chapter 2

Hours turned into days. Days rolled into weeks. Weeks formed into months and months got covered by the pride of years. Fifty years had passed since Ofu and his brothers got separated. He was now an old man married with only one son whose name was Nwaka.

“You were beautiful the first day I met you,” Ofu said to his wife.

“Old age has taken away my beauty,” Ihuoma replied. She was Ofu's imagination of an ideal woman just like Olanna.

“I can never forget the day I met you. The gods must have brought you to save me from dying.”

“The gods must also have been reasonable enough to suffer you so much in order for you to go on your knees and beg me for a little water,” Ihuoma said, laughing. It was one of those few times that they sat outside under the light of the dull moon to reflect on their younger days.

“Your people were wicked to our people during the war,” Ofu chuckled. “They would have killed only the warriors and pity our helpless women and children.”

“Did anybody tell you that Umuoku warriors took away the women and children of Umuolu?” Ihuoma asked.

“Your people raped our women.”

“I don't know if that is true. What I know is that our warriors only gave help when needed and slaughtered a few of your people.”

“And my father!” Ofu cut her sharply.

Ihuoma shook her head. “My people are not the only ones who fought the war against your village so we cannot tell who killed your father.”

“Your people still had a hand in my father's death.”

Ihuoma laughed a hearty laughter.

“Why don't we forget about your father and talk about the new wife of our son,” she said.

“Did I tell you that I was ready to talk about my father,” Ofu said jokingly and prodded at her chair with a faint chuckle. “Do you know how hard it is to find a lovely husband like me who understands you.”

“You know Amadi is still better than you,” Ihuoma teased. “I would have married him if my mother had not valued the friendship she shared with your mother.”

“Who told you that Amadi is better than me,” Ofu said, pathetically. He stopped jerking and pushing her chair again.

“How can Amadi be better than you when his arms are not as strong as yours,” Ihuoma said, laughing at the jealousy that was slowly enveloping on Echi's eyes.

A moonlight story was held the following night when the light of the moon was so bright in the sky. It was believed that during such nights with bright moons, the smaller gods were all paying a visit to the high god to tell him about their accomplishments with humans on earth.

Nwaka held his jar of palm-wine and two fresh kola nuts that were enclosed inside a brown calabash. It was his usual practice to stop at Ofu's compound before dropping his son, Ibekwe in the village market square to hear a moonlight tale.

Ibekwe was the great-grand son of Echi. The last generation according to Isiewu's prophecy. He was the third generation of Echi which signified the impossibility for him to have any children of his own. The inability of Ibekwe to have a child was first hinted to Nwaka by Ofu during the night when they were having a feast to mark Ibekwe's arrival into their family.

“You are now going to be a father now,” Ofu said, drinking a gourd of palm-wine.

“The gods have been faithful. They have rewarded my youthful marriage with a son because of my obedience and patience,” Nwaka replied.

“Your obedience is not enough to bring you happiness. Those were the last words your grand father said to me before he left this world.”

Nwaka snorted with laughter, “Grey hair has turned you into something else. How can you insist that my obedience to the gods is not enough to ensure my happiness.”

Ofu scratched his head, pushing away the streaks of grey hair that stood abnormally at his bald head. Small streaks that Nwaka had used to make mockery of him sometime ago.

“Who is the new chief priest that will replace Akaogwu?” Ofu asked, pulling his hands from the tufts of hair.

“Father!”, Nwaka called faintly. “You have started again. We were talking about my obedience and the gods but now you have changed the topic to the new chief priest of Umuoku.”

“I want to know who is the new chief priest.”

“Why don't you forget about the new chief priest and continue with what you were saying about my obedience.”

“No!” Ofu shrieked. “I want to know who is the new chief priest of Umuoku.”

“All right. I will tell you anything you want to know about the new chief priest.”

“That is good! You are now behaving like the son of my strength,” Ofu said with a smile which was followed by a pat on Nwaka's back.

“His name is Okonta.”

“I don't like the sound of that name. It is frightening. How can a chief priest be given such a name,” Ofu said, raising his hands in the air as if offering thanks to the gods. “Is the chief priest from Umuoku because I have never heard of such a name in my life.”

“He is from Umuise. The village is very close to Umuoku and they have a lot of great diviners.”

