Short Story: Nnamdi

 By Chioma Benedicta Okwuelum

Our people say "a child does not belong only to his parents but to the community at large because it takes a whole community to raise a child". This is why the door is always open when a child is born. My door had been opened for three days with people coming in to celebrate with me on the birth of my one and only child. The smiles of a child lighten up the house. Indeed it has been celebration galore. Until, until Nne's visit. Had I known, I wouldn't have allowed her touch my baby. But was it really her touch? How did she do it? It must have been her eyes that cast the spell. Hmm... Ajo nwanyi, evil woman!

Who would have thought that the talebearer also tells the truth? Nne was all they said she was. Wolf  in sheep clothing.

Nne had been so fond of me since my arrival into the family. Being a new bride to Nne's last son, everyone felt it was normal. New brides were always pampered. Nne would always brag of my comeliness to her friends. Have you seen my son's new wife? Oh! how their union would birth lovely grandchildren for me. I was glowing each day from all the attention and praises showered on me by Nne.

The four senior wives, who were married into the family at different periods, were filled with jealousy. Who wouldn't be? My husband and his four brothers were facetious about the women's jealousy. They rather went about their manly duties, referring to the women's attitude as "women insecurities".

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months but Nne still dotingly supported me to everyone's amazement. This wasn't about being a new bride, it was true love. An undying love. The one only a mother could give to her daughter. Nne was indeed my mother. Basking daily in Nne's love, I paid no attention to my co-wives as  they continually vilified her.

The calmness of the sea is only but for a moment, as the storm was sure to arise. As months rolled into years, I began to panic. I needed to feel the joy of motherhood. I needed to give my husband an  heir. I needed to repay Nne for all her love and care.  How I abhorred the days of my monthly flow and those days I returned from the stream dejected. The stream which refused to show me two full breasts on my chest, which refused to reflect the pulchritude of an expectant mother. I was becoming a shadow of myself. Three years into marriage was enough to rock the cradle of two children. But they were not fourth coming.

Mouths began to talk. My ears began to eavesdrop. There might just be some truth in their tales. The revilings began to make sense to my gullible and hapless heart. Could it be true that Nne was a witch and had traded my womb for an August seat in the coven? Well this was one of the slanderous things people said about her. I became suspicious and refrained myself from Nne. I needed space to think. I couldn't seek solace in  my co-wives who vault of their children to my face. Their hackneyed mockery line being"The beauty of  Nwanyi aga is vain". It was a malicious phrase directed at me.

My husband and  Nne, when I Indulged her became my source of comfort. My husband and I were always on one journey or the other. From one herbalist to another but to no avail.which herb did I not bath with? Which cross road in our community did I not place sacrifices? Which river or stream around did I not wash in? All in a bid to birth a child.

Finally, the child arrived, but looking at the child, I could only think of the wise saying "The toad likes water but certainly not when it is boiling". I had always wanted a child but not a moribund child.

Nne had been sick. She couldn't even attend to me on the day of my delivery neither did she visit, to see the baby. It was on the third day she visited. She walked in looking pale and emaciated. I knew she was happy but she wore a glazzy look. Stealing glances at her,my conscience wouldn't let me be. I had totally refrained myself from anything concerning her. It was evil of me. I couldn't even visit her on her sick bed but she never took it to heart. She would tell the other wives not to bother a pregnant woman. Of course, they would hiss maliciously and ask if I was the first woman to get pregnant. I knew all of these but I feared for my unborn child. At his birth, I couldn't keep him away any longer. It was her right to welcome her grandson to earth. And I also had my reservations on the tales of the talebearers.

She looked at my baby searchingly and nodded satisfactorily. I wondered why. Oh how my baby gave her his broadest smile. It was as if they were both communicating. It was a mysterious scene. All eyes in the room gazed at Nne. As if, she was enjoying the enigmatic scene she was enacting, she brought out an amulet and wore it on my son's neck. He loved it. In appreciation to Nne's ex gratia amulet, he kicked and smiled. We were all lost. Satisfied, Nne walked to her hut, obviously invigorated by what ever had transpired between her and my son.

Her exit soured my happiness. Yes. Immediately she left, my baby began to cry. I had felt it was the normal baby cry but when it persisted I knew there was more to it than meets the eyes. In a bid to stop him from crying further, we transferred him from hand to hand to no avail. 

At night, I couldn't sleep. The cry did not cease and this made him feverish. What had Nne done to my son? I thought. I suggested to my aunt who had come for "omugwo" in my late mother's stead to pull off the amulet. She consented and we pulled it off. This rather aggravated the situation and we had to wear it back. My husband had gone to call Okpor the medicine man, when I complained,but he promised to come the next day. We prayed and hoped my baby would see the light of the day. I was particularly concerned about Nne's erstwhile mysterious action but my husband in his mother's defense, saw it as a harmless show of love. I wanted to remind him that "the insect that eats the kolanut is in the kolanut", but that would be disastrous. So I kept my thoughts to myself.

Finally, we welcomed a new day. My baby was alive but sickly. He had lost strength from prolonged crying. He couldn't cry anymore. He just sobbed. My aunt had entered the kitchen for the morning chores, leaving me to attend to my baby. I was overwhelmed with sorrow but my husband assured me all would be well once Okpor arrived. "I would be going to fetch him now" he said to me. As he made to take his first step, we heard Okpor's chant. "Oh Olisa nbana, thank God". I muttered. A part of me felt relieved. Just a little part.

