"Iyanipa!"

A young boy of six looked up from his Ayò board, gazing across the room at his companion and making a face. "Mama doesn't ever just let me be," he complained, rolling his eyes. "It's always Iyanipa this and Iyanipa that. I'm not doing anything wrong! Why can't she just..."

"Iyanipa!" called the voice again, and a slender, dark-skinned woman with close-cropped, curly hair and a stern look on her face bustled into the room, putting her hands on her hips. "Iyanipa, kekere, we're going to start the ceremony soon and you're not even dressed! What are you doing?"

"I'm playing with Abrafo," he grumbled in protest, glaring at his mother.

She stiffened, sternness turning to anger. "Iyanipa, you're nearly seven now. You're supposed to go on the hunt soon. How are you ever going to learn if you spend all your time playing games with--"

"I don't want to go on the hunt!" Iyanipa cried, stamping his foot. "I don't want to kill any animals. Grandmother says--"

"Grandmother is too lenient," his mother replied in that same sharp tone. "How would we live if our people did not become hunters? What would we eat?"

"We can eat plants!" Iyanipa returned just as angrily. "And roots, and seeds. We don't have to kill the animals for it! The animals should be our friends! Abrafo says..."

But apparently his mother didn't want to know what Abrafo said; before he could finish, she crossed to him and cuffed him hard on the side of the head, not hard enough to hurt but enough to stun him.

"That's enough," she snapped as Iyanipa made an annoyed sound and brought his hand up to his ear. "Go get dressed. Now. Your father will be very unhappy if you are not prepared in time for the ceremony, and even Grandmother won't be able to help you then."

She gave one long, irritated look around the room, and then turned and swept out, leaving Iyanipa to his thoughts.

"It isn't right," he said after a long moment, looking over at Abrafo. "None of this is right. Why can't we just..."

Abrafo said nothing, and Iyanipa threw his hands up into the air in exasperation, the seeds dropping from his fingers as he did so. Then, with a weary sigh, he turned and made his way to the chest at the foot of his bed to draw out his clothing. As much as he wanted to protest the entire endeavour, he knew his mother was right, and he didn't want to risk his father's wrath. There were some advantages to being the son of the Babalawo, or so Grandmother always told them, but it was times like these that he had a very hard time remembering what.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

About Iyanipa:

"ee-yah-NEE-pah", Yoruba, division

About Abrafo:

"ah-BRAH-foh", Ghanaian, warrior, executioner, troublemaker