“The gods forbid we have a chief priest from Umuise. How can the people of Umuoku choose a chief priest from Umuise or is there no great diviner from Umuoku who is worthy to be the chief priest.”

“How am I supposed to know that,” Nwaka jerked.

Nwaka took the empty gourd away from Ofu's hands and dropped it on the table.

“The gods forbid,” Ofu was still cursing. His mouth was curved ovally as he let out his disgust for what he felt as betrayal.

“Stop wasting the little strength you have left,” Nwaka adviced.

“Have they done the feast of the spirits. The feast where the diviner unites with the rest of the dead chief priests of Umuoku?” Ofu asked. His eyes swirling like a crow.

“They have done the feast.”

“When did this happen?”

“About four days ago.”

Ofu scratched his head again and pinched his body.

“I thought the ceremony that they did four days ago was the burial of Akaogwu. It is not possible. That cannot be the feast of the spirits.”

“Why do you say so?” 

“Nwaka! There was no mask. I did not see the mask of the spirits which the chosen diviner must wear to mark his transmission from an ordinary diviner to a chief priest. That is how the tradition has always been.”

“Father you were clearly not watching. The mask was given to Okonta by the oldest man of the village, Ofoedu.”

“When did he give him the mask?”

“Father!” Nwaka called, covering his laughter. “Don't you remember the woven mask that was presented to Okonta on that day?”

“I remember the mask,” Ofu head jolted up. “That was no mask of the spirits. It was just a crafty calabash with different holes on its buttocks.”

Nwaka could not contain his laughter and he laughed out loudly.

“That calabash with holes on its buttocks was the mask used for the feast of the spirits,” he said.

Ofu clamped at his fingers, feeling his soft elbows.

“Umuoku has lost its customs and traditions,” he said then narrated the story of the feast of the spirits he had witnessed starting with 'when I was a boy' followed by a shrug before releasing the main story.

“I think it is best we talk about obedience and stop bothering ourselves about Umuoku new chief priest,” Nwaka said as soon as Ofu ended his story.

“As I was saying,” Ofu began, positioning himself and trying to sound serious.”There is something I have not told you about. It is about your son.”

“What about him?” Nwaka asked.

“A man who refuses to smell the contents of a newly spoilt palm-wine will be one day forced to drink its contents.”

“True!”

Ofu cleared his throat, “That newly spoilt palm-wine is the bad news I have for you.”

“Father, let the mouth do the talking and the ears do the listening,” Nwaka replied impatiently.

“Words of wisdom indeed. With what you have just said, I am confident that you can withstand the odour of the newly spoilt palm-wine.”

Ofu took his time then stretched his hands and pointed at Ibekwe who was sucking his mother's breast at that moment.

“That son of yours cannot pregnant a woman. He is infertile.”

Nwaka burst into laughter as he stared at the confused face of Ofu. He laughed for a while and only stopped when he felt he was disrespecting him.

“Why are you laughing?” Ofu asked. “Do I talk as if I am playing with words. I just told my son that his son cannot give birth and he takes it as a joke.”

“Forgive my bad attitude. Times like this calls for blessings and not curses.”

“Words of insults from son to father. I don't blame you. It is my personal god I blame for giving me only one son when others have more.”

“Ignore my laughter,” Nwaka said, refraining himself. “I am just suprised that you could wish a newborn baby impotency.”

“I did not wish your son impotency. This was predicted by the chief priest of Umuolu decades ago. He specifically told my father that he wouldn't have a fourth generation.”

“How can I believe what a man I have never met says about my son.”

“You have to believe because it is true. Don't follow in the footsteps of my brothers who doubted the gods.”

“I am not doubting the gods. It is the words of your chief priest I doubt. If I ever meet that chief priest, I will ask him to teach me the wisdom he used to deceive my father,” Nwaka laughed.

Ibekwe raised a finger which pointed at Ofu who was sitting in front of his compound with Ihuoma.

“Ibekwe, the son of the last prophecy,” Ofu said as he sighted Ibekwe coming from afar.

“Good evening, grandfather and grandmother,” Ibekwe greeted.

“How are you?” Ihuoma asked.

“I am doing fine.”

“Where is your father?'

“He is almost here."

