The Place Beyond Her Dreams

by Oby Aligwekwe

  “Stop,” I pleaded. Her eyes had remained closed for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t bear to watch her theatrics. “How long was it? How long was I gone?”

  “It happened suddenly, and it lasted five whole minutes. I called your grandmother after Okem and I tried to wake you, and you wouldn’t budge.”

  Five minutes seemed like such a short time considering it felt like I’d been in Luenah for a whole day. Although my grandmother had seen me go in and out of reverie and understood my intuitive nature, five minutes was much longer than anything she’d ever witnessed. She had seemed like the calmest person in the room, but I knew the incident had frightened her, considering she also had to grapple with my grandfather’s passing. If I hadn’t returned when I did, she might have lost control.

  “You scared all of us,” Ifedi said, disrupting my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

  “It’s not your fault. You heard what your grandmother said. Come with me and get some food.”

  We passed a multitude of people to get to the kitchen where Ifedi gave me a small mango to eat while she prepared a meal for me. I reminisced about my experience and was tempted to tell her about it but changed my mind each time the idea cropped into my head. My adventure in Luenah was the most spectacular thing that had ever happened to me up until that moment. I was determined to keep it all to myself until it felt safe to reveal to anyone—until the risk of being dragged to the insane asylum no longer existed.

  * * *

  Papa’s burial was in June. The weather that day had been pleasant. It had rained a little in the morning, but by noon the skies had cleared. The occasion was like nothing I’d ever seen. Hordes of people zoomed into my grandfather’s palatial compound and filled all the rooms and balconies. Others settled down in plastic chairs under the canopies that covered the grounds. Some sought shade under the mango trees, and the market square also became an extension of the house as the massive compound could not possibly accommodate all the people in attendance.

  Death was nothing new to me as living with my grandparents gave me the experience of witnessing village elders passing away. My grandfather was always in attendance to support families who had lost loved ones, and I sometimes accompanied him. Unlike the others, his death was more than a passing experience. This was no ordinary man. This was my Papa—a six-foot-six gentle giant, the head of our family. Since my grandfather was a chief, layers of rites were performed in keeping with the tradition of Ntebe. All the other chiefs in the town, twenty in total, lined up in their full chiefly regalia to pay homage to their fallen comrade. For a full twenty minutes, they danced and made ritualistic sounds around the casket that bore the body of my grandfather. I remember being in complete awe of their attires and flamboyant displays.

  They placed the casket in the ground at midday. I stood next to my grandmother and my parents at the graveside. My parents had been in Ntebe since the day before. For the first time that day, I saw a physical reaction from my grandmother. Wailing from deep within her lungs, she threatened to throw herself into the six-foot grave if my grandfather didn’t return to her. As the gravediggers worked desperately to cover the hole with a mound of red dirt, a group of men tried to prevent her from jumping in.

  “Stop her!” I heard several people screaming.

  Since I had always known her to be dramatic, I doubted she was going to carry out her threat. And I was right. As gunshots to commemorate the occasion tore through the air, my grandmother abandoned her display and ran for cover.

  After the ceremony outside was concluded, my grandmother, Okem, and I headed upstairs to the parlor. The merriment continued outside and gradually progressed inside. People came and never left, crowding the entire compound. Drinks, food, and more food created the atmosphere of a festival. Everyone settled down to eat their plates of jollof rice and goat meat and consume bottles of beer and soft drinks. The VIPs were led inside to partake of a feast, one worthy of ‘big men’. They were provided a spread with a selection of up to twelve different dishes that included isi-ewu, plantain porridge, rice with stew, ukwa, a variety of meat and fish, pounded yam, and various types of soup. They also had an assortment of drinks at their disposal and were served by uniformed waiters assigned to attend especially to them.

  As I walked around observing the festivities, I noticed that everyone seemed to have the same goal: fun. I bent my head in embarrassment as I walked past groups of people fighting for how to share some money or farm animal—chicken, goat, or cow. I remember thinking they were ridiculous for having fun at my grandfather’s expense.

