Restoration E-Book

kenechukwu obi

• Herausgeber: KenWrites
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

In this thrilling African fiction set in pre-colonial times, an all-powerful controlling goddess has a mission, needs a human medium to carry it out despite her omnipotence. She chooses a baby boy whose father stands between the goddess and her mission. The goddess is then compelled to act or else…

Leseprobe

RESTORATION

A NOVEL

BY

KENECHUKWU OBI

CHAPTER ONE

“I will surely castrate that my good for nothing son,” Odinaka shouted. He was full of anger, which he quickly vented on a young cassava plant that was near him, by chopping through its stem with his machete. “That is what needs to be done,” he went on to snarl and blow his nostrils free of a generous gob of mucous that hindered his breathing a little, as his dilated fierce-looking eyeballs gazed the sky like he needed to source his next move from it.

“It is only when you turn him into a he-goat that you can do that,” Nnediye, his wife, added.

Odinaka had left for the farm with Nnediye, his wife, and Ogechi their adopted teenage daughter, as early as the third cockcrow. He preferred leaving that early with his household, so that they would be able to accomplish much before sunrise. However, Onyirionwu his son who did not like going to the farm, was absent.

“Yