"A nimble social commentator, Berry wisely eschews cliches and delivers a powerful story with a message that should not be lost."--Essence

No man can put a chain about the ankle
of his fellow man without at least finding
the other end of it about his own neck.

-- Frederick Douglass, Life and Times of Frederick Douglass, 1881

Ngozi sat behind his wife, Bani. His legs were wrapped around hers. She leaned back, and he rubbed her large belly. "She will deliver soon," his mother said. Ngozi nibbled Bani's ear and then whispered into it. "We will have joy. Don't worry." His wife had wept for most of her pregnancy. She felt that something terrible was going to happen. Ngozi tried to persuade Bani differently. On nights like this one, calm and still, Ngozi would rub her belly and speak to his unborn son. "Yo Tayembé. Yo Tayembé, and then you say 'Ye oh Ye Ba Ba,' " he said to Bani's stomach.

Bani laughed when Ngozi first did this. "The child cannot hear you, and you know he cannot respond."

"Yo Tayembé, I'm calling you, son. 'Ye oh Ye Ba Ba. I hear you, Papa,' " he said again. "How do you know he cannot hear me?" Ngozi asked.

"How do you know it's a boy?" his wife responded.

"Woman," Ngozi said playfully, "did I not tell you that you would be my wife? Did I not tell you that I would bring you happiness? Have I been wrong? I also told you that you were with child. I knew the moment it happened."

Bani laughed. "Your mother was right to give you a woman's name. You have the thoughts of a woman."

Ngozi smiled. He'd heard this many times before. Never was he offended. "Yo Tayembé. Yo Tayembé," he called to the child. "Someday you'll answer me and my stubborn wife. Bani, you'll remember this moment."

Bani was soon lulled into a sweet sleep. She would not wake up and feel Ngozi's arms wrapped tightly around her as she had on past mornings. Instead she would come to know the reason why she had been crying. Her husband, her love, would be gone from her forever.

When Ngozi saw that Bani was deeply asleep, he quietly moved himself from their embrace. He had to find the piece of wood his mother told him to look for. He had to make the drum for his unborn son. But he was making it for the son he would never see.

The drum had always been important to his people, but this one would be special. It had to be. Ngozi's mother had told him everything she had seen. Her visions started on the day he was born. On that day the memory of her grandfather appeared to her. "Name him Ngozi, for he will be a blessing."

Ngozi's mother laughed and said, "The others will think me crazy. Ngozi is a name for a girl child, she who is a blessing."

"Yes," the spirit memory of her grandfather said. "He will be a blessing, but he has been chosen to give birth." And then he was gone.

His mother had many visions after this one, but the last one, the most important one, she shared with him just before he was captured. She told him how to make the drum, what materials to use, and when to use them. The drum would be the last thing he made. "You will make this drum for your son, but you will not see him play it," she said. "Your life here will be short, but your task is great. The drum will keep you connected to your people and your purpose. You must do it, son, and you must do it right."

Ngozi was searching for just the right piece of wood for the body of the drum. Just as he bent down to touch the hollowed log that almost spoke his name, he heard something behind him. Before he could turn to see what it was, Ngozi was attacked by human hands, connected to an unnatural evil. He was carried away into the thing that his mother had spoken of. Some called it slavery; he called it death. Unfortunately for Ngozi's son, and many sons to follow, the magic of his drum would not be heard. It would be several generations before that power would be felt. Once that drum was found and played, however, it would send the wrong message.

Copyright © 2002 by Bertice Berry