by Reni K Amayo
‘Well … apparently, he—they say he ordered the removal of a village near Bende. For no reason! Out of the blue, the Eze’s army marched through and slaughtered all of those peo—’ the man had stopped, taking heed of Eddy’s mother’s glare as she’d signalled down to the impressionable child in her lap.
Eddy’s father, however, had seen nothing wrong with exploring the subject further, much to his mother’s dismay.
‘That’s rubbish,’ he’d exclaimed. ‘A whole village? Why would he do such a thing? What reason would he have to attack the village?’
‘Bah! I don’t know, it makes no sense,’ the visitor had replied.
‘Maybe they did something bad,’ Eddy had murmured under his mother’s breasts, still clutching her in fear.
‘Hush now, it’s not true, I tell you, it makes no sense,’ Naala’s uncle had reiterated.
‘You should listen to your father,’ the visitor had said jokingly; the atmosphere had gotten far tenser than he had intended.
‘He’s a demon. Demons do strange things like that,’ Naala’s grandfather had said suddenly. He’d rarely spoken to anyone; the countless years that he had spent on earth had started to catch up with him, and his mind had begun to drift away. Nowadays he just seemed to blend in with the furniture; Naala would sometimes forget he was there.
A light laughter had bounced around the table. Naala had not joined in.
‘We need to watch you around the tax collectors, old man,’ her uncle chuckled, whilst shaking his head, ‘you’ll get us in trouble! We’re talking about the Eze—the champion—not a common man.’
‘Yes,’ the guest agreed. ‘I’m sorry to have even brought up all this gossip around the table. We travellers tend to get carried away; someone will whisper something to this person, and that person will whisper something slightly different to the other, until suddenly we’re blaspheming against the man who saved us all! While it’s clear that the Eze’s actions may be difficult to explain from time to time, without him where would we all be? Not here sharing this wonderful meal, that’s for sure. The Mother would have surely annihilated us all by now … sorry, Ozo,’ he’d said, bowing his head respectfully towards Naala’s elderly grandfather, who had already lost interest in the conversation. ‘But I think it is wrong to call him a demon. The man is simply … something else.’
‘Is it really wrong though?’ Naala had blurted. ‘You said it yourself; there is no sensible reason why he would murder an entire village. There was no sensible reason why he would round up siblings that look too similar and chop off their heads for all to see. Every year the taxes increase, the people get hungrier, and the palace gets richer; surely where we are now is bad enough without envisioning some alternative realm where the Mother won the god’s war. I just … we keep hearing all these awful, inexplicable things about the same man; is it really wrong to question if he is indeed the saviour that we have held him up to be?’ The words had tumbled one by one out of Naala’s mouth before she could stop herself. Her heart quickened with angst; she had not meant to say that. She had not meant to say anything at all. However, the story of an entire village slaughtered at the whim of the Eze’s mood had left her perturbed.
She’d dropped her shoulders in shame and shifted her dark-brown eyes down. The visitor had cleared his throat awkwardly; he was not used to women, especially ones as young as Naala, speaking so boldly in the presence of men. The talk around the table had quietened and they’d all gone back to eating their food.
Now, as she hurried to the village with Gini, the conversation at the dinner table melted away from her mind. She was walking so fast that her breath was ragged. Another image flashed through her mind: the dozens of soldiers that she had seen approaching her home, armed with long sharp knives and pointy spears that gleamed brightly in the daylight, thirsty for blood. Naala broke into a run through the fertile forest, her deep brown legs pounding hard against the shades of vibrant greens.
THE CHIEF’S FATAL MISTAKE
Igbakwu
NAALA FELT a hot pulse ripple through her body; sweat trickled from the nape of her neck and down her spine. She had run as fast as her feet could carry her, and she was paying dearly for it. She struggled to keep her heaving breaths under control. Naala took another gulp of air just as Gini finally caught up to her.
