurt too. Let me stay and help," she said, her voice full of concern.
But Marko shook his head and forced a weak smile. "I appreciate it, Elara, but I'll be okay. I just need some time alone with him."
Elara hesitated, torn between wanting to help and respecting his wish. "Are you sure you will be able to cater for him and yourself alone?" She asked with concern.
"Yes, I will be fine," Marko said in a teary and hoarse voice. He slammed into the wooden chair; exhaustion written all over his face.