Things Fall Apart - by Chinua Achebe. Narrated in English.
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
African (General)Transcript
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Okonkwo did not have the start in life, which many young men usually heard. He did not inherit a burn from his father. There was no bound to inherit. The story was told in a mafia of how his father, you know, CA, had gone to consult the oracle of the hills and the caves to find out why he always had a miserable harvest. The oracle was called Abdullah, and people came from far and near to consult it. They came when misfortune dogged their steps, or when they had a dispute with their neighbours. They came to discover what the future held for them or to consult the spirits of their departed father's. The way into the shrine was a round hole at the side of a hill, just a little bigger than the round opening into a hand house worshippers and those who came to seek knowledge from the God crawled on their belly through the hole and found themselves in the dark and their space in the presence of a bala. No one had ever beheld Abdullah except his Priestess, but no one who have crawled into this awful shrine had come out without the fear of his power. His Priestess stood by the sacred fire, which she built in the heart of the cave and proclaimed the will of the god. The fire did not burn with a flame. The glowing logs only served to light up vaguely the dark figure of the Priestess. Sometimes a man came to consult the spirit of his dead father or relative. It was said that when such a spirit appeared the man side vaguely and in the darkness but never heard its voice. Some people even said that they had heard the spirits flying and flapping their wings against the roof of the cave. Many years ago, when Congo was still a boy, his father, Tanaka, had gone to consult Kabbalah. The Priestess in those days was a woman called Chica. She was full of the power of her God, and she was greatly feared. Tanaka stood before her and began his story. Every year, he said sadly, Before I put any crop in the earth, I sacrifice a cocked Wani, the owner of our land. It is the law of our fathers. I also killed a **** at the shrine of Fiji coup, the god of yams I cleared the bush are set fire to it when it's dry. I saw the yams. When the first rain has fallen, I stick them when the young tendrils appear. I will hold your peace, screamed the Prestes, her voice. Terrible, I said, echoed through the dark void. You have offended neither the gods nor your fathers. And when a man is at peace with his gods and his ancestors, his harvest will be good or bad according to the strength of his arm. U un ocha are known in all the clans for the weakness of your march it and your whole when your neighbours go out with their acts to cut down virgin forests. You saw your yard arms on exhausted farms that take no label to Claire. They crossed Seven rivers to make their farms. You stay at home and offer sacrifices to a reluctant soil. Go home and work like a man. This is an except from a book. Things fall apart. Written by Professor China, A job