Daughters of Nri

by Reni K Amayo

  ‘I’ve already told you—’

  ‘You’ve given me tiny bites; I want to know everything.’

  ‘There’s too much to say to fit into one short night. I know for a fact that you are just as tired as I am. We should discuss this further, at breakfast.’

  ‘Breakfast? Why not now?’ Naala argued. ‘Listen, I am no Azu; I will not allow you to keep me ignorant under the pretence of protection.’

  ‘No, you are not Azu,’ he murmured softly, his eyes trailing over her face. Naala frowned and he broke into an unabashed smile. ‘Azu, for one, is asleep. Please, Naala, I’m telling you that we will discuss this tomorrow.’

  Her eyes watering as she tried to suppress yet another yawn. Perhaps one more day wouldn’t kill her.

  ‘Okay,’ she muttered in irritation.

  ‘Great.’ He beamed. ‘You shouldn’t be so disheartened; there’s a rumour that we’re having smoked plantain tomorrow. That’s two things that you can look forward to.’ His dark prying eyes sparkled with delight.

  Naala paused and let the idea of plantain ripple through her mind. She hadn’t had plantain for weeks, since even before she left home; the patch near her village had been spoiled by pests. She had been waiting patiently for the new crop to ripen.

  ‘I said fine. We can discuss at breakfast,’ she said swiftly, before marching back to her hammock, leaving Eni smiling.

  THE TIMBUKAN SCHOLAR

  CITY OF NRI

  SINAI WAS FINDING it incredibly painful to move her head. She had smoothed her hair over with a mixture of flaxseed gel and almond oil and then clamped it down with a strong hair band, leaving her hair sleek at the head before it sprouted out into a large, thick, dark cloud. She wore a blue and gold headtie that matched her new garment. It fit tighter than she would have liked, but her aim was to distract people with the shape of her body, so they would pay little attention to what she was doing with her hands. Sinai clutched her bag. She couldn’t afford to leave it unattended, but she was terrified of it all the same. The small wild plant hidden within her bag was meant for only one person: Chief Ojo.

  Sinai looked around the elegant hall, but could not see him. Her heart skipped a beat as she noted that behind the large bronzed pillars the sky was darkening. A beautiful array of subdued reds, deep indigos and pinks smeared the horizon.

  It’s getting late, he should have been here by now, Sinai thought frantically. Unless, she pondered, as she placed her hand on her chest, unless he has followed the Eze to the Ofala festival.

  The Ofala festival took place every year, to commemorate the Eze’s victory over the Earth Mother. Each year the Obis and their chosen elite guests accompanied the Eze to Udi where years ago he had taken the Ndụ crystal. The lower nobles left behind in the palace celebrated the festival all the same. A party was thrown on every Nkwo, the second day of the week, until the Eze returned home to his throne.

  Obi Ife had asked Sinai to come as his guest to Ofala; it was the first time that she had been invited, but she had respectfully declined. She had been certain that Chief Ojo would remain in the concrete palace. He was not of high enough rank to warrant an invite himself, and his disturbing reputation preceded him, leaving little chance of someone else extending their invite to him.

  With the Eze gone, Sinai had the perfect opportunity to right the wrong done to Ina. Sinai hated what Chief Ojo had done to Ina with a passion that burned as hot as fire. Somewhere underneath that rage, Sinai felt guilt. Wasn’t it she who had wished for Ina’s downfall? How many times had Sinai been told to be careful about her spoken words. She had been taught that words were the fabric of reality, shaping the world one spell at a time. Perhaps Ina’s ill fate had been conjured by Sinai’s own venomous words? The guilt ate away at her, and made it easier for her to take up her new role; she was ready to play executioner. In her bag lay her weapon or curse, a ticking bomb waiting for its prey.

  ‘ISN’T IT BEAUTIFUL?’ Meekulu had said to her days before, her thick glasses peering down at the small grey stone that she had just placed in Sinai’s hand. It was smooth and oval, coloured different shades of grey.

  ‘I suppose so. A little, ordinary-looking, but yes, I can see the beauty in this … I think. So is that the ụtọ plant? I thought it was a flower.’ Sinai handed the stone back over to the old woman in an attempt to move Meekulu’s small head out of her palm and back into her own space.

  ‘If it were the ụtọ plant, we would both be dead by now, mauled by the Eze’s beast—no, no, this is the zoro stone, and its beauty does not reside in its appearance, child; it lies in its very existence. It’s a beautiful thing because it does such a unique and beautiful thing,’ Meekulu said, as she lifted it to the sky, inspecting it with one eye closed.

  ‘What does it do?’

  ‘Under the right circumstances, this stone can change its state and, poof, it’s gone, just like that,’ Meekulu said, as she snapped her free hand.

  ‘Change its state? ‘Like ice and water?’ Sinai asked, recalling the books that she had borrowed from the library.

  ‘Yes, but much more brilliantly. You see, water changes very slowly. Over time the ice will melt, and then the water will turn to steam. Zoro goes from an impenetrable solid to a gas in seconds,’ Meekulu said excitedly, as Sinai peered harder at the grey stone.

  ‘So it is like water, but faster?’ Sinai asked with her forehead creased in thought.

  ‘Well, water is dependent on its environment to change; zoro’s changes occur solely with time.’

  ‘But isn’t time … relative?’

  ‘Yes, exactly! And yet time is the only thing—which we can measure, anyway—that dictates its changes. Many people have experimented, keeping all elements constant—temperature, pressure, light—and yet time is the only variable that influences it. Here lies the beauty of the zoro stone! It’s one of the rare items that defy the laws of the earth, without being godly.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ Sinai asked, fully engrossed in Meekulu’s words, reaching out to touch the stone.

  ‘I do not know. No one knows.’

  ‘Surely someone must know, perhaps one of the students from Timbuktu?’ Sinai suggested. She couldn’t imagine that the Timbukan students, who read and theorised every day, measuring the stars and studying the tides, investigating all the various species of plants and variations of stone, wouldn’t know. Surely they would have investigated something so peculiar. They were especially drawn by this type of enigma, where the world of the gods and the rules of the world met to create something plausible and possible.

  Meekulu laughed softly. ‘No, not even we know the details of such a stone.’

  Sinai’s head jerked away from the zoro stone, and towards the old woman holding it.

  We?

  ‘Meekulu, you were a student?’

  ‘I am a student,’ Meekulu replied with a smile, as she placed the stone back in Sinai’s hand. ‘One never stops being a Timbukan scholar.’

  ‘But you are a woman, and you cook?’ Sinai blurted out, no longer interested in the stone resting on her palm.

  Meekulu shrugged. ‘Women can be students, and students can cook.’

  ‘I’ve never come across a female Timbukan student. I didn’t even know it was … allowed,’ Sinai said, as Meekulu’s face darkened.

  ‘And what a shame that is,’ she said softly. ‘But alas this is the way now—but hear this, child: there was a time, when I was young like you, and there were just as many female students as males, no difference whatsoever. All types of people travelled far and wide seeking out wisdom at the University of Timbuktu—but then the world changed, and so I changed.’

  Sinai looked at Meekulu in shock, her mouth watering with excitement.

  ‘Surely you don’t mean … things were different? The world changed?’ she asked, gripping Meekulu’s hand with the stone still nestled in her palm.

  ‘I’ve said too much, child. The stone—’ Meekulu started, as she shook her head slightl
y.

  ‘Oh no, please, go on. It’s just that I’ve been having … well, I had this dream, and the world was so—the colours were so rich and the air was … different. It felt like … home, but how could it be? I’ve never known such a place,’ Sinai rambled, as she moved closer to Meekulu, searching her face for answers.

  Meekulu’s eyes sparkled with delight.

  ‘One thing at a time, my dear. You want the ụtọ plant, yes? Well, I have some,’ Meekulu noted, as she pulled her glass frames off from her face and wiped them on her apron. ‘I have it locked away with the various treasures that I have collected over the years. I can get it but, before I do, I will need to mould the zoro stone. Let’s see, it’s three days until the next Nkwo party … hmm, yes, I will head out there tomorrow then. Chisi can keep the kitchen running. Mmhmm, yes, that’s what I will do.’

