Illustration of a black woman by Frank Morrison (pic source: webneel.com)
Standing by the entrance to the hut, Ekwutosilim clapped twice.
“Come in.”
She bent slightly, pushed aside the antelope skin that served as the door, and found the hut semidark, the only light—the flickering rays of the pale evening sun—coming through the window. This admirer was her first, which by all means was a pleasant surprise, but when the messenger—entrusted with the gift of cowries and words of his affection for her—had told her to meet this man on the outskirts of Ngwo, she’d come close to saying no. She knew about this solitary palm leaf-roofed hut that looked uninhabited. She’d heard stories—some creepy—about this part of the village. This was only her third time being here and she dreaded spending even a moment more while battling with her indecisiveness. The last time she’d been here, she and her fellow servants had stopped by from the river to pick sweetfruits strewn around the udala trees in the area only to be pursued by a wild boar.
“Come inside. You just can’t stand over there.”
What was wrong with this man’s voice? He sounded like he had a cold or something worse.
An odd feeling shuddered through her as she entered the hut, allowing the hide of a door to hang freely behind her. Inside the hut was cool. Either the trees around provided enough protective covering or that the ceiling wasn’t as low as one would expect while looking at the hut from outside.
“Can I light a fire?” she asked.
“Not now,” he said in that same strange, husky tone.
“Okay.” Her guts warned her that something wasn’t quite right about this man, but then again she’d felt this way before. Ichie Azuuzu, the man who deprived her of her virginity, had lately acted in an unusual manner when in need of her. A buck was a buck, after all. “Ten cowries. That’s a generous gift for someone like me. I am … overwhelmed.”
“Good thing you also agreed to come.”
“It wasn’t that easy.”
“I think you should know this: you’re very special … a path to bliss.”
A path to bliss? What did he mean by that?
“Nee*, I’m only a servant girl. You must have mistaken me for some maiden about to participate in the upcoming Mputa Ezi ritual.”
He chuckled. She caught a glimpse of his frame as he began walking toward her. When he stepped behind her back, he said: “Take this and wear it around your neck. It now belongs to you.”
Ekwutosilim turned around. Though she had yet to make out his face, finding out what the piece was temporarily overrode her need to determine his identity. The weak rays of light lingered on his outstretched arm. She felt around it until her hand encountered a string of some sort. Taking it, she walked over to the window, held it up and saw it was a necklace of wooden beads. Crimson and beautiful.
As she fingered the necklace, she watched the shadow in the corner of the hut and knew he was staring at her.
She could feel his gaze raking over her, as if he was caressing her.
I am so fortunate to have witnessed the partial eclipse of the sun! These pics were taken between 1:55 P.M. and 2:25 P.M. Sorry for the size of the pics and the direct approach to Mr. Sun 😀 😀 I couldn’t help it 😀
Phase 1Phase 2: Ten Minutes After Phase 1Phase 3: Twenty Minutes after Phase 2
An Igbo compound in pre-colonial times (pic source: nairaland.com)
Placing the mat beside her father, Okuoba sat down on it and fixed her gaze on him. She had always viewed her father, Ichie Umeh, as an intelligent man, a fighter who would give his all for a just cause. At this delicate moment when her family was focused on finding her brother’s killer, she wondered if her father had come to seek her own advice on the matter. She was just a female and going by tradition, her view should only be applicable to relatively lighter issues.
“I remember the day you were born. Afor, it was. On that day, I was working over there with your uncle and some of the older servants.” Umeh gently pointed in the direction of the large barn in their backyard. “Upon hearing that your mother had gone into labour, we abandoned the ongoing construction of the barn.” A smile lightened up his mood a bit. “Your arrival was met with joyful shouts and dancing by the midwives.”
When his eyes locked on Okuoba’s, a chuckle escaped his lips. “My daughter, you came during a season of plenty. Our biggest harvest. Ever.”
The feeling of being special washed over Okuoba. But she couldn’t get herself to brag about this. She never had.
The birth of a child during a bountiful harvest was of great significance to her people. Her mother, she recalled, took much delight in narrating the same story. Lasting blessing from the gods, she called it. No wonder she was named Oku oba—fire of a barn. In other words, her name meant keeper of good fortune.
“Your happiness and safety means the world to me. What would have become of us if you had been abducted?”
“We owe my rescue to Dubem—he acted very bravely. We ought to thank him properly, Papa.”
The near-cheerful look on Umeh’s face recessed into a frown. He took a long deep breath and turned away. With his thumb he scooped some tobacco from his snuff box, waited as if he was now contemplating further indulgence in the dry dark-brown substance. Replacing the tobacco in its container, he focused ahead, tight-lipped and serious.
