Afane Obame, the father, had left his house earlier than usual. The village was still sleeping; here and there, the hens and their chicks were already on a quest for those late-night worms and the early-riser ants. Afane Obame had been wide awake all night long. His mind had been put on alert by the menacing song of the clairvoyant owl. As he was walking toward the corps de garde,1 Afane Obame noticed an eerie patch of darkness chiseled into the bright early morning sky; the patch got bigger and bigger as it raced toward the earth at lightning speed. Its shape was becoming clearer; within a split second, the talons of a sparrow hawk closed in one of the chicks, lifting it off the ground. Afane Obame followed the bird with his eyes until its image shrank little by little, eventually evaporating into the vastness of the sky. He kept his eye on the heavens for a moment, then looked inquisitively and imploringly toward the summit of the Wood-Girded Hill. Finally, he went to take a seat in the corps de garde. The writing on the wall was clear.

It was no surprise to see Pastor Gambier coming up hurriedly from a distance. He was out of breath by the time he reached the corps de garde. He remained standing without saying a word, as if to catch his breath. Afane Obame looked at him calmly.

“Afane Obame,” he finally said, “get up, we are going to pray.”

“Are you out of your mind, Pastor? Do you realize that you are speaking to Afane Obame, the high priest of the Ancestors’ religion, he who protects the Wood-Girded Hill? Because of your long robes, I never really considered you a man. But if you have come here to provoke me as such, we can go at it man to man! Don’t expect to tarnish the memory of my Ancestors with such impunity!”

“I have to tell you something very important. And I can’t tell you without first praying with you to Our Creator.”

“Your creator, not mine! And if what you have to tell me is so important, you can go ahead and pray all by yourself! Or else, take your news with you, good or bad. You are the head of your flock. I’m the head of my flock. If you are moving the Wood-Girded Hill to put it next to the Cross-Topped Hill, come ask me again to come pray with you. But until then, you haven’t said anything and I haven’t heard anything.”

Seeing that it was no use insisting, Pastor Gambier, still standing, closed his eyes and started to mutter a prayer. At the end of it, he opened his eyes once more and sat across from Afane Obame, who was looking off in the distance, in the direction of the Wood-Girded Hill.

“Obame Afane is dying,” said the pastor as calm as he could be.

Afane Obame was startled. Then he jumped up into the air in a way no one would have ever thought possible for a man his age.

“Pastor, what are you saying?”

“Exactly what you heard. Your son Obame Afane is dying in a hospital in the capital, where he was transported along with his injured wife and all the other passengers of the bus involved in the accident. One of my parishioners was traveling with them, but he wasn’t hurt. He gave the message to the new missionary, who arrived in Ebomane just a few minutes ago.”

“Tséééééééééén! Oh, Pastor! Tsééééén!”2

The piercing cry shook the entire village. Men and women came running from all around, everyone asking the same questions:

“What is it? What’s happening? What? Who died? What is this craziness?”

Meanwhile, Afane Obame sat back down, staring at the ground. The pastor, who was also sitting, remained silent. The villagers quietly and slowly came toward them with an inquisitive look and their mouths agape; they expected shocking news. The pastor got up again, but refrained from asking people to pray.

“Obame Afane has been in a very serious accident on the outskirts of the capital. He is in the hospital in critical condition. But nothing is impossible with God. So therefore, don’t despair, my brothers! If I have come all this way, it’s not only to bring you this sad news, but it’s also to urge you to take action right away, to try to save our son and brother. Listen to me! Listen, my brothers! Obame Afane was transported to the hospital, but so far he hasn’t received any care because he must first hand over a deposit of 50,000 CFA3 before being operated on. His wife was able to put down a total of 30,000 CFA. She doesn’t know the capital and doesn’t know how to reach any family member living there. She is hospitalized as well, but in a less critical state than her husband. We have to find 20,000 CFA in a hurry, my brothers! Time is of the essence. The missionary is going back this evening. Today is Sunday. In a bit, I’m going to ask the faithful of my church to make a special donation during the regular collection. All together, we can do this. Between the two Hills, we must come up with the money before the sun sets!”

Ada, who was listening from afar, holding her child by the hand, let go of him suddenly; she thrashed about on the dusty ground, screaming like a possessed woman. The child started to cry. Without another word, Pastor Gambier went off in the direction of the Cross-Topped Hill, leaving the Wood-Girded Hill in shock.

Between both Hills the necessary amount had been raised, and Pastor Gambier gave the money to the missionary, who took off early afternoon in the church vehicle. He was delayed a few seconds by Komandé, who had flagged him down and was running toward him waving his arms, having just parked his old car off to the side of the road. The missionary waited for Komandé who, all out of breath, gave him a few coins and said to him in a broken voice:

“God will understand. This is for Sikolo Obame Afane.”

That night, each of the two Hills made a plea for mercy to their respective God.

But neither one of them was victorious.

The writing on the wall was clear, even before the missionary left.

The money arrived much too late.