12. REFUGEES

Face to face with the problem of refugees in the stone age..

Owongo couldn’t believe his own ears when he heard Prince Dickory’s voice addressing a group of the people who lived in the village that stretched along the banks of the river. He was using one of his special voices, one that oozed like prehistoric treacle out of his mouth and smothered the crowd with falsehoods.
“I did warn you,” oozed the Prince, “and now Owongp has confirmed it! The people who live on the other side of that mountain, where the large bang was heard only the other night, are gathering together and are already about to attack us, to settle here in our homes, claiming the precious things we have gathered to us and call our own because that is what they are! Owongo your friend and mine, has been there and has seen what is ready to threaten us. We must be prepared for battle, we must agree to slaughter any who come this way from over there and we must start with the spies they sent before them!”
“Spies?” asked an outraged man who was concentrating on the Prince’s words, “where are they? I will gouge their eyes out as I speak! Spying on us, indeed!”
It was time for Owongo to announce his presence and give his point of view and tell the story as his own eyes had seen it, and he had Mirumda holding the hands of the two children who had sought refuge by slithering down the mountain and were now contentedly settled in the cave belonging to himself and Mirumda just behind him.
“I don’t know where you get your information from, Prince Dickory, or should I call you Prince Dickhead, but I, Owongo, have reported no such thing to you.
”Let me start with describing the two young, very young, children to you, for they are just here holding my wonderful Mirumda by the hand and are still very frightened because they have escaped from a horror greater than any horror. You can start to imagine. They watched fire streaming out of the top of one of the mountains where they lived, fire and rocks that have melted until they flowed like a river, and, horror of horrors, they have seen such stuff flow over the flesh of their parents until not even their bones are left. And having seen such horrors they have sought whatever courage they could find in themselves and are here, seeking refuge and safety, which Mirumda and I gladly offer them. Come forward, Brava and Coo-coo, and tell these good people what you have seen.”
Both children let go of Mirumda’s hands and moved to stand with Owongo, and both were in tears. Then the boy, the older of the two, spoke in a thin young voice.
“It is true what the man says,” he declared, indicating Owongo, “my father and mother are burned and dead. Screaming, they were, and the very last things they did on this world was save us. My parents and Coo-coo’s parents made sure we were safe at the back of our caves where the rivers if fire couldn’t reach us.”
Then Prince Dickory sniggered. “See, they have been tutored. They speak our tongue know our words, are ready to steal all from us!” he spat out.
Owongo was angered by this reference to the way the boy had spoken. It was true that the two children had been easily understood by himself and Mirumda, but to him ts was evidence of a much more important thing.
“That, Prince Dickhead,” (here the people he was addressing sniggered because many of them, privately, thought of him as Prince Dickhead when they thought of him at all, and Owongo continued,) ”that, Prince Dickhead,” he repeated, “is because these children are your cousins. You must be aware of the old stories that speak of an escape like they have managed, but a whole host of men and women as well as children, it is told by the old tales, made their escape from a burning mountain and came here, where they settled. And it is clear to me and to those who are prepared to think that the events that drove our forefathers here so that we can enjoy contented lives have been repeated, and evidence of that is in the manner of their children’s speech. So Prince Dickhead, get your addled mind round that!”
“Call me that again and I’ll have my men teach you some manners!” snarled Prince Dickory.
“Then, sir, allow me to apologise for it was only meant in the way friends sometimes tease each other,” replied Owongo, “but also, sir. Take it from me that the remnants of people left in the village over the mountains have no warlike intentions but are lost and bewildered, and many of them dead. And should any of them come over the mountain to us they are refugees in search of help rather than foes determined to steal from us. And that, sir, is the absolute truth. Slaughter your cousins, Prince, if you wish, but if you lay one finger on one of mine then you will have me to deal with!”
Prince Dickory had clearly taken Owongo’s words at face value, for “How will I know which of the hoards are my cousins and which are yours?” he asked, thinking that he was making quite an important point.
“You will find out if you lay one finger on a cousin I wish to welcome with open arms, and who has wounds that need healing,” replied Owongo.
”I am taking these children back to play with our twins,” Mirumda told Owongo, “and I will leave the debate to you. I trust you to always say the right thing.”
She made her way back to their cave, holding both Brava and Coo-coo by their hands.
“Ignore the ignorant people,” she advised them, ”but most of the people will see sense and know that when Owongo says anything, he always says the truth.”
“Me love Owongo,” sighed Coo-coo as they walked slowly away.
© Peter Rogerson 17.11.23
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