Nwaka walked sluggishly with his wife, Ezinne by his side. She was as pretty as his mother, Ihuoma. The idealness of both women have often been debated by him and Ofu several times. They have constantly refused to accept that one was better than the other.

“Good evening father. Good evening mother.” Ezinne said. The scarf that tied around her head shot out as she bent down to greet them.

“Are you taking Ibekwe to the village market square for him to hear a moonlight story?” Ihuoma asked.

“Yes we are,” Ezinne replied.

“Father of the son of the last prophecy,” Ofu said. He was addressing Nwaka.

“Grandfather of the son of the last prophecy,” Nwaka retorted back, playfully.

Ibekwe watched as the two women started their own discussion in a corner just like his father and grandfather who were also engrossed in their own conversation but in a different corner.

“Son of the last prophecy!” Ibekwe said aloud to himself. “What does that even mean?” 

Ibekwe never bothered about the way his grandfather addressed him. After all, he was his grandfather and he was free to call him whatever he wanted to call him.

“We are going,” Nwaka said as he finished hugging his father and dropping the palm-wine and kola nuts he had brought along.

“Are all these for me?” Ofu asked, pointing at the palm-wine and kola nuts.

“The palm-wine will revive your old spirit,” Nwaka said.

Nwaka dragged Ezinne and she followed him without resistance, looking back and waving at her mother-in-law whose smile was still visible in the dark. Ibekwe was trailing behind.

They reached the village market square when the storyteller was controlling the children and telling them to keep quiet while sitting down on the ground in an orderly manner before he started his story. The children obeyed and kept quiet before sitting down.

“He is late,” the storyteller told Nwaka as Ibekwe arrived.

“It is my fault. He would have come earlier than this if I had allowed him to leave his grandfather's compound,” Nwaka replied.

The storyteller looked furnished on this particular night unlike the previous nights when he wore worn-out clothes that smelled like fowl droppings. This night, he had worn a special cloth which had beautiful embroideries at its centre. The cloth was well adorned and attracted the gaze of Ibekwe who stared at it in awe.

“What are you looking at?” The storyteller asked, stealing a glance at Ibekwe.

“The sky,” Ibekwe responded quickly.

The storyteller hissed and continued talking with Nwaka. The next time he turned and found Ibekwe still staring at his cloth, he hissed again, walked towards him and gave him a slight knock on his head.

“Go and join the rest over there,”the storyteller ordered. He pointed at the place the rest of the children where gathered so that Ibekwe would know where he had instructed him to go. Then, he continued his conversation with Nwaka.

Ibekwe rubbed his head as he felt the pain of the knock the storyteller gave to him. He squeezed his face as he approached the children. Most of the children were younger than him bearing small faces that scorned him for staring at the storyteller new clothes. Only two children, a boy and a girl were the same age with him.

“Your head will soon have a lump if you don't stop touching it,” a little girl taunted him.

Ibekwe looked at the girl. He was thinking of what to do to shut the little girl mouth for good but he knew the storyteller would press more hard knocks on his head if he dared to lay his hands on the little girl. Nevertheless, it would be a greater insult for him to let the little girl go scot-free without him doing something.

“Something is growing at the tip of your nose,” Ibekwe fired back.

“Where is it?” The little girl asked.

“It is in the centre of your nose.”

The little girl moved her hands to her nose, wandering and trying to find whatever that was on her nose. After series of roving round her nose, she brought her fingers down.

“I can't feel anything,” the little girl complained.

“It has moved to your ears,” Ibekwe replied.

Once again, the little girl lifted her hands. She moved her hands from the left ear to the right until the storyteller came back.

“What are you trying to do?” The storyteller asked the little girl.

Ibekwe froze.

“I was trying to find the thing that was growing on my head,” the little girl replied.

“Who told you something was growing on your head?”

The little girl pointed at Ibekwe.

“You again!” the storyteller exclaimed.

The storyteller told Ibekwe to kneel down and just as Ibekwe had feared, three more hard knocks were pressed on his head.

“This will teach you a lesson to never deceive a woman again,” he said.

After Ibekwe joined the rest of the children and sat down, the storyteller crossed his legs and memorised what he was about to say before he opened his mouth and began to sing a song. The art of storytelling in Igbo land was as old as the language itself, some of the folklores were derived from imaginations, history, fear and strange beliefs in the ability of animals to speak which added texture and beauty to the stories when told. Other stories were mere myth that were intended to scare children or dissuade them from doing a particular thing. 