  My grandmother had returned to her position on the sofa, and women wearing aso-ebi, uniformed attires, surrounded her. They barely spoke. Unlike the visitors outside, making merriment and eating, tradition prohibited her from touching a drop of food—not while his body was warm in the ground—a show of respect for her dead husband. People came by, each whispering a few words at a time and then placing an envelope I assumed contained money onto the plate in front of her. She neither smiled nor nodded throughout.

  “When will all these people leave?” I asked Ifedi as evening came, and it became rowdier.

  “Not for another three days.”

  “Three days!” I exclaimed.

  * * *

  As I looked at the sea of faces in our home—people here to support my family as my grandfather once supported theirs—I heard their voices of sympathy, wonderment, laughter, and hope and wondered how they really viewed him. What memories did they conjure when they thought of him? My heart was heavy as I pondered this question before my eyes finally rested on Okem.

  “Ona,” Okem called, cutting through my reverie and taking my hand.

  We walked into my grandfather’s parlor, where several people were seated, and found a corner to ourselves.

  “Are you missing your grandfather,” he asked, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.

  I nodded furiously. No one had cared to ask me that important question, not even my parents, who were fully engrossed in the activities themselves. I had spoken to them over the phone three times since my grandfather passed and saw them for the first time in seven months when they arrived for the funeral.

  “I miss my Papa,” I said, sobbing.

  “Don’t cry,” Okem said. “You’re not alone. The three of us will make a good team; me, you, and your grandmother.”

  I turned slightly to glance at him. The look I saw in his eyes was so warm, so sincere, and so genuine. I knew I could trust him.

  “And grandfather,” I added.

  “Yes. Your grandfather, too. He can be part of our team.”

  “Do you really believe that?” I’d asked, looking at him incredulously, certain he had said that just to appease me.

  “The chief was not my father, but I loved and admired him for taking me into your family. He took care of me as his own. Of course I want him to be part of our team. I only avoided mentioning him because he’s gone, and we’ll never see him again.”

  “I have seen him,” I blurted out.

  “Where?” he’d asked, staring at me with his mouth agape.

  I sighed and hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to throw all caution to the wind and trust him completely.

  “In Luenah,” I said.

  I was already convinced that Okem loved my grandfather almost as much as I did. Since I’d been itching for an opportunity to tell someone that I’d seen him in Luenah, I took the bait.

  “Where is Luenah?”

  He spoke loudly.

  “Shh!”

  I told Okem about my experience in Luenah—everything that had happened from the moment I got there to when I left. I described the shrine, the carriage, the towns, the people, as well as the many traditions I witnessed there. I even shared with him the valuable lessons I’d learned from my grandfather. By the time I finished, he was grabbing my arm, a bit too tightly, with astonishment written all over his face.

  “
Ouch!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing my arm.

  “Promise to never breathe a word about this to another,” I said, looking deep into his eyes.

  “I promise,” he responded, crossing his fingers.

  * * *

  Okem, my grandmother, Ifedi, and I lived in peace from then on. The bond Okem and I developed at my grandfather’s funeral grew stronger. Love for my grandfather and the secret we now shared connected us more than I could ever have imagined. He accompanied me everywhere—church, sports games, and even birthday parties, and he protected me with every ounce of his being. Once, we were at a birthday party where the host’s dog chased me down the gate. Okem ran after the dog to get it to stop. After pushing me to the ground, the dog turned away from me and jumped on him, barking and scratching his face while he fought hopelessly to defend himself. I remember screaming for someone to save Okem. It was barely one year after my grandfather died, and the pain of his loss was still too fresh. I couldn’t bear to lose another person I cared about. Nothing else mattered at that moment, not my leg, which was bleeding from scraping on the concrete floor, nor my hair, which was now in shambles, and not even the fact that other kids were staring at us with terrified looks on their faces. I screamed at the top of my lungs, and within seconds, two men and two women ran towards us. The men subdued the dog and set Okem free. One of the women pulled me off the ground as the other smoothed my clothes and wiped the tears running down my face. Amidst all that chaos, Okem lifted me with both hands and walked in the direction of the house. Everyone stared at us in amazement. Okem had grown from the scrawny child that came to live with us a few years back to a strong teenager. I couldn’t believe it was the same person who had irritated me so much the first time I met him that sacrificed his own life to save me.

