Chapter 3 — A Yam in the Sun

Author's note: This chapter blends Yoruba and Egyptian mythology along with random crazy shit I think of because writing is still cheaper than therapy. This chapter gives us another glimpse into Caroline's relationship with her godson, Remy. Remy is first mentioned in Chapter 6 of Conjuring a Heart and plays a greater role in Chapters 8 and 9 within that work.

"I will teach and work and things will happen, slowly and swiftly."

― Lorraine Hansberry, A Raisin in the Sun

"This is stupid. Can't you just use your magic and poof some roots on it," Remy whined, looking up from doodling a car in his spiral notebook.

Caroline sighed, reading over the instructions from Remy's fifth-grade science teacher. "Sorry, sweetie, there's nowhere on this assignment that says you can use magic to cut corners on your science project." She smiled, leaning over to ruffle his messy brown hair. "Besides, you shouldn't just rely on magic to cut corners. Sometimes having to work for something makes the moment you reach your goal that much sweeter."

Remy grinned. "Oh yeah? But you and Miss Bonnie did that spell to get twit bartender's um, Th- The- Theseus published so that college in California would hire her. Shouldn't she have had to work for her goal her own self?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "One — it's not nice to call her that name…until you hit puberty and are her intellectual equal and then we can revisit that rule. Two — I'm absolutely ecstatic that you've been paying attention to the mythology I've been teaching you, but it's her thesis that we got published. One was a Greek god that slayed a minotaur. The other is indecipherable scribblings of an insignificant mortal that laid a Marcel. Oops — I mean loved. Three — it was because she was putting in so much work that Bonnie and I decided she should be rewarded. By relocating her far, far away. For her safety. And everyone else's sanity."

"But this is a dumb science project. Everybody already knows that you can make a yam sprout roots in a jar with some water." Pouting, Remy darkened the wheel of the car he was drawing with his pencil.

"Well, I admit that poking toothpicks into a yam, placing it in a drinking glass full of water and having to write about its appearance in your notebook every day lacks flair. However, your misguided science teacher's purpose behind this project is to instill a sense of wonder in her students for the world around you. She wants you to understand that life has a magic all its own and while she may not be aware of all of the types of magic in the world, she at least recognizes the magic that exists within all living things," Caroline attempted to explain, but from the careless shrug of his small shoulders, she could tell that Remy was not especially moved by her impassioned speech.

Grabbing his small hand, she placed it on the yam in front of them. Her blue eyes twinkling, she said, "Can I show you what I'm talking about?"

Suddenly, his brown eyes lit up. Excitedly he asked, "Are you gonna do some magic?"

"Yes, but only for educational purposes," she declared, winking at her godson. Placing her hand over his, she quietly murmured an incantation, transporting their conscience to a vastly different world. Suddenly, they were both seated on a large, flat rock surrounded by the tall, golden grasses of a savanna. In the distance, they can see people digging into the earth with iron tools.

"Where are we," Remy asked, his eyes round with wonder.

"I've taken us back into one of the first memories Abby showed me. This is the village where she grew up long ago," Caroline explained. "They are harvesting yams. Her people, the Yoruba, were farmers and they placed great significance on their crops. Their entire survival was dependent upon their ability to cultivate their land. They couldn't just go to a grocery store and grab a couple of frozen pizzas."

Remy rolled his eyes at her and said sarcastically, "I knew that." He paused briefly to watch the villagers, from small children to the elderly, all working together to harvest the yams and place them within tall, woven baskets, almost with reverence. "I guess I just never thought about what it was really like though," he finished quietly. Tugging on the grass stalks beside them, he mumbled, "Do you think they got scared? Not knowing if they would have enough food?"

Her heart melted as she could hear her godson's concern for people that were long-gone. His compassion for others was a beautiful gift and she vowed to always nurture it. She thought carefully and answered, "I think that the uncertainty may have been scary at times, but see how Abby's people all worked together to achieve their goal? In their community, they took care of each other, like a big family. And when you have people looking out for one another, it makes the world seem less scary."

His brown eyes, suspiciously moist, flicked to hers briefly before lowering to the grass strands he was coiling in his hands. "Kind of like the pack? How we take care of each other," he asked quietly.

"Just like your pack," Caroline replied confidently. "You know, Abby told me that her people had a myth about how yams were created. Would you like to hear it," she asked, resisting the urge to speak in riddles and hit Simba over the head with a staff. Taking note of Remy's vigorous nodding, she explained, "Long ago, Loa Zaka took note of the Yoruba's struggles and wanted to give them a gift that would ensure their survival. He is said to appear as a simple peasant, barefoot with a straw hat perched on his bald head and a clay pipe in his mouth. He was known as a gossip, delighting in causing mischief about the village. However, as a loa of agriculture, he took his dominion over the fields seriously and noted the Yoruba's hunger. So, one day, he broke off his di — um, digit, and planted it in the earth, which created the first yam harvest. The people were so grateful for this delicious new bounty that they honor Loa Zaka with an annual Eje Festival in which a chosen Yoruba leader offers the best of the harvest to the deity who was responsible for ensuring the survival of their people."

Remy seemed lost in thought as he considered Caroline's tale. Finally, he wrinkled his nose and said, "So every Thanksgiving, we're eating this god's finger?"

Frowning, she replied, "Of course not; it's just a myth that Abby told me."

Giggling, Remy responded, "Sure. Just like the myths of immortal voodoo priestesses and werewolves?"

Caroline paused to consider Remy's logic. "Maybe I'll just pick up a pumpkin pie for your grandmother's Thanksgiving celebration, just in case."