  ‘Yes … that’s a wonderful plan. I just … if we could quickly—very quickly, discuss the world? The world changing? Or perhaps my dream?’

  ‘There’s no time for that, dear. Didn’t you hear what I said? We already have so much to do!’

  AN IDEA FORMS AT BREAKFAST

  Furuefu Forest

  NAALA’S EYES were glued on the five, thick, boiled plantains skewed over the open ọkụ flame. She sat on the plush green ground in the middle of a small clearing. It was bordered by dense bushes flushed with bright jade leaves, and a cluster of large baobab trees that opened up to a small, shimmering, turquoise lake. The clearing was far more open than any Naala had been used to in recent weeks, but the spirit of the large baobab trees, with their soaring trunks and flat flush of bright green leaves, had calmed the group’s nerves.

  Azu had said that he could hear the whistle of his ancestors’ songs to the lost gods ringing deep within the sturdy trees; he was certain that the Eze’s army would not find them there. His comments shocked Naala; it was by far the most profound thing he had ever said in her presence.

  The air tasted sweet and smoky as the plantain simmered over the open flames. Naala could not wait to sink her teeth into the soft yellow fruit.

  ‘So … can we be friends again?’ Kora said, as she plopped by Madi with a wide smile, placing a small collection of flowers at his feet.

  ‘Kora, stop,’ Madi replied. His face was deliberately hard and stern, but his eyes were as warm as the softening plantain. ‘This is not something one solves with flowers.’

  ‘They are beautiful flowers, though,’ Eni murmured, as he lay on the grassy ground with his body propped up by his elbow. His eyes flicked to Naala as he spoke, and she suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable.

  ‘Yes or no, Madi?’ Kora replied, pushing the flowers closer to him.

  ‘Stop.’ Madi sighed.

  ‘Okay, fine … you can have my portion of the plantain?’ Kora suggested.

  ‘You don’t like plantain,’ Madi replied, as he rolled his eyes, but a small smile formed on his lips.

  Naala watched them silently, her forehead creasing slightly in confusion. How can they joke like this? Just hours ago, Naala had been convinced that they hated each other. The tension had been so thick she could have sunk her teeth into it. It was the type of tension that emitted from a deep hatred. Hatred towards the girl who repeatedly advocated for your brother to be sacrificed, or at a boy who could jeopardise your only chance to deliver justice for your slaughtered family and friends. Yet here they both were, the day after, smiling like lifetime friends. Was it all a charade? A show they were putting on solely for Naala’s benefit?

  Naala had sat wordlessly by the group that morning, and she had been warmly greeted and embraced. She had waited awkwardly for them to chastise her for eavesdropping, swear her to secrecy, or at the very least speak to her about the events from the night prior. The four of them were at an ideal distance away from the rest of the survivors, where they could comfortably discuss sensitive matters. However, no one had spoken a word on the subject.

  Instead, they’d joked about flowers and the weather, stopping every now and again to watch Azu speak enthusiastically. Azu sat yards away with Isioma, an impressionable woman from Nsuka, Gossy, a kind man from Agbo, and Ndidi, a quiet lady from Nnewi. They gathered around Azu, like children by the warm ọkụ flame on a cold dry night, watching his movements and nodding every so often to his booming words. Binyelum, a woman from Ugwutu, who had been found just weeks prior to Naala, was seated away from both groups, her eyes dark with fatigue and her face gaunt. Many people had tried to speak to her that morning, in an attempt to pull her out of the memories that haunted her, but she had refused assistance; today she needed to be on her own.

  Naala turned back to the group with whom she was seated. Her gaze drew towards Eni, who had let his elbow drop and was now lying on the grass. He rested his head on his hands sanguinely; a position that emphasised his solid defined arms and exposed a small section of his hard midriff.

  Eni had given Naala no indication as to whether he had told the group about her eavesdropping. She had fluctuated between believing that Kora and Madi knew that she had overheard their conversation last night, and being convinced that they had absolutely no clue.

  ‘Why is he no longer your friend?’ Naala asked, as she shifted her attention back towards Kora. Naala wanted to seem warm and approachable too, so she attempted a wide smile, but judging by Kora’s brief look of confusion, it was anything but pleasant.