  * * *

  Before long, Okem became my greatest friend, confidant, and teacher. My grandmother sent Okem to the community secondary school in Ntebe, and I moved away from home to attend the private co-ed in Ajidi, the big city. Okem’s school wasn’t highly ranked, but it was relatively good. It had produced some high caliber individuals that went on to become successful leaders in the community. In contrast, my school was one of the highest-ranked schools in Ajidi. It was reserved for the brightest and the most privileged pupils—the children of the rich, and top government officials.

  Despite the differences in our upbringing, Okem and I treated each other as equals. I wished I could see him every day I was in school. Unfortunately, that luxury was left for the holidays and once a term when he came along with my grandmother on visiting days. On those special occasions, Okem dressed in his Sunday best and wore his hair in a different hairstyle each time to impress me—whatever was in style that season. The haircuts always had a name—“pompadour” or “high top fade,” or “mohawk.” It was always something funny. I could sense his excitement whenever he showed them off. Those occasions were the most memorable of my stay in boarding school.

  Okem was a day-student, so he was always at home whenever I came back for the holidays. We played and explored the city and visited friends. Sometimes, we stayed indoors and watched movies all day long. When the holidays were over, and we needed to part ways, we found it difficult to let go of each other. I would cry and Okem would look for a way to soothe me and remind me that come visiting day, he would be there in his Sunday best and a brand new haircut. That calmed me down immediately.

  Chapter Four

  MY TRANCE THE day my grandfather died marked the beginning of my adventures in Luenah. I went in and out a few more times and never could explain what got me there. All I knew was that I often drifted to Luenah when I felt down, either from missing my grandfather or being confronted with a problem I couldn’t solve. To an observer, it seemed like I was in deep slumber, although it never felt that way to me. I could always differentiate my sleeping state from the other dimension. Luenah was worlds apart from mine. With a population of about a hundred thousand, including animals and cryptic beings, this place fascinated me as much as it fulfilled me. In Luenah, I allowed myself to explore. I addressed my doubts and fears and interacted with the people I met in this mystical world. Soon, I started to refer to it as my place of utmost serenity. A place I felt most at peace. But never again was I able to see my grandfather until the day I turned eighteen.

  * * *

  I was sitting in my room staring into space, my thoughts shifting in every direction when I suddenly slipped into a dream. I followed the narrow path and eventually landed in Luenah. Like the gleaming sea, the golden hue cast by the sunset over the rolling hills took my breath away. I followed the path to the road and walked for several miles until I arrived at a grassy field that stretched out, unbroken, to the skyline. I cleared a spot and lay on my back. Facing the sky, I pondered the beauty of the surroundings as the sweet scent of flowers wafted through my nostrils. Sighting the carriage a few feet away, I stumbled towards it, my legs still numb from all the walking. I took a seat by the window after greeting the driver. We rode for hours, past many towns and rivers, but for some reason I couldn’t comprehend, the roads and the markets were deserted. The shops, including the little antique shop I frequently visited with a friendly elderly couple, had a closed sign on their doors. The pace of my breathing increased when in the distance, I saw the majestic peaks of the shrine—a place I was yet to enter despite my frequent visits—and reckoned we were heading in that direction. My excitement grew as I imagined who I was going to meet, what I was going to see, and all I was going to do. I had missed my chance to go past the doors the day my grandfather died; my grandmother’s hysterics had shaken me back to reality.

