chapter 2

Ofoedu visited Nwaka's hut with two elders the following morning. They searched his compound for a while, observing the barns, scattered pots and the firewood kitchen before they returned to the entrance of the hut.

“Did the gods grant life to the owners of this hut?” Ofoedu asked. It was his own form of announcing his presence.

There was no reply.

The two elders bent down at the eaves of the thatched hut that stuck out. They entered the threshold and one of the elders whinged. He was too impatient to wait like Ofoedu. The elder knocked at the door and Nwaka came out. The greetings were brief and the elders went straight to the point after a few proverbs were said succinctly.

“Where is your son?” Ofoedu asked.

“He is inside,” Nwaka replied.

“We must see him.”

“The morning is still early and he is fast asleep. My elders why don't you wait while I get some kola nuts.”

“Do you think we have time to waste on kola nuts. We are not here to fill our mouth with food,” the impatient elder blurted out.

Nwaka ignored the elder and continued.

“It is against the customs and traditions of Umuoku to wake someone from a deep sleep after the day of the yearly sacrifice,” he said.

Ofoedu cleared his throat.

“The yearly sacrifice is our main reason for coming here. The gods wants your son.”

Nwaka looked at them, full of suprise and wondering what they wanted to do with Ibekwe at this time of the day.

“Young man, we are not here for you. We are here for your son,” the impatient elder said and Ofoedu gave him a quick sign to keep his mouth shut.

“We know the customs and traditions of our people more than the way you do. We know it is against the law to disturb someone in a sleep after the yearly sacrifice. But you forget that the laws of this land are made by the gods who also have the powers to erase them when they choose to,” Ofoedu said.

Nwaka cocked his head in agreement.

“Who has sent you to desecrate the laws made by the gods?” He asked.

“Okonta!” Ofoedu replied. “The chief priest is the one who has sent us.”

“Is the chief priest aware of the customs and traditions of our people because I heard he is from Umuise which makes him a foreigner to our laws.”

“The man is a diviner. He speaks the words of the gods,” Ofoedu replied.

“You have not answered my question,” Nwaka said.

The impatient elder grew annoyed because of the time Ofoedu was wasting arguing with Nwaka when the gods had sent them on a special errand. He looked at the other elder that had not said anything since they came. The quiet elder appeared to be unfocused in their conversation and willing to wait for Nwaka to bring his son on his own accord without them forcing him and this aroused his temper. Taking matters into his own hands, he pushed Ofoedu aside.

“Are you deaf?” The impatient elder asked, not expecting an answer. “No one argues with any elder of Umuoku. If that is the way your father has taught you to treat elders in Umuoku, I want you to bear in mind that this is Umuoku not Umuolu.”

“It is enough,” Ofoedu shouted. “We must not act as fools. The words of the gods are meant to bring peace and not violence. If our kinsman doesn't follow things in the right way, we must not pour insults on him or deny him as our kinsman rather we must uphold wisdom and show him the way.”

“How can we explain things to a foreigner who claims to be our kinsman when he is just a common refugee who has flee his own village to seek refugee in our land,” the impatient elder said.

“It is enough,” Ofoedu warned again. “We must not behave like savages waiting to devour our kinsman.”

“I repeat, he is not our kinsman. He is a man from a village who boasted about winning a battle that they lost,” the impatient elder replied.

“The mistakes of our ancestors should not be used to judge their children.”

“That can only be achieved when their children has decided to bend their ears properly and listen to the voices of people who are older than them.”

Nwaka and the other elder just stood, watching.

“What do you suggest we do?” Ofoedu asked.

“Simple. We push this stubborn man aside, go inside and drag the boy to the shrine of Igweka-ala,” the impatient elder replied.

“That would be too rash,” the elder who had been silent spoke for the first time. “The boy has honour and must be treated with honour.”

“Honour my foot!” The impatient elder struck his right foot on the ground to demonstrate his anger. “A boy who washes his hands properly and dines with the elders can also carry the unclean bowl of water he used and sprinkle it on the face of his elders.”

The impatient elder left, muttering something that was clear to Nwaka's hearing. Something about a common boy from Umuolu whose ancestors had no respect for other villages even to the extent of breaking the sacred pot that was special to Umuoku.

Nwaka sent Ezinne to bring Ibekwe immediately he woke up. She came back with Ibekwe and some kola nuts. He took the kola nuts from her and gave it to Ofoedu but he rejected.

“What is on our shoulders is too big for kola nuts to cure,” Ofoedu said.

“But the stomach has not learnt to listen to the rejection of kola nuts,” Nwaka replied.

“The stomach must learn to listen to its owners decision this time.”

Nwaka shook his head. “Why don't you sit down. At least the legs and the buttocks cannot reject an offer of rest.”

“The legs is pleased with its position and the buttocks grumbles for having too much comfort.”

They laughed.

“My elder has decided to mount fire on my thatched room without showing me an escape route,” Nwaka said, jovially.

“The fire has already been mounted and time has been wasted. Precious time. If not for your father who I greatly respect, I would have followed the advice of Nwakali who just left,” Ofoedu replied.

“You have done well. You can take my son. The heart of the elders can now be at rest knowing that I have no plans whatsoever to disrespect the chief priest of Umuoku.”

“You have spoken wisely,” the other elder said. “We must now take your son to the shrine of Igweka-ala for consultation. Our land must be cleansed immediately.”