My husband quickly went to the door, greeted him and ushered him to the sitting room. On hearing his chant, I quickly put on my blouse, tied my wrapper properly and carried my baby to the sitting room where I laid him on a mat. My heart began to pound like the mortar used in pounding the food for the annual New Yam Festival. I was tensed. My husband knew this, so he sat beside me and drew me to his bosom. My aunt must have heard the chant. She  joined us in the sitting room. My husband's brothers walked in too. They were aware of my baby's health and why Okpor was summoned. They must have ordered their wives and children to stay back, hence their absence. Everyone took a seat except Okpor. I thought he would share the mat with my baby but he didn't. He just stood, looking at my baby and muttering some incantations. He looked like one in search of something, perhaps same thing Nne searched for. He removed the wrapper I used in wrapping my baby, revealing his shirt and napkin. Aha!!! He exclaimed and smiled. I felt like smiling too. There was obviously a good tiding. 

Who wore him this talisman? He asked. My heart sunk. Could it be the cause of the problem? I thought. Ewo! Nne has killed me.

It's a gift from Nne. My husband replied.

Again, Okpor smiled. "What an elder sees while sitting, even when a child climbs the tallest palm tree, he would still not see it". "Grey hair is not a decoration on man but the symbol of the wisdom of the gods bestowed on man"

Couldn't he just drop the proverbs and tell us what is wrong? I wondered. Patience! I heard within me. Patience! I wiped my face with the edge of my wrapper and fixed my gaze on Okpor. Dipping his hands into his goatskin bag, he peered. After some seconds, he brought out his hand which was accompanied by a snail's shell. He dipped  his forefinger into the shell and it emerged with it's content which he rubbed together on his palms. He then massaged my baby's visible parts with it.

Forgive the foolishness of the young ones, pardon their ignorance. Remember the saying of our people that "A child is like an axe; when it cuts you, you still pick it up and put it on your shoulder". Please forgive them. They are children who have not really known the ways of our ancestors. Forgive them. "Gbahari wa biko". All these he said as he rubbed.

The whole thing was beginning to make sense to all of us. But how do we validate our thoughts? Patience! Again, I heard. Patience! Done with rubbing, he searched his bag again and brought out a flute. We were not surprised. It was known all over the community and the neighboring communities that Okpor was a great flutist who only played for men of valour. Would he be playing for my child? I wondered. Then he began to play a very familiar song. We were all taken aback. It was Nna's war song. It was the song used in charging him for war. All the eyes in the room gave each other a quizzical look but there were no answers. Aware of our bewilderment, Okpor dropped his flute and started an action which demystified the whole situation. The baby had stopped sobbing. His anger had begun to smolder. He was captivated by Okpor's acrobatic display as he played his flute. Okpor didn't give him even a second for distractions. Immediately he dropped the flute, he began an eye opening eulogy.

Nnua, welcome great one. Welcome the palm tree that refuses to bear it's fruits in rainy season to spite the rain. Nnua, the greatest warrior of his time. The warrior with numerous feathers to his cap. Nnua, the ochi aha of Obodo oma kingdom. Nnua Ogbuenyi Nduka Osakwuni. The great man with a big heart.

At the mention of the name" Ogbuenyi Nduka Osakwuni", hearts sunk. Shame  was written all over our faces, we all had failed Nna. How could he be with us for days without been recognized? My husband's eldest brother, in humility, walked to Nna. He knelt before him as a prodigal son. He examined him like the others did and rested his gaze on his left wrist. He cupped his mouth with his palms, stood up, looked at the rest of us. NNAMDI! NNAMDI! He said. We all ran to Nna, that is, my baby. He pointed to his left wrist. Oh! There it was, Nna's birth mark on my son's wrist.

Nna had died few months before I took in. Who could have thought that Nna would honour me in this magnitude? Oh! It was worth the wait. I was elated and so was my husband. We all, his children pleaded for mercy. As if satisfied with our repentance, Nna smiled. Oh! How relieved I was.

Okpor asked for space to continue his ritual and we all returned to our seats. He played his flute again and resumed his eulogy. Ogbuenyi Nduka Osakwuni, the warrior son of Mmaduka, the great farmer. The farmer with yam barns enough to feed a whole community during the New Yam Festival. Mmaduka the son of  Obiajulu, the only man among the living and the dead who could play the flute that provokes the gods to a dance. Would we forget Igwebueze? The man whose reign was the most peaceful in the history of our people? Igwebueze whose loins begat Obiajulu? What about Olisaeloke?  The great orator. The father of Igwebueze. I could go on and on. We all know you, Nduka, are from an August lineage. We welcome you once again to the land of the living. May your second coming be better than the first.

I couldn't wait for Okpor to end his chants. I needed Nne's forgiveness. In tears, I excused myself, ran to her room and knelt by her bed side. I am sorry Nne, I muttered. I didn't know where to start from. She looked at me with her frail eyes. You would always be my daughter. She managed to say. Take good care of "Obim" she said looking at the roof. Tell him I would be with him soon. With her gaze still on the roof, she smiled. A smile of fulfilment.

On the evening of same day, the day of the great revelation, Nne transitioned to the land of the dead to be born again.

                                              

Chioma Benedicta Okwuelum is a graduate of English and Literary studies in Delta State University, Abraka. She has written some unpublished creative works encompassing poems, short-stories and plays. Nnamdi, a short-story she recently concluded is weaved around the African belief and preconception appertaining to reincarnation. Currently, she is writing a short-story entitled, Human Library which mirrors the emotional struggles different individuals in the society encounter in the course of their existence.