Okuoba was perplexed. She couldn’t understand the reason for her father’s abrupt withdrawal and silence. Curiosity, however, compelled her to lean forward.
“Papa?”
“He’s just a servant.”
“He saved my life. What difference does it make if my rescuer were someone else, a freeman to be precise?”
Her father glared at her. The look instantly made her feel like the servants working for him—they were entirely subservient.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” Okuoba lowered her head. With slightly trembling hands she began to stroke the light brown fur of the wrapper, made from goat pelt, which covered her lower region. “I regret the rudeness,” she added.
She stole a glance at her father, this time, wondering if his paternal gaze—still fixed on her—meant that he perceived that there was more behind her question.
Could he sense her budding love for Dubem? That, of course, had fuelled her assertion about the young servant. If so, did such desire please him? Would he go ahead and give her to Dubem in marriage? Her heart constricted at the thought that the male servant could be exiled or beheaded because of her.
“It’s all right, child. You’re entitled to your own opinion.”
A reddish-brown bird, almost the size of a pigeon, perched on a side of the dwarf mud barrier surrounding the obi. After a brisk short movement, it beaked the insides of it wings, then made a cursory inspection of the father and daughter. It chirped briefly before fluttering away. Until it was out of sight, Okuoba was stuck admiring its dynamism and ebullient nature. How she wished she could experience that same freedom. To bare her intimate feelings and not to be bound by the traditions governing marriage in her village.
“I blame myself for your brother’s death.”
Okuoba cocked her head. “I don’t understand.”
She watched as her father closed his snuff box and placed it on the floor. He crossed his legs and placed both hands on his thighs. “I shouldn’t have sent him on that errand …”
Feeling she now had a grasp of what he meant, she said, “Papa, it’s not your fault. Whoever went on the errand would’ve been killed. Really, that’s the way I see it.”
Umeh coughed. Grimaced while tapping his chest. “Let me explain: Your brother and a few servants were sent as an entourage to welcome a group of men from Isiochie village. As those men and I had earlier agreed, they were coming with the intention of formally asking for your hand in marriage.”
Okuoba couldn’t believe her ears. She was stunned that such detail had been kept away from her this long. Even though by custom it wasn’t her exclusive right to pick her marriage partner, she thought she at least deserved to know about the intentions of these visitors before now. To make it even harder for her to bear, her brother had been murdered in the process.
Looking remorseful, her father compressed his lips into a thin line and gesticulated with raised hands. “So you see … it’s all my fault. I thought that if I gave you as a wife to a wealthy man’s son from any of the neighbouring villages, that would help create an alliance between both villages—perhaps save our bloodline in an event of war or epidemic. But as it stands, I don’t think that’s possible. Maybe it is the will of the gods all along that your husband should come from our village, so that people may also refer to you as Nwa Ada—just like your mother and the other women, who bear the same name because they were born here and are married to men from this village.”
Umeh positioned his body to face Okuoba. With bent elbows resting on his thighs, he leaned forward, concern in his eyes. “My daughter, after the Mputa ezi ceremony, it’s widely expected that you and other maidens will get married. It’s my duty to give you in marriage to a nice man, who is not just responsible, but is also rich. I regret not telling you about the intentions of those men from Isiochie. But I’d like to make things right by being open with you this time: I’ve arranged for your marriage. Your would-be husband will be at the Mputa ezi ceremony.”
sliced pieces of yam (pic source: nigerianfoodchannel.com)
Case 26:
A man, who holds the yam and the knife, determines who eats any part of the tuber.
Insight/Background Story:
After my friend obtained her master’s degree from Heriot-Watt, one would expect that it would be easier for her to find a nice job here in the country than for some other graduate with a similar degree from any of our indigenous universities.
Well, she did find a job. But it was well under par.
Truth is, there are currently few decent jobs available for our teeming millions. The sorry state of the nation’s economy doesn’t help either—there are not enough schemes to encourage the creation of more private businesses or companies; on the other hand, the insidious code of “who do you know” found in a good number of state-owned firms or organisations across the country makes it difficult for persons with good qualifications alone to be employed. Because of all this, some employers can afford to hire/employ sharp brains, paying them meager sums in return for their services. This was my friend’s case.
A few weeks ago, during a discussion with her, she voiced her frustration at being handed more duties for the same pay. She further stated that she had formally written her employer, asking for a review of her wages. Sadly, her request was turned down. No clear reason was given. When she told me that she would threaten to quit her job, citing how she had been undervalued, I rather advised her that if she had no new job she could switch to any time soon, it was best she wrote again, asking for an increment in her wages. In the meantime, she could also start scouting for a new job — which she assured me that she already had.