The stories told usually differed from one village to another as did their gods but a few were generally held and respected by all. One myth in Umuoku that was known only to the members of the village was a story about using broom to sweep. If a child or an adult mistakenly uses the sharp edges of a broom to shook someone, it was believed that the victim who was in contact with the edges of the broom is at risk and may suffer a terrible disease unless the person who caused his or her predicament, raises the broom high and pierce its edges towards the earth in order to cleanse the victim from a possible disease.

The storyteller stopped singing and called the children to order.

“Which story would you like to hear?” He asked in a playful tone.

Many of the children called the names of their favourite animals; the tortoise, dog, lion and the hen were among the few animals mentioned. In the end, all of them could not agree with a particular animal and this caused a huge misunderstanding in the gathering. One of the boys stood up and said he wanted to hear a story about the dog. Another, moved by the boy's courage, stood up and said he wanted to hear a story about the wise tortoise. The first boy got annoyed and was about to slap the other boy when the story teller intervened and told both of them to sit down.

“Since all of you have refused to choose a particular animal, I will choose my own,” the storyteller said and all the children murmured but he ignored them and continued. “The animal I choose is man.”

“Man!” Ibekwe shouted and the storyteller gave him a stern look that kept his mouth shut.

“This is the beginning of my story,” the storyteller said in his confident and calm voice. “There was a time when man was not afraid of any animal. He could walk deep into the heart of the forest at midnight without being afraid of the lion, snake or tiger. He could even sleep in the midst of wild animals without having any trace of fear in him. Man was so powerful that every animal respected and honored him.”

“Why did the lions not eat him?” One of the children asked.

“Patience my dear little one. Let me finish my story first.” 

The storyteller took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“Man was blessed by the high god which we all know as Chukwu. He was blessed with a skin that was impenetrable. No animal could bite man's skin without suffering from a poison that would kill them after some days.” 

“Will their bites not affect man?” Another child asked.

“No it won't. The creator made man skin so hard that it was impossible for it to be torn apart by the teeth of any animal. Because of this natural weapon that man possessed, all the animals envied him. One day, as man was walking along the forest, he saw a baby lion and he was hungry. In his bid to satisfy his hunger, he killed and ate the baby lion secretly. After a couple of months, man became so wicked that he consented in killing the children of all the animals. He achieved his act of wickedness in less than a week.”

“How can he eat all the animals children in one week?” The little girl Ibekwe deceived asked.

“Man did not eat all the animals children he killed. He threw them away. When the animals started noticing that their children had all gone and they were all killed by man, they became so worried and decided to call an urgent meeting. At the meeting, all the animals gave suggestions that will end man's inordinate behavior but none of the suggestions seemed to please the lion who was the head of the meeting. The gathering was finally postponed to another day until an appropriate solution was brought.”

“Monkey returned home feeling sad and weary. He met his old father sitting outside. Monkey's father at that time was the diviner of the land but he couldn't save the animals from the hands of man. Monkey sat with his father until an idea struck him that made him to stand up. He giggled and danced round his father who was suprised to see his son dancing around at a period when everyone in the animal kingdom was worried. Old Monkey stopped his son from dancing when he could no longer curtail his irritation. He told monkey to stop celebrating the death of his fellow animals. Monkey obeyed and stopped but he did not tell his father about his idea.”

“When the next meeting was called, the lion stood in front of the animals and asked if any of them had come up with an idea that would save them from the hands of man. Monkey boldly came out in front of the animals. He smiled and said that he can stop man from feeding on their children only if one of the female animals will volunteer herself for his plan. All the animals looked at monkey and told him that he was crazy to think of such a stupid idea that involved the life of another animal. Even old monkey was ashamed.”

“Monkey looked at the animals boldy and told them that man has no wife and if they could make him fall in love with a female animal, the secrets of man's impenetrable skin would be discovered which will give them a chance of killing him. Monkey suggested that if a female animal was chosen, his father would turn her to a human like man. This idea was highly welcomed by all the animals but they had a problem. The problem they were facing was the decision of which animal would be suitable for man as a wife.”

