On Gemènyo’s first successful courier run by himself, he was given a gift of a stone pipe. At that point, he had never smoked nor had anyone in the Shimusogo Valley done so. He honored the gift and learned how to use it, quickly becoming addicted to smoking weed. Ever since, he had carried the pipe with him and only put it away when he was doing long-distance running.
He never accomplished much in his life, but he had a talent with children. Many times when the younger ones needed a subtle encouragement, the clan would look to Gemènyo to dole out wisdom.
Sand and Blood
Gemènyo’s dark-skinned form welled out of the darkness. In the lantern light, the clan courier was a blot of shadows except for bright teeth and the whites around his eyes. Smoke rose from a pipe he held with three fingers. In his other hand, he carried a half-full bottle of what appeared to be fermented milk, the strongest alcoholic drink in the valley. He was slightly taller than Rutejìmo, with curly black hair. Unlike many of the other adult men in the valley, he kept no beard along his brown chin. He wore a pair of trousers but no shirt, his usual outfit for wandering along the valley. The trousers were a deep red, one of the two colors of Shimusògo.
Rutejìmo’s grandmother let out an exasperated sigh. “This is none of your business, Gemènyo.”
“I just wanted to make sure the screams of a little child were for a good reason.”
“He tried to steal Byodenóre’s ashes.”
“Oh, did he succeed or fail?”
“Failed, of course.”
Gemènyo waved his pipe in the air. “Then I agree, a beating is appropriate here. Please, go right ahead, Great Shimusogo Tejíko.”
He was also one of the clan elders who went with the teenagers during their rite of passage and watched from a distance.