‘What is the meaning of all of this?’ Aunty Yagazie, Chinedu’s mother, asked with one hand on her hip and the other gesturing at Naala. She was already a large woman, but her extravagant wedding attire made her seem even more intimidating. Naala was standing in front of every man, woman, and child in her village, a total of 157 people from twenty-three families. They had gathered for her wedding, wearing their best clothes, bursting with various shades of colour. They were all looking at her as if she had lost her mind. Naala took another short breath.
‘Army coming … we all need to leave now … please,’ she tried again; her voice was stronger but still faltered with breathless heaves.
‘Hay! She’s mad, you see,’ Aunty Yagazie exclaimed, as she turned to her son. ‘Didn’t I say this from the beginning? This is who you chose to bear your first child.’
Chinedu looked back at Naala in bewilderment. He had never experienced this level of humiliation in his entire life. He had no one to blame but himself; he had been warned after all. It was no secret that Naala was peculiar. She was far too outspoken for her age and sex, constantly questioning and pushing for answers for which she had no use. She would often neglect her chores to wander off deep into the lustrous forest for hours, emerging with strange and beautiful flowers or grains that she would use to appease her grandmother’s fury. He had been warned several times that she was not the wife for him, but he had chosen her anyway. How could he not? Her energy was infectious, her smile bright, and her face exquisite. He had spent countless hours either watching or fantasising about her beautiful deep brown skin shimmering in the heat.
He had never been deterred by her oddities; after all, he was a man. Chinedu prided himself on his strength of mind and body; he strove to command and protect. He knew exactly who he was, and he was resolute in the fact that he could get exactly what he wanted out of life; and for now, that was Naala. The prospect of moulding a woman like Naala into exactly what he needed her to be did not make him nervous; if anything it made her more appealing. To him, Naala was a challenge. However, in that moment, with the whole village eying him as Naala stood heaving and dripping in sweat, her clothes torn and hair rough, his mother’s word weighed heavily on him.
‘We have to go now,’ Naala tried again, looking around at the friends and family that she had grown up with, their eyes soft with concern and confusion. A quiet murmur buzzed through the group, but it quickly settled down when Chief Eyiuche raised his hands in the air.
‘Girl, what did you see?’
‘Men—an army of men approaching the village. They were armed. Please, Chief … we need to go now, a visitor recently tol—’
‘The tax platoon is scheduled to arrive soon; that is what the girl has seen,’ the chief concluded, before Naala could finish, his deep bass voice rippling through the crowd.
Naala had always known the chief to be a kind man; his eyes were small and slanted and gave him a smiling expression. Naala watched as his small round face crunched into a tight smile, and her heart filled momentarily with scorching hatred. Fear and fatigue spiralled through her body, creating an overwhelming and intoxicating rage.
A tax platoon?! Naala had spent her entire life confined within Igbakwu. She had spent years watching the tax platoons come and go. Why would she mistake them now? The blood-red sun hung high in the sky, large and ominous. A bead of sweat trickled into Naala’s eye; she brushed it off hastily and then turned to Gini. She needed help, she needed someone to take over, but Gini remained silent.
‘No, it was not a tax platoon,’ she said in a small voice. The mood instantly changed; Gini inched towards her, slipping her small hand into hers and giving it a tig
ht squeeze.
A burst of whispers erupted from the crowd; speaking out at family dinners was one thing, but this—defying the chief—well, that was something else entirely.
‘What did you say?’ Chinedu’s mother gasped, her eyes darting between the chief and the girl. Aunty Yagazie feasted on gossip, stories of other people’s weaknesses or, even better, their downfalls, which filled her with great excitement. Naala shuddered as the woman’s eyes widened gleefully. Her expression was triumphant; she was certain that Naala would not be able to weasel out of such an indiscretion.
‘She doesn’t mean—,’ Gini blurted.
‘It was not a tax platoon,’ Naala repeated. ‘It was the army and we need to leave now.’ Her breathing had begun to stabilise and every word she used was deliberate.