“The following day when man was sleeping in the forest after a wonderful meal, the animals gathered again to select the animal that will act as man's wife. The first animal to come out was dog's wife. Her name was Bitch. The animals took a good look at her and lion said that he cannot choose her because of her immorality. He told them that man would not accept a wife who is not moral and they agreed. Their decision made dog's wife angry and she cursed all the animals for calling her a whore before she left.”

“The next animal was goat's wife. She was called She-goat. The animals took a good look at her and lion refused again. He told them that she was too stubborn and that man cannot accept a wife who is not ready to submit herself to his rule. She-goat was not chosen because of her stubbornness. She stormed our angrily like dog's wife, cursing the other animals for calling her an obstinate animal.”

“The next animal was pig's wife. She was known as Sow. The animals looked at her and again, lion rejected. He told them that she was too dirty and not a suitable wife for man who loves cleanliness. Sow was not chosen because of her dirtiness and she left angrily like Bitch and She-goat, cursing the other animals for seeing her as a filthy animal.”

“Finally, the last animal to be summoned was sheep's wife. Everyone knew her as Ewe. The animals took a good look at her and lion told them that she was chosen. He told them that man will accept a wife who is kind and gentle. Old monkey was called. A few incantations were made and ewe was turned into a beautiful woman with long flowing, dark hair. She left the gathering of the animals and went to where man was sleeping in the forest. She tapped man with her new soft hands and he woke up with shock to see a woman because the high god was yet to give him a wife.”

“Man showered so much love and affection on ewe. He gave her anything she wanted. He took her to all parts of the forest and showed her all the beautiful things the high god had blessed him with. One night when man was drunk and intoxicated with palm-wine, ewe asked man to tell her the secret of his impenetrable skin. A few fake tears and man told her that a palm kernel oil that the high god had given him during his creation was the reason why his skin was so hard. He told her that he rubbed the palm kernel oil on his body every morning before leaving his hut.”

“The next morning, ewe stole the palm kernel oil and ran away to were all the animals were gathered. She narrated everything that man had told her and gave the palm kernel oil to old monkey who took it before turning her back to her original state. The animals did not celebrate even though man had told ewe his secret. They still doubted ewe and waited for man to come to their midst. When man woke up and noticed that his wife was missing, he ran to the forest in search of ewe.”

“Man reached the forest and started searching everywhere but he could not find ewe. He decided to take a break and rest. Minutes passed before lion came out from a thick bush, roaring. His roar was so loud that man woke up from his nap. Lion attacked man and tore the skin of his left knee. Blood gushed out from man's knee. Before lion could pounce on man again, the high god made man disappear using a heavenly spirit. All the animals were suprised when they saw the blood of man and they hailed lion for his bravery. A feast was held that day and lion was crowned the king of the animal kingdom. It was the most expensive feast every held in the animal kingdom.”

“The next time man met the high god, he thanked the high god and begged him to heal his broken knee. Out of pity, the high god healed man's leg and gave him a wife. Man was so happy and never returned to the forest again. He also made a decision not to kill wild animals again so he wouldn't get bitten again and that is why till today, we don't kill and eat wild animals rather we eat goats, chickens, grasscutters and other smaller animals that are not dangerous to us,” the storyteller said.

“Did the high god give man his impenetrable skin back?” A girl asked. 

“The high god did not give man his hard skin again. He told man to look for the palm kernel oil if he wanted his impenetrable skin and since man could not find it, he never got his hard skin back,” the storyteller replied.

“What happened to monkey? Was he rewarded for his good advice?” A boy asked.

“Monkey was never honored by the animals for his advice which helped in solving their problem. Rather, the animals beat monkey when he complained of the unfair treatment given to him. They even pursued him and he hid on top of a tree to save his life from the angry animals and that is why up till today, monkeys live on top of trees.”

The storyteller dismissed the children after he had answered all their questions. Before they left, he adviced them to always be kind to people and avoid any form of wickedness.

“Never deceive a little girl,” the storyteller told Ibekwe. “They are sweet little birds with charming hearts.”

Ibewkwe squeezed his face in disapproval and ignored him.

The storyteller got up and swung his goatskin bag around his neck. He focused on the path ahead of him and walked in an orderly manner with his beautiful embroidery cloth hanging freely on his broadened shoulders. It was only a matter of time before the full moon would disappear into the blackness of the sky.