  ‘Oh, just the usual lovers’ quarrel,’ Kora replied, as she flung her hands dismissively in the air, before moving closer to Madi.

  ‘We’re not lovers,’ Madi insisted, as he swatted off Kora’s attempt to pull his face into hers. Eni chuckled from the ground, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes.

  ‘So it’s not about Madi’s brother?’ Naala asked pointedly. She had grown bored and mildly irritated with the hidden messages and games. Naala wanted to have a real conversation. She wanted real answers. Surely she was not the only one bored senseless with this back and forth?

  The atmosphere in the group changed instantly. Eni sat up whilst taking a deep breath, Madi’s face darkened, and Kora sat back with her arms crossed over her chest.

  ‘The plantain is ready!’ Azu suddenly called out. ‘Gossy, you can cut them into eight equal pieces and, Isioma, fetch the bean cake and eggs. Now it is time to feast!’ A burst of movement erupted from the field as the people rose from the ground.

  ‘Let’s discuss this later, shall we?’ Eni murmured, as he got up and brushed by Naala, but not before placing one hand gently on her waist to move her aside. Naala’s heart fluttered as he mouthed ‘Patience,’ in her ear.

  Eni walked towards Isioma, who had begun handing out the bean cakes and boiled eggs. Kora and Madi follow him.

  Was it not he who suggested that we discuss this matter at breakfast? she thought, puzzled, before shrugging and turning towards the small crowd forming around the smoked plantains.

  ‘There you go, Naala,’ Gossy said, as he handed her a generous portion wrapped in a large, dark-green leaf.

  ‘All this for me? Thank you so much,’ Naala said earnestly.

  ‘Well, we do not typically see you here for breakfast, so today you are a special guest, of sorts. I think it’s good, very good, that you are mixing in with the group,’ he commented aside. ‘The more you do, the easier it is to deal with the pain. Loss is never simple.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Gossy,’ Naala replied with a weaker smile. She felt a slight twinge in her heart, and quickly moved away from him before he could add anything else.

  Naala liked Gossy. He seemed like a sweet gentle man; but his comments were precisely why she preferred being on her own. She didn’t want to be reminded of her pain, yet everyone here seemed determined to bring it up. Naala had no desire to relive the horrors of her past; she wanted to discuss a solution. After collecting her portion of bean cake and eggs, Naala sat down with the group. The atmosphere was no longer warm; a cool breeze circled the group as memories of the harsh discussion last night bubbled t
o the surface of their minds. Kora, Eni, and Madi sat at a slight distance from each other, all three completely focused on their food.

  ‘I believe Madi is right,’ Naala said after some minutes of strained silence. She had waited for all the survivors to settle down into their previous positions, and when Azu had begun yet another sermon, Naala decided that now would be an ideal time to talk.

  ‘Now is not the time,’ Eni interrupted.

  ‘Let her finish,’ Kora murmured, as she meshed the bean cake into a ball the size of a mouthful.

  ‘His brother will most likely fail, but, Kora, I think you are also right. We can’t afford to throw away this opportunity.’

  ‘If you really want my portion of plantain,’ Kora exclaimed, as she nudged Madi. ‘You need to tell me why you think I am brilliant. I want a debate!’

  Naala looked at her in complete shock. Is this girl mad? she thought.

  ‘Just a distraction for the group—please carry on,’ Madi mentioned, after watching Naala’s eyes widen.

  ‘Mmm, yes, well, as I was saying, I think both of you are right,’ Naala continued. ‘So we need a new plan that prevents Madi’s brother from failing, but does not waste this opportunity. Madi’s brother needs help to carry off his mission.’

  ‘Help? How?’ Kora asked.

  ‘Help with some sort of a distraction, like what Kora just did, so that when he takes the key, he is not taking it from an alert platoon. Or help while he’s escaping. Or simply help with his nerve; he just needs help.’

  ‘Yes, he does. We know this. But who can do that? Who can help?’

  ‘Well, you have four able-bodied and willing reinforcements here,’ Naala said, as she swirled her finger around to point at the group.

  A wave of disappointment washed over their faces.

  ‘We cannot help,’ Eni said sadly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For one, we do not know where he is.’