Okoro kowtowed for the hundredth time. This time, he stretched his whole figure out on the bare soil while he muttered some inaudible chants. Rising up with a clay pot held firmly in his palms, a sign of faith that he’ll receive rain, he began to encircle the flaming herbs forming a mini mountainous volcano as he danced to the rhythm of his incantations.
Amakuro clan gathered under the sacred Afa tree with resolute belief that Okoro would receive the gift of rain from Eremma, the rain goddess. Out of incredulity, I asked, “Would he really call down the rain?”.


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