The elders held Ibekwe at both hands. Ofoedu held the right hand while the other elder held the left. They spoke in low voices as they darted away from Nwaka's compound. They did not drag him as if he had committed a great crime rather they held his hands softly and led him slowly to the shrine of Igweka-ala like a sacrificial goat that was pampered before taken to the slaughter house where it was to be slaughtered for an important reason only known to the chief priest.

The sound of the town crier's gong rung in Ibekwe's ears as he stood at the shrine of Igweka-ala. Once or twice, he had seen an elder come out from the shrine, stare at him for a while before spitting on the ground with insolence. The more the elders spat on the ground, the more he feared his fate. With the faint images still on his head and with the broken pot he had destroyed, he knew he would not come out from his situation and remain the same. If only he had not broken the pot and saw its contents. A pot that was like every normal pot in the village but was believed to have the ability of foretelling the future. He cursed as he remembered the broken crucifix on his room just lying dead. Slowly, he spat on the ground as he saw the town crier approaching.

“The elders and the chief priest of Umuoku summons you all to the village market square,” the town crier said and struck his gong.

After the town crier had passed the shrine, the elders and the chief priest of Umuoku gathered together, dressed in apparels that Ibekwe had seen them wear during his grandparents burial.

“Drag him If he refuses to follow you. If he tries to escape, kill him,” the chief priest instructed the elders.

Ibekwe obeyed and they left.

The people of Umuoku began to fill the village market square which was located at the centre of the village, the same place Ibekwe had wrestled for the first time in his life. The children brought low wooden stools along with them. Lactating mothers were very careful to avoid been bumped by romping children who swayed their limbs in laughter. Line by line, the stools were placed on the ground in an orderly fashion and the adults sat down on them while the children who brought the stools, stood by the side of their parents as they waited for the elders and chief priest.

“Umuoku people! I salute you,” Nwakali voice boomed as he came out from the crowd. He was the elder that angrily left Nwaka's compound.

“Yaa!” The people responded.

The reason why Nwakali was allowed to speak to the people despite his bad temper and misuse of words was because of the great control he exercised on the people and his ability to twist words to do his bidding which none of the elders possessed.

“Great people of Umuoku, I welcome you to this gathering which is of great importance to this village. The last time we gathered here to cleanse our land from evil was when Nneka was sentenced to death for having a child out of wedlock but that was a very long time when some of your fathers and mothers were not yet born,” Nwakali said while moving his hands in an amusing way.

“I have always said this thing quite a number of times but only a few people understands. When a child begins to play with fire and no one tells him to stop, the child will continue playing with the fire until the fire consumes him or her,” Nwakali stopped. 

He waited until the crowd shouted in approval before he proceeded.

“A taboo has been committed in our land and the sad thing...” 

He stopped again to see the reaction on the people's faces. They were shocked and waiting eagerly to hear the name of the culprit who had defied their gods.

“It was committed by a child,” Nwakali said.

There was turmoil in the crowd as Nwakali mentioned child. Every adult exchanged glances while children whispered among themselves.

“Which child dare commit a taboo?” An adult asked.

“It is a foreigner of our land. Nwaka's only son, Ibekwe.”

The villagers did not wait to hear about the crime committed when they gathered round Ibekwe and dragged him to the front of the crowd. They rained curses on him as they spat on the ground. The chief warrior of Umuoku came out from the crowd and stood near him. Although they had not been war since the fall of Umuolu, the people of Umuoku still felt it was wise to have warriors who would defend their village in case of any imminent danger that may arise.

“Since this young boy feels he is bigger than the laws of the land and has decided intentionally to play with fire, so shall he bear the scalds caused by the fire,” the chief warrior said wiping his machete on the ground.

“We can't kill him. The shrine forbids killing him,” Nwakali replied, dismissively.

“When he was desecrating our gods, didn't he bear in mind the consequences of being caught,” the chief warrior said in disgust.

“The shrine has decided to banish him,” the chief priest said, standing up. “But we must first beat him properly to teach him a lesson.”

As the chief priest of Umuoku ended his statement, all the warriors of Umuoku pounced on Ibekwe, led by their chief warrior. There were so zealot for their gods that they made sure that no part of Ibekwe's body did not have a taste of their clamped fists.

Ibekwe did not say anything as they dug on his flesh mercilessly. He was mute. He caught a glimpse of Ezinne as she cried and rolled on the sand, pleading. He turned and saw Nwaka close to the elders. He was quiet.

Above the rage, he could feel a certain cold, a certain shiver that had engulfed his body and dominated it. Below the rage, he could hear the silent whisper of his grandparents as they stood, staring and watching the clusters of stars in the sky. Everything in his mind was slowly tearing apart as he felt fists pounding on his flesh.

After the warriors were done with beating him, they tied a rope around his neck and paraded him round the village market square, chanting praises to their gods for disgracing a boy who had failed to respect them.

The final rites were performed by the chief priest in the evening before the warriors finally carried him to the outskirts of the village and dropped him there. They wished that he would die in silence because of the crime he committed. A crime they never knew nor understood but yet believed because their chief priest had said they should.

The next day was a special day for Ibekwe. It was a day that changed his life. It was a day that he woke up from the blackness of his torture in a foreign land and shaded his eyes from the piercing sun and started the journey to the mystery of his ancestors past.