AT THE FARM

On the Tuesday morning, I was not very eager to return to the work on the farm, but something happened on that day which cheered me considerably.

We had not been long at the farm, and mu uncle was making his usual inspection of the traps he had set to catch any animals that wandered onto his cassava patch, or attempted to steal his plantains. Suddenly, he called out to us to come quickly, and Kwabena and I dropped the hoe and cutlass and ran as fast as we could in his direction. As we drew nearer, we could see something threshing about in the undergrowth. It was an antelope which had been caught by the fore-leg in the trap.

It had torn and broken its desperate struggles to free itself from the wire. My uncle said that the kindest thing to do would be to kill it quickly, which he did at once with his hunting-knife. It was a fair-sized animal, and Kwabena and I talked gleefully of the feast it would make for us; but my uncle spoke more soberly of the heat of the day tainted the meat. He said that we must tie it to a stout branch by the fore-legs and hind-legs, then carry it, slung in this fashion, on our shoulders.

It was not difficult to find a suitable branch and some strong creeper to tie up our prize; but the walk homeward was not so easy. At first my uncle walked ahead, with the front end of the branch on his shoulder, while Kwabena walked behind with the other end of the branch balanced on his shoulder. After a time, I changed places with Kwabena, and we took turn and turn about. The antelope seemed to grow heavier and heavier with every hundred metres we travelled; the branch of wood seemed to develop a hundred points and bumps with which to rub our aching shoulders and we grew hotter and hotter as the sun rose.

I was very glad to reach home and sit down to rest my weary limbs; but later, when the savory smell of stew reached me from my aunt's cooking-pot, I decided that it had all been well worth while.'