The crowd quietened in silent disapproval. They all liked Naala; she was an exciting and curious girl. She was pensive and moved with a quiet but fierce love for life. They liked her so much that they brushed aside the occasions when she spoke out of turn or questioned the sacred customs that they felt bound to uphold. However, this was far beyond their comprehension. No one, least of all an unmarried girl, could defy the chief. Naala’s back was straight and her gaze unfaltering; she had no shame. The birds flew higher into the sky, their wings beating hard and fast, fleeing the scene as if they too could taste the souring mood.
‘I said we need to go now! Why are you all just staring at me?’ Naala exclaimed, growing more and more frantic as a cold stillness swept through the crowd. ‘We heard just the other day of a village burnt to the ground by the Eze and now an army is on its way—an army with weapons—and … please! We need to go!’ A wave of hot anger rippled through her, followed by a loud crack, as a branch from one of the trees crashed to the ground. The noise jolted the crowd and whispers began to erupt once again.
The chief felt something similar to fear simmering beneath his skin; had he just seen golden speckles dazzle across the girl’s eyes? He blinked furiously, but saw only her dark irises staring boldly. He shook his head, perturbed.
‘You better watch yourself, girl,’ he said in a low voice that vibrated through the crowd. ‘You are clearly angering the gods.’
‘The gods?’ Naala murmured. ‘The gods are gone! They’ve left us! But the army is coming now and they are coming for blood.’
The chief’s mouth gaped. He quickly gathered himself, and sighed.
‘The girl is not well,’ he muttered, to no one in particular.
Naala’s heart beat so loudly that she could hear it in her ears. I am well. The crowd hushed to silence and a strange melancholic mood spread like wildfire.
‘Take her to mgbapu,’ the chief said sternly.
‘Mgbapu? No, please, you don’t understan—’ Naala started, as she flung an arm towards him, pleadingly.
‘Take her to the mgbapu!’ he repeated, as he stepped away from her grasp.
Naala shook her head; small tears started to prick her eyes.
Gini gasped and clutched her tighter.
Chinedu’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixated on the ground.
THE MGBAPU, the mad hut, was a small dwelling a little away from the village. It was a place where people were sent when remnant spirits of the magical world plagued their minds. Unlike her grandfather, these people could not be cajoled or controlled. They could not be saved. Naala had only ever known one person in her lifetime who had been sent to the mgbapu: Hanye.
Naala had been a child when he was sent away. She still remembered the piercing screams that filled the village for weeks until, one morning, it was silent. That morning, rather than the usual screams, Naala had only woken to the birds singing alongside the low hum of the cicadas. She had quickly gone to find her grandmother to tell her the news, dragging the old woman away from the yams that she had been peeling. Her grandmother had calmed her before letting her know that he had been sent to the mgbapu.
She had never heard of such a place; in fact, it had only begun to dawn on her that there were other places outside of Igbakwu.
‘Éh, he said that he wanted to stay there,’ her grandmother had said. ‘Being around people was starting to trouble him.’
‘He’s lost his damn mind,’ her uncle had grumbled in the corner.
‘Where did his mind go?’
‘Somewhere strange … and secret, where no one can go … to the beyond.’
Naala had scrunched her face; she was even more confused.
‘What about his family? Will they go to the beyond too? ’
‘No, the beyond is the … beyond, no one can go there, and he is going to the mgbapu.’
‘With his family?’
‘No. They will visit him sometimes, until it is time for him to rest forever,’ her grandmother had said softly. Naala had not liked this conversation at all; something about it made her sad.
‘What’s the matter, little one?’
‘The mgbapu is a bad place.’
Her grandma had chuckled softly.
‘Yes, it is, but, like most things, it is also a good place,’ she’d replied. ‘Mgbapu is a sanctuary for those with troubled minds. Rather than being disturbed by the triggers of everyday life and work, they can live in peace.’
‘But he’s all alone,’ Naala had said quietly. Her grandmother had turned to look at her briefly before carrying on with her duties around the house as though she had not heard her say a word.
However, Naala was relentless. She’d continued to pester her grandmother about Hanye for months after his departure. Until finally, her grandmother, who was particularly exhausted after a long day, admitted that the mad man had died in the mgbapu. Naala had never brought him up again.
