Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [44]
Kunta recognized people from all of these tribes here in the new village, but there were even more he didn’t recognize. Some were haggling loudly with traders as they hawked their wares. Older women clamored over tanned hides, and younger women bargained for hairpieces made from sisal and baobab. The cry “Kola! Fine purple kola!” drew a cluster of those whose few remaining teeth were already orange-stained from chewing the nuts.
Amid friendly elbowing and pushing, Omoro was introduced to an endless stream of villagers and important persons from exciting places. Kunta marveled at his uncles’ fluent talking in the strange tongues they spoke. Letting himself drift into the shifting throng, knowing that he could find his father and uncles whenever he wanted to, Kunta soon found himself among the musicians who were playing for all who felt like dancing. Next he sampled the roast antelope and beef and the groundnut stew that the village women kept bountifully supplied on tables in the baobabs’ shade for anyone who wanted it. It was all right as food went, Kunta thought, but not as tasty as the succulent harvest-festival dishes prepared by the mothers of Juffure.
Seeing some women over by the well talking excitedly about something, Kunta sidled over, his ears as wide as his eyes, and heard that a very great marabout was reported to be only about half a day’s travel away on the trail, journeying with his party to honor the new village, since it had been founded by sons of the late holy man Kairaba Kunta Kinte. Kunta was thrilled anew to hear his own grandfather spoken of so reverently. Unrecognized by any of the women, he heard them chatter next about his uncles. It was time they traveled less and settled down to have wives and sons, one woman said. “The only trouble they will have,” said another, “is so many maidens eager to be their wives.”
It was almost dark when Kunta, feeling very awkward, finally approached some boys of around his own age. But they didn’t seem to mind that he had hung around the grown-ups until now. Mostly, they seemed anxious to tell Kunta how their new village had come to be. “All of our families became your uncles’ friends somewhere during their travels,” said one boy. All of them had been dissatisfied with their lives where they were, for one reason or another. “My grandfather didn’t have enough space for all his family and his children’s families to be close to him,” a boy said. “Our bolong wouldn’t grow good rice,” said another.
His uncles, Kunta heard, began telling friends they knew an ideal place where they were thinking of building a village. And the families of Janneh and Saloum’s friends were soon on the trail with their goats, chickens, pets, prayer rugs, and other possessions.
Soon it was dark and Kunta watched as the fires of the new village were lit with the sticks and branches that his new friends had collected earlier in the day. Because it was a time of celebration, they told him all the villagers and visitors would sit together around several fires, instead of the usual custom, which dictated that the men and the women and children would sit at separate fires. The alimamo would bless the gathering, they said, and then Janneh and Saloum would walk inside the circle to tell stories about their travels and adventures. In the circle with them would be the oldest visitor to the village,