chapter 2

Many years had passed since Olanna walked through the surface of the earth with a gleaming smile that struck the heart of Echi. But nothing changed much. Echi and his three sons still managed to live through the years of her absence, still managed to cope with their daily lives with the absence of a woman in their household, still managed to go to farm, laugh, eat and sleep as if everything was normal. The only thing that was different and strange to Echi were the eyes of his sons. Eyes that asked about a mother who they only saw once during their birth.

Echi was sitting alone in his room after breakfast, remembering how he had brought the body of Olanna to Okezie alone in the same night she died. He remembered how he had wrapped her body in their marriage wrapper and fled with her corpse away from Umuolu before the village drums would be rolled to announce the death of another villager. That was the night when for the first and last time, he saw the face of his father-in-law. His face was gloomy and calm like the noiseless flow of the stream of Umuolu. It was the same face that gave him a cunning approval for bringing his daughter back and a guilt that sent him running back home in the middle of the night with the image of Olanna filling his thoughts.

He adjusted himself on the bamboo bed, whistling as he heard the sound of the towncrier hitting a well polished gong not too far away from him. The sound was faint and vivid. He bent his head and peeped outside as he heard the noises his three sons were making. They were clustering together and moving small pieces of stones from one carefully drawn circle to another, simultaneously, with loud chuckles. They were playing a game.

The town crier drew closer to Echi’s compound and the children romped inside, jovially. The town crier stopped when he reached Echi’s compound and struck the well polished gong with a long metal stick. His muscles and nerves protruded out in his arms as he gave his message in a harsh and war-like voice.

“People of Umuolu, I salute you. The chief priest of this great village have requested for an urgent meeting tomorrow in the village market square. You all have to be there. Failure to comply will bring the wrath of the gods on your household. I have spoken,” the town crier said and struck the well polished gong again. He repeated the message as he moved forward with successive strikes on the gong before moving further to the next compound to give his message while repeating the same procedure all over again.

The following morning, the people gathered round the village market square. The adults whispered and gestured in low voices while the children frolicked round the place, kicking every small thing they toes could bear. The children were always fond of playing when there was a large gathering which involved their playmates. The gatherings were one of those few times they could play freely without the reproving glance of their parents.

“Umuolu people! I greet you,” Isiewu yelled as he stood in front of the crowd trying to maintain order and sovereignty. Old age had worn him down and his voice had become weaker than he could ever imagine. Despite the powerful force he attached to his yell, lt was only a little bit higher than a whisper.

“Umuolu people! I greet you,” Isiewu yelled again, squeezing his hands tightly, raising it and punching the empty air 

“Yaa!” The people responded.

“Umuolu people! I greet you.”

“Yaa!” The people responded again.

Isiewu turned around trying to maintain a good humor. The crowd was waiting for him. Their noises had reduced, even the children had adopted the silence of their parents as they waited for him to speak.

“Umuolu people! I greet you,” Isiewu yelled for the fourth time and the crowd responded quickly, more intensifying than his salute. They eyes were directed at him. 

Isiewu walked slowly for a while, making good use of the space that surrounded him. It was one of the good qualities of an orator, to make use of the spaces available. He stopped, pointed at a man and told him to stand up. The man stood up.

“If a man picks shit and throws it on your face, what would you do to the man?” Isiewu asked the man.

The man stroked his beardless chin, his protruding stomach distinguished him as a good drinker of palm-wine. The man moved and folded his hands around his chest. Thought for a while and looked at Isiewu.

“I will pick up the shit and make sure the man feeds on it until his mouth is filled with it,” the man replied with a glee that spread round his face.

“That is very good,” Isiewu approved.

The people raised their hands up and clapped. It was a large, rapturous ovation that followed the man with the big stomach until he sat down.

Isiewu walked away from the man, he was going somewhere with his speech but he had not gotten there yet. He moved to another corner and pointed at a woman whose right leg was curved sideways in a spectacular way that aroused laughter. She had an unusual bowleg.

“If a stranger takes your son away from you and throw him inside the evil forest, what would you do?” Isiewu asked.

The woman positioned herself properly. She threw her curved right leg forward, raised her shoulders upwards and shook her head.

“I will thank the stranger for throwing my son into the heart of the evil forest. I firmly believe that there must be a strong reason for the stranger to do such an act of bravery. Who knows if the child has been destined to kill me,” the woman said.

The crowd burst into laughter, even the elders who were known for having stern faces joined them in the laughter. The woman drove her eyes round the crowd as if seeking refuge from a face that wasn’t laughing at her but she saw none. After a short unfruitful search, she sat down slowly with her curved leg stretching forward.

Isiewu walked back to his favourite position when order had been restored and every member of the village was quiet. He took his favourite position where he had saluted the villagers with hands clenched together and eyes looking stalwart like a huge bird. He pointed at every strong man in the village that had showed bravery in the times of war including Echi and Uchendu. He called their individual names and the deeds they had done before bringing his hands down and shouting with a huge force that still produced something a little bigger than a whisper.

“Umuolu people! Our brothers have insulted us,” Isiewu started.

 Different murmurs ran through the crowd as the villagers stared at each other wondering which village had been proud enough to challenge them.

“Umunsogbu people has desecrated our land and insulted our gods,” Isiewu continued. “They have given us shit and are expecting us to feed on it.”

“Who dare to give us shit and expects us to eat it.” A huge voice interrupted from the crowd. The man with the huge voice came out from the crowd. His heavy chest paved way for him as men and women of Umuolu allowed him to pass. The villagers quickly identified him as Chika, he was one of the brave warriors of Umuolu who had made sure that the unraided neighbouring villages succumbed to the law of bringing five different girls every new yam festival.

“The chief priest of Umunsogbu is the blind he-goat that has dared to insult me and all of us. He has presented shit to me and he is waiting for me to eat it,” Isiewu replied.

“The gods forbid,” Many of the villagers said.

“The chief priest of Umuolu took my son away from me, disgraced him, burnt him alive and cut him into pieces. Here is a piece of Nweke’s finger brought to me by a messenger of Egwusinala.” 

Isiewu brought out a finger from his goatskin bag and showed it to the crowd. There was a short silence followed by violent shrieks as the women mourned the chief priest's son.

“And what did the chief priest of Umuolu do to the messenger who had the guts to offer shit to him?” Chika asked.

“I killed him,” Isiewu bellowed. “People of Umuolu, I killed the messenger who was sent to give me a piece of my dead son. The body of the messenger is at my hut. His head has been stuffed inside a large goatskin bag, waiting to be delivered to Egwusinala.”

“You have done well my chief priest. After we have delivered the head of the messenger back to Egwusinala, we shall prepare for war,” Chika said.

“Who will lead the war?” The man with the big stomach who had won so many praises from the people asked.

“Chika will lead the war after he has delivered the head of the messenger. He will take twelve men with him tonight to return the shit they have thrown at us. After that, we will decide when we will go for war. People of Umuolu! I salute you,” Isiewu said.

Isiewu kept quiet and waited for the spirit of the people to be stirred to anger. He knew that sooner or later, the war drums would be beaten and the bodies of the warriors would dance to the rhythm of the war songs.

“Father!” Ofu called as they headed back home from the village market square. He was the first son of Echi.

“My son,” Echi replied.

“Are we going to fight the people of Umunsogbu?” Ofu asked. His voice was light, clouded with fear as he spoke in his childish voice.

“I don’t know Ofu.”

“Father, I hate war. I heard from one of your friends that used to visit that war is terrible. I have heard that a lot of people get killed in wars. I also heard that my mother’s parents were killed in a war we had with Umuoku because they refused to give us a virgin last new yam festival.” Ofu said clutching his hands.

“Where are your brothers?”

“They are behind us. I don’t think they would like it if you tell them to walk with us. They like staying behind everytime we walk.”

“Who told you that I wanted them to walk with us?”

“Nobody!” Ofu replied, moving his clutched hands.

Echi shook his head.

“How did you know that your mother’s parents died in a war with Umuoku?” Echi asked.

“I heard it from you.”

“When did I tell you that kind of thing?”

“You didn’t tell me. I overheard you telling Uchendu how her parents were killed with a fire that was started by Umuolu’s warriors.”

“So you were eavesdropping when adults were having personal conversations?”

Ofu nodded his head in approval.

Echi looked at him, wondering if he knew his secret. He wondered if Ofu used to watch him when he knelt down in his room every night, crying and calling the name of his mother or whether he used to watch him as he talked to the thin air as if it was Olanna.

“When did I tell Uchendu that your mother’s parents were dead?” Echi asked.

“I can’t really remember but it was a long time. I think it was that time Uchendu used to bring fresh mangoes for us,” Ofu said, raising his hands.

“Don’t ever try to listen to the conversation of adults next time. You are my first son and you must act properly and display good manners. Listening to the words your father tells his visitors is not a good habit that a first son should harbor.”

“I will never do that again. I am sorry father.”

“I have heard.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“I have forgiven you.”

Ofu held Echi’s hands. It was his own way of calming Echi when he had a feeling that he was angry at him.

“Are we still going to have a war?” Ofu asked.

“The chief priest have said we will go for war. So I guess we are going to war because it is against the law of Umuolu to disobey the verdict of a chief priest,” Echi said. He turned his face away from his first son and looked at his two sons strolling behind. In his mind, he wept because he knew that the impending war would snatch him away from them.

“Father! What if you fight in the war and mistakenly the people of Umunsogbu kills you. Who are we going to stay with if you mistakenly die?” Ofu asked.

Ofu sometimes said things that were bigger than his age and this greatly suprised Echi who could not understand nor explain how a calm and timid child like his son would be driven by jealousy to kill his own brother.

“Father! You are not saying anything,” Ofu jerked Echi.

“Stop dragging my wrapper!” Echi ordered with widened eyes.

 Ofu quickly let go of his wrapper and let it shrink to its original shape.

“I will not die. The gods will safely guide me back home after the war,” Echi said firmly.

“Don’t lie to me father. The high god hates people that lie.”

“Where did you hear that from?”

“Isiewu always tells all the children in the village.”

Echi took a deep breath and released all the tensed air piled up inside him. He felt stupid knowing fully well that he was lying again.

“I am not lying. The gods will protect me and bring me back safely. I will not die. Just believe I will not die,” Echi said.

“I know that you are lying. I can see it in your eyes,” Ofu said and pointed at Echi’s eyes.

Echi wondered when lies were detected by merely looking at a person’s eyes but he did not show his disapproval for what Ofu said.

“You will die in the war and leave us the way your wife did.”

“I will not leave you. If I know I will die, I will not volunteer to go for the war,” Echi lied. 

That was the most painful lie Echi had told in his life. He knew it was better for him to lie to anybody but not his children who were innocent and knew nothing about life. Children who knew nothing about the problem he had gotten himself into. Yes! It was a problem. A problem he had accepted the day Olanna died on his watch. If he had never met Isiewu, he would have never thought of sacrificing his wife just to have children. If he had never met Isiewu, he would never have been told a stupid prophesy that would create a sense of fear about the disunity that would occur between his children whose faces and gestures only represented love and not hate. If he had never met Isiewu, no stupid prophesy would have been told about his death. A death that has secretly been a life preserver for him.

After Olanna’s death, Echi wanted to kill himself because he could no longer cope with the guilt that he felt within him everyday of his life. Guilt that lived with him in the morning, afternoon and evening, just staring at him. He knew death by suicide was a crime to the gods not worthy of a proper death but he also knew that one day he would die, that he must die to appease the sins he had committed. So he had decided a long time ago to live a life he had forced himself into. A life full of void and no peace. He had felt in his heart long before Olanna got pregnant that he would be happy with his three sons but he was wrong. He had enjoyed the wonderful celebration of the birth of this three sons, a wonderful celebration to behold. He had endured the mockery of his wife from close relatives who called her a witch and a woman with no sense of love. This had made Echi laugh with quiet sobs. Love was a name that only Olanna was fit to own.

Many nights, he had slept alone in his bamboo bed without the comfort of Olanna beside him. He had talked to her several times with the hope of a reply. He had felt the empty space she used to occupy with the belief that she would mysteriously appear one day and comfort him and tell him that everything was fine. All he thought he would achieve through her death, he did not achieve. All the happiness he had hoped he would get from his three sons by his side, he did not get. The rumble from his past mistakes made his nights miserable. Even the young faces of his sons did not soften the guilt.

“Are we going to visit Uchendu today to pluck the mangoes in his compound?” Abuo asked. Abuo and Ato had come closer to meet them from behind.

Echi stopped thinking about his death. It was the best thing he could do at the moment. He stared at his second son. The one who would bear the hatred among his brothers according to Isiewu’s prophesy. He could not believe he would be chosen by the gods to be their diviner like Isiewu. The only son who seemed to be different from the rest was him, Abuo was an exact replicate of his mother, tough and decisive.

“If the gods choose you to follow them and do their work, would you obey?” Echi asked Abuo.

“I don’t want to be a diviner like Isiewu. He speaks of blood and war more than peace,” Abuo replied.

“So you will disobey them?”

“Maybe.”

Echi studied the words of Abuo carefully. Isiewu had greatly changed from the man he thought he had once known. Isiewu was much more kinder those days he had questioned the words of the gods more often but after the time he saw Olanna lying dead on the bamboo bed of the village delivery home, he changed. Isiewu’s thoughts and desires were now focused on fulfilling the words of the gods he had once judged. Echi wondered why Isiewu could not plead for the life of his son. He wondered how Isiewu felt when he took the finger of his dead son and showed it to everyone in the village market square.

“Father are we still going to Uchendu’s compound to collect the mangoes?” Ato asked. His voice sounded different from his other brothers.

“We will go another day.”

“What if the war start before the another day comes?” Ofu asked.

Echi swallowed the air inside and gasped it out.

“We will go tomorrow morning,” Echi said.

“Father, the war can start tomorrow morning. You know how Isiewu was very pleased when he spoke about the war,” Abuo interrupted.

“Fine! We will go today,” Echi said silently as they reached home.

Echi opened the door and his sons entered before him, quickly, pushing him aside as they went inside to drop some of the things that they had brought from the village market square.

“Father! Let us go now.” They begged.

Echi gave them a sign that he had heard what they said and told them to get ready. Before they left, he went inside his room to perform a habit that had become a part of him. He took off his wrapper and every piece of cloth on his body. He was naked. He took a bowl of water and sprinkled it on his face as he knelt down, crying. With guilt in his heart, he bent his head away from the bed he shared with the woman he loved.

“Olanna! The love of my life please hear my voice,” Echi began and continued until he felt the weight of his guilt heavily on him until he could no longer kneel. He fainted.