NOW, Naala scanned the crowd until she saw her grandmother’s fear-stricken face as four men slowly approached her. Gini’s husband, Tito, gestured hastily to her, until her grip on Naala’s arm slowly loosened and she staggered towards him with fat tears streaming down her face.
‘I’m not crazy! The army is coming … think of the children!’ Naala pleaded. She was surrounded by men with sad faces; none of them wanted to be part of this, but it was their duty. In the gaps between their bodies, Naala could see her grandmother struggling in her uncle’s arms.
‘Esinaala, do not make this harder than it needs to be,’ her uncle’s voice boomed from within the crowd. ‘Go with them.’
‘This is a mistake,’ Naala shouted, as she was ushered away, her arms held steadily by two of the men who had volunteered to take her to the mad hut. ‘They’re coming!’
A WALK TO THE SOLDIERS’ QUARTERS
CITY OF NRI
SINAI WAS WANDERING around the wide, stony halls of the palace. Dull aches suffused her body, and her steps were slow and rigid, but she was pleased. She was finally walking again, after weeks spent nest-ridden with nothing but the sun’s slow curve around the earth, and Meekulu’s soft chatter, to keep her entertained. It was midday and the sun shone softly through the rows of windows to her left. The sweet, harmonised songs of the nnunu women wafted through the air, as they did every morning in the city of Nri.
There was a time, centuries ago, when the nnunu women were glorious. They were once brilliant bird women who flew for Ekwensu, the god of bargaining and trade. He would use them to send messages around the world and negotiate deals with gods and humans alike. After his departure, the nnunu women lost everything. They lost their ability to talk and to fly; now all they could do was sing beautiful wordless melodies, in the hopes that a stranger would fill their impoverished hands with golden shells. Sinai absentmindedly drew closer to the window to see more of the singing nnunu.
Suddenly, flashbacks of bloodied hands, gripping fear, and Ina’s sneer sprang into her mind. She immediately increased her distance from the open windows, drawing closer to the illuminated cream mudstone walls engraved with golden images depicting the various famous Obis through the ages.
Sinai paused and took a deep breath before carrying on her path to thank
Sergeant Olu, the soldier who had saved her life. She avoided any main hallways, opting to use the many hidden and lesser-known corridors to navigate. These obscure halls were lined with minimalist ọkụ lights, fire flames in the shapes of triangles and simple stars that hovered weightlessly above her head. They paled in comparison to the detailed, extravagant ọkụ shapes found in the well-traversed halls. These modest shapes were no doubt the doings of a trainee flame tamer, who probably dreamt of the days when his work would be featured in grand festivals and hung in the Obis’ quarters. For now, his ọkụ flames hung where only few would see them, and even fewer would notice, but Sinai did, and appreciated them.
It would take her twice as long to reach the soldiers’ quarters, but she would also significantly reduce her chances of coming across a single person. The prospect of avoiding watchful, pity-filled eyes—or worse: dreary small talk that would inevitably lead back to discussions on her fall—was more than enough to compensate for the additional travelling time.
Besides, Sinai needed to think and strategise. She could no longer ignore Ina’s abuse, not when her passiveness could very well lead to her death.
For weeks, a combination of anger and fear had sniffed out her thoughts and pounced on her whenever she was most receptive. However, these emotions—rather than being debilitating, which was usually the case for Sinai—coursed around her body and pushed her to action. Sinai wanted to make it clear to Ina, or anyone else who threatened her life, that the repercussion for such an act would be harrowing pain that even the lost gods would fear. Sinai wanted Ina to feel the same fear that she had felt hanging out of that window. Sinai was desperate to make Ina pay; she just didn’t know how.
Sinai had thought about cornering Ina and beating her senseless. Her mouth twitched to a stretched smile whenever she thought of Ina begging for mercy as she herself had done just weeks ago. However, that smile would crumble once she realised that she could not guarantee a win. Ina was much taller than her, and guarded by Lebechi and Ebun at all times. In fact, it would most likely be Sinai who ended up broken and bruised in such a scenario.
