Extract: When We Were Birds by Ayanna Lloyd Banwo

This entry was posted on 23 February 2022.

A gorgeously immersive, mesmerising and life-affirming literary debut – a love story and a ghost story set in modern-day Trinidad.

 


 

Corbeau

Morne Marie, Trinidad. Yesterday

 

1

Yejide

 

‘First thing you have to remember,’ Granny Catherine hold her

granddaughter, Yejide, close on her lap, ‘is that there was a time

before time.’ She press the first layer of tobacco down into her

ebony pipe. The flame from her silver lighter make a small blaze

in the cavern of the bowl and the pipe settle between her lips.

‘Before we come to live in this house, before the settlement in the

valley, before the quarries, when the forest was so thick that no

man could cross it, Morne Marie was the home only of animals.

But not like animals we see now, oh no!’ Catherine open her eyes

wide and the blue smoke curl out of her nostrils. ‘The ocelots was

big like tigers, the deer run so fast that no man could catch them

even if he dare enter the forest to hunt them, and the little green

parrots that sing at dusk was as big as the blood-red ibis that live

in the swamplands. The animals could talk to each other, just

like I talking now, and they build a mighty city in the forest. But

this city was nothing like Port Angeles. It had no buildings, no

boundaries, no gates, and the animals live together without territory

to guard and borders to mind.

‘But one day a warrior wander into the forest. He see that

it full of animals to hunt and fruit to eat. When he look at the

trees he only see the houses he could build, and when he look

at the land he only see what he could take. The animals try

to talk to him and tell him that there was so much more there

than what he could see, but he did not know their language

and so could not understand them.

‘That warrior bring more warriors and with the warriors

come builders and with the builders come farmers and with

the farmers come priests. With the priests come governors

and with the governors come death.’

‘But the animals fight them, right?’ Yejide squirm on her

granny lap. Nothing she love more than this full-cupboard

feeling: the sweet smell of tobacco, the even rhythm of the

rocking chair, the green hills and her granny face brimming

with story. She think of the sharp teeth of the ocelots and the

tight grip of the macajuel that could suffocate a man in its coils;

no way any human with just two legs, very small teeth and no

poison at all could ever defeat the wild animals of the forest.

Catherine look at her and puff on her pipe. ‘Who telling

the story, you or me?’

Yejide grin and quiet down again.

‘The animals had always live in peace, but they know then

that it was time for war. The battle rage bloody and terrible. The

quarry you see there’ – Catherine point out the window to the

deep, brown crater on the hillside – ‘was where the animals make

a stand in a battle so fierce that it leave scars on the mountain.

‘All that killing cut the forest deep. Wounded, it went into

mourning and that bring the longest dry season ever on Morne

Marie. The rivers hide in the earth and the trees wilt and die

away. The ocelots shrink small like house cats, the howler

monkeys get timid, and the deer and manicou and lappe, who

had live in peace before, start to look at each other and see

food. The warriors suffer too, for no one, man nor animal,

could survive when nature decide to withhold its bounty.

‘Then one day when all were weary, and it look like the

war would claim not only the fighters but the whole forest, a

great storm set up in the hills. Fat, grey clouds empty out into

the green and the men and animals rejoice to see the rivers

rise again, and the forest drink deep of the rain. Thunder

and lightning pelt down for three days and three nights. But

remember I tell you, this was a time before time, when a tree

could reach full-grown in a day and a boy could reach manhood

in a night, so this storm was longer and fiercer than

any of the animals had ever see before. The earth slide down

the hillsides and crash into the valley below. Trees older than

any animal could remember lose their hold on the earth and

topple over. The rivers burst their banks and rush over the

land. Rejoicing turn again to sorrow. It come like the whole

forest turn on them and demand its share of the lives who

defile its sacred places with war.

 


“No one but the corbeaux know that inside their bodies the souls of the dead transform and release.”


 

‘Now, the green parrots, the ones who cackle and sing and

chatter, just like you’ – Catherine pinch Yejide lips together to

stop her from giggling – ‘well, they were wiser than any of the

animals give them credit for. The parrots watch the rain and

watch the hills and watch the rivers and watch the dead pile

high. They gather together in the branches of the last sacred

silk cotton tree and hold a council. At the council’s end, the

parrot battalion split and divide in two. One half fly to the east

and the other half fly to the west.

‘The parrots that went west get small and become the little

green birds we see today, those that sing and fly toward the

setting of the sun. But those that went east toward the sunrise

mute their green feathers to black and curve their beaks into

sharp hooks. Their bodies get fat and their wingspan stretch

so wide they darken the land below them as they fly. They

release one last great song that make all the animals and men

tremble, then grow grey hoods around their heads and necks

that silence their throats forever.

‘You know what they turn into, Yejide?’ Catherine stare

out the window, smile and puff on her pipe.

‘Corbeaux!’ Yejide cry out. She love getting the right

answer. No matter how many times she hear the story, knowing

the answer always make her feel grown up and very important.

Catherine nod and pull deep from the pipe. ‘When the

change was complete, they feel their bellies get hungry for

flesh. They spread their wings wide and circle the land slow,

searching out the dead. And with their new long, curved beaks

and talons sharp like caiman teeth, they tear into the flesh of

the animals who was once their friends and the men who was

once their enemies. When they done, they take to the silk

cotton tree again, leaving nothing but bone.

‘The living look on in horror to see the devouring of the

dead. They don’t understand how the birds they once knew

could do something so terrible. But the chattering parrots they

knew were gone. They turn into something else entirely now.

When they shed their green and change their form, they take on

a sacred duty – to stand at the border between the living and the

dead. So they wait for the dying and watch over the carcasses

and consume the flesh. And no one but the corbeaux know that

inside their bodies the souls of the dead transform and release.’

Catherine lift Yejide off her lap and put her to stand on the

wooden floor in her white patent-leather church shoes. ‘Right.

Story done. Now make sure and put those shoes away. And

your nice dress. Hang it on the back of the chair in my room.

Don’t let me come and find that you just leave it anyhow.’

But Yejide know the ritual well. ‘Story not done, Granny.

What happen next?’

Catherine look down at her granddaughter. Just now she

would be too tall for little-girl dresses, too grown to sit on her

lap. But not yet – she reach her hand out and Yejide run back

into her arms. Not yet.

‘Well, when the sun rise on the fourth morning of the

great storm, when all the corbeaux stomach full and everyone

weary with pain and grief, the rain stop. No more flood. Balance

come back to the forest. But after they get saved, nobody

like to think of who rescue them. In this way people and animals

are the same. Everyone begin to fear the corbeaux. So,

they fly away to live at the edges of the forest of Morne Marie.

They alone know the world changing and it would have work

for them in the cities of men to come. And so, like in all the

stories that change the world, over time everyone forget that

the ending of the storm happen at the same time the corbeaux

born. Everyone, of course, except the corbeaux—’

She bend close to whisper in Yejide ear. ‘We remember.’

 

Extracted from When We Were Birds by Ayanna Lloyd Banwo, out now.

 

 

 

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