A wolf, seeing a lamb drinking from a river, wanted to find a pretext, for devouring him. He stood higher up the stream and accused the lamb of muddying the water so that he could not drink. The lamb said that he drank only with the tip of his tongue, and that in any case he was standing lower down the river, and could not possibly disturb the water higher up, ‘when this excuse failed him, the wolf said: ‘Well, last year you insulted my father .’I wasn’t even born then, ‘replied the lamb.

  You are good at finding answers, ‘said the wolf, ‘but what do you mean by taking up so much of the path where I am walking? The lamb, frightened at the wolf’s angry tone and terrible aspect, told him, with all due submission, that he could not conceive how his walking on such a wide path could occasion him any inconvenience. ‘What! Exclaimed the wolf, seemingly in great anger and indignation. ‘You are as impudent as your father who seized me by the throat last year, and caused me to be kept in a cage for three months.

  If you will believe me, ‘said the lamb, my parents are poor simple creatures who live entirely by green stuff; we are none of us hunters of your species. ‘Ah! I see it’s no use talking to you, ‘said the wolf, drawing up close to him. ‘it runs in the blood of your family to hate us wolves, and therefore, as we have come so conveniently together, I’ll just pay off a few of your forefathers scores before we part. ‘so saying he leapt at the lamb from behind and garrotted him.

  Rufus Okeke – Roof, for short – was a very popular man in his village. Although the villagers did not explain it in so many words, Roof’s popularity was a measure of their gratitude to an energetic young man who unlike most of his fellows nowadays, had not abandoned the village in order to seek work, any work, in the towns. Roof was not a village tout either. Everyone knew how he had spent two years as a bicycle repairer’s apprentice in Port-Harcourt and had given up of his own free will a bright future to return to his people and guide them in these political times. Not that Umuofia needed a lot of guidance. The village already belonged en masse to the People’s Alliance Party, and its most illustrious son, Chief the Honorable Marcus Ibe, was Minister of Culture in the outgoing government (which was pretty certain to be the incoming one as well). Nobody doubted that the Honorable Minister would be elected in his constituency. Opposition to him was like the proverbial fly trying to move a dung hill. It would have been ridiculous enough without coming, as it did now, from a complete nonentity.
As was to be expected, Roof was in the service of the Honourable Minister for the coming elections. He had become a real expert in election campaigning at all levels – villages, local government or national. He could tell the mood and temper of the electorate at any given time. For instance, he had warned the Minister months ago about the radical change that had come into the thinking of Umuofia since the last national election