There was a certain blind man who lived in a rural village among his kindred- the 'umu-onye-alushi', translated as 'descendants of the one who stays away from fights.
' This was an amicable name in an era when intra-family squabbles and inter-tribal wars were the order of the day, but a name for which they would pay a price in the form of a difficult dilemma.
The blind man had been suspicious and negative as far back as anyone could remember, and he was not about to give it up.
Not wanting to draw a fight, his kinsmen went to extraordinary lengths to please and to pacify him.
Kinsmen are members of the close or extended family, usually born in the same age group.
Then, and even now to some extent, they traveled far and near, often barefoot, to represent their people in marriages, entertainment and cultural ceremonies.
Satisfied hosts often gave out gifts in the forms of chicken, goats and sheep, which the kinsmen would share upon returning home.
'Take this goat,' a joyful father, whose daughter had just become engaged, said to the kindred.
'Share it among yourselves.
' Upon arrival back home, the goat was killed, and thirty-five equal portions of its meat set on a wooden slaughter slab behind a mud house with a straw-thatched roof.
Members lined up to pick up their shares, beginning with the oldest and ending with the youngest.
A flock of houseflies hovered over the meat and two dogs, one wild, the other a house dog, loped nearby with some expectation.
When it was the turn of the blind man to pick out a portion, he massaged, squeezed, smelt and weighed each and every remaining portion using both palms.
At every turn and touch, he wondered if there was a plot to rob him of his rightful share.
Still not satisfied with his scrutiny, he murmured, 'If I had my sight, I wouldn't have been a sucker among my kinsmen.
' 'Well,' his kinsmen said, eager to please him, 'Next time we shall ask his friend to pick for him.
' There is no way they could see the outcome of their new effort to please the blind man.
The answer they sought, though hidden from them, was already recorded in the Book of Life, as are all present encounters.
But it wasn't revealed to them in case they wilted in fear.
' The kindred can let the skeptic work out his suspicion in time, confront him every step of the way or seek to placate him forever.
Placating, whether meted to the sane or the insane, the weak or the brave, the able or the disabled, only produces more turbulence.
A day before the kindred's yam festival ended, the kinsmen were invited to entertain a rich king.
They danced so well that the king was thrilled and rewarded them.
'Take these goats, thirty-four in all, and give one to every member of your kinsmen,' said the generous king.
When they got home, the kinsmen agreed, 'Let us first pick the very best goat for our dear brother who is unable to see, for his heart will rejoice.
' And so they did.
No sooner was the goat delivered to the skeptic than he began to wonder profusely.
Images of cows showed up in his mind.
New thoughts started to form in his brain.
'If my kinsmen gave me a whole goat,' he pondered, scratching his hair with all five left fingers, 'they must have received something bigger, a cow each, perhaps.
' He moaned and sighed, and the goat, on a neck rope fastened to barn wood, joined in.
A furious rage formed ridges across the blind man's face.
Specks of blood showed up in the white part of his right eyeball.
This story raises a host of questions.
How far should a person go to placate another? How does one contend with what they have in relation to what others have? How does one judge oneself after glimpsing others? Postscript My father told this fable to my brother, who narrated it to me.
I am not sure whether Dad heard this from my Grandfather.
Mine is a rendition.
The fable is not in any way meant to disparage the truly physically blind.