Interpretation/Conclusion:
Our needs are embedded in our consciousness. We plan, work, and if possible, go on business trips in order to meet whatever may be our needs. There are times, however, when our best efforts to accomplish or acquire the necessary yield zero result. In the light of that, what will you do if you are in dire need of something, but have no other option than to ask for it from an unlikable source? Do you set aside your pride and say “please,” or do you simply hold on to it and decide otherwise?
Remember, if you are at a distinct disadvantage, you are in no position to choose or dictate.
The sight of Amaefuna approaching evoked an instant feeling of bitterness and then disappointment in Umeh. Umeh’s first thought was to rise and bark an order at his fellow nobleman to leave his compound. But a quick rethink halted him. He couldn’t afford to throw a tantrum before his guests, who were seated with him in his obi; moreover, Amaefuna wasn’t supposed to bear the brunt of his anger at the attempted abduction of Okuoba.
“An Igbo compound, early 20th century” (pic source: nairaland.com)
While the eldest of his three guests was still talking, Umeh tore his gaze away from Amaefuna and focused on the muddy red floor of his obi and heaved a deep sigh. His foot rapped on the floor impatiently as he folded his arms across his chest. He sensed the new rhythm of his heart. It had just moved up, beating at an irregular pace, leading him to reflect on the terrible events of the recent past.
“Ichie Umeh, is everything okay?” asked his eldest guest in a concerned tone.
Umeh nodded.
Resting both hands on his thighs, he intertwined his fingers. Loyalty, old friendship, and trust were already at stake. To imagine taking a retaliatory action against his friend’s son amid the delicate situation of searching for Nnanna’s killers could result in an even worse consequence. As much as a part of him now believed that his son’s killer was found in Ibeabuchi, treading with a good sense was all he could pray for. Deep down, he hoped that his fellow nobleman and friend was aware of the foiled abduction of Okuoba and had come to make immediate amends.
Amaefuna bent low to gain entry into the obi. Smiling, his said his greetings with a hand raised while his eyes jumped from face to face until they found Umeh’s.
“Ichie ibe m,” Amaefuna hailed, “my salute is as strong as that of the winds that bring harmattan and as high as that of an Iroko tree.”
“Welcome.” Umeh forced himself to say. Turning his head slightly, he called out to one of his servants behind the obi to fetch a wooden stool for his new guest.
“No—no, that won’t be necessary,” Amaefuna interrupted with a wave, a restrained smile spreading across his lips, “As a matter of fact I don’t intend to stay long, considering you have guests alre…”
Umeh could see that his friend’s eyes were now aimed at the ten fat tubers of yam and gourds of fresh palm wine on the floor. Then on the dwarf tripod of a table, a small plate containing four kola nuts. If Amaefuna was smart enough, he would correctly decipher the significance of the number of the kola nuts present, hence the reason behind the visit of the other men in the obi.
Suspecting that his fellow nobleman was quite stunned by the gift items, Umeh intentionally cleared his throat.
“Ehen,” Amaefuna flicked his eyes to Umeh, “Ichie ibe m, I’ve come with something important. The situation now makes it more compelling that we discuss in private.”
It was unlike Umeh to let his thoughts wander in search of the possibilities such a statement could hold. Rather he asked, “Can’t this issue wait until these guests of mine are gone?”
An uneasy expression appeared on Amaefuna’s face. “I—I won’t take much of your time.”
Excusing themselves from the other men, the duo broke away.
When they were some distance away from the obi, Amaefuna began, “It’s about one of our previous discussions.”
“One of our previous discussions?” Umeh paused and eyeballed him. “About what?”
A soft dry wind blew across the compound. Cocks crowed.
Amaefuna took a quick look at the servants who had accompanied the guests. Raw-boned and dressed in scanty pieces of the animal skin that only managed to hide their private parts, they all were standing in the shade near the obi, waiting for their masters, waiting to carry their wooden stools once the meeting with Umeh was over.
“I can tell that by the number of kola nuts on that table those men have come to ask for something special from you. Someone in their midst is seeking for Okuoba’s hand in marriage.”
Umeh didn’t utter a word.
“But I thought I … I mean, we’ve discussed this a long time ago. And as far as our friendship is concerned, we should cement it by joining our children in marriage. I’d expected that you’d give my son the first pre—”
“I see that you have no shame! Need I remind you of your son’s foolish action?”
Amaefuna stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. Umeh continued to bark his questions, “So weren’t you aware of your son’s grave action before now? Or are you here to pretend that none of that happened, hence pursue your own interest? Know this: I will never let my dau—”
“Nnaanyi…” a voice interrupted him from behind.
Umeh turned around. Oluchi, his wife, was standing some feet away, hands clasped in front of her. The worried look on her face made him move closer to her. “What is it?” he asked.
“It’s about your brother, Eloka,” She said. “He’s just returned with a human head.”
85 Degrees 