  * * *

  From the outside, the shrine was colossal. I wasn’t sure I would be allowed inside without my grandfather by my side. But as soon as I kicked off my shoes and banged on the brass knocker, the door flew open, and I entered with ease. I carefully navigated the roomy hallways that led to another ancient-style door that opened the moment I stopped in front of it. It was as if I was being summoned by a force greater than me. I glided past a bridge crafted with copper and silver, with the handles made of gold. The walls were made from stained glass. The ceilings bore carvings of beasts, some from the real world, others I had never seen or heard of before. They seemed to come alive as the carvings projected from the top. Strange creatures moved around in pairs. A growl startled me, causing my heart to almost fall into my mouth as I turned to watch a mysterious creature, the size of two bulls walk stealthily past me. Its body was like that of a man but his head was shaped like an eagle’s. Following him was a feline creature with two human heads. I could hear the faint soothing sound of a river running between the rooms. Without knowing the source, I could see it culminated in a waterfall that was clearly within view of the throne room. I observed the people streaming out from different corners. There were many rooms, so many, I couldn’t count. On a gilded throne sat a man—his age, hard to decipher, his long, tight curls, flowing down to his chest. A crown of stones sat on his head. His blue robe was cinched at the waist with a gold belt. In his hand was a carved cane, while his shoulders hunched as he waited in anticipation. Flanked on either side of him were lesser dressed men. Some sat at his feet with a look of amazement registered on their faces. The manner with which they gazed and bowed to him, I could tell he was a leader of sorts, and they were his subjects. A king most likely, judging from how everyone did his bidding. As men and women were called, they walked humbly towards him and made their requests. I remained in awe, unsure of why I was there, until I saw my grandfather heading from the direction of the rooms, a huge smile plastered on his face as he approached me.

  “Papa—” I had begun to say when the King announced, “Today is your day,” in the same stentorian voice I’d heard him speak with all evening.

  I looked around at the crowd that had increasingly gathered and wondered how I was expected to respond. I was in awe of the magnificent King and afraid the wrong answer would t
ick him off. I waited for my grandfather to give me a cue, but he maintained his stance and avoided looking in my direction.

  “Bring that thing,” the King continued after some time had elapsed.

  What thing? I looked around excitedly, trying to figure out what he could have been talking about. The throne room was full by this time, and everyone watched with excited looks on their faces. Their silence amazed me. Not a single person was breathing or shuffling their feet. They were in as much awe of the King’s presence as I was. Or perhaps it was something else. I wasn’t sure. I redirected my gaze to my grandfather and noticed he was holding a mysterious looking vintage box, the size of a large encyclopedia, in his hand.

  “Could this be my birthday gift?” I muttered under my breath.

  “Don’t speak unless you’ve been spoken to,” my grandfather chided quietly before handing me the box. “Open it.”

  It was then I realized I had been summoned to the King’s presence to celebrate my birthday. Later, I learned my birthday had been pronounced a holiday in Luenah, which explained why everywhere was deserted on my way to the shrine.

  “Open it,” my grandfather repeated.

  “Now? In front of everybody?”

  “Yes! You should open it now.”

  I heeded his instruction and opened the box.

  “It’s empty,” I said, looking at him and wondering if he had planned to play a trick on me. I was counting on his eyes to start dancing with amusement, my cue it’d been a joke. Nothing. I giggled nervously. Still, nothing.

  He maintained a serious look on his face.

  “What do you see inside?” he asked.

  I looked from the box and then to my grandfather and then to the box again. The only thing inside was packing tissue and a little sprinkle of crystals. I shifted my gaze from him to the King and then to the subjects in the throne room. Everyone seemed composed and unmoved by the surprised look on my face.

  “You have now come of age to go after your purpose,” my grandfather said. “This box is your gift. It will receive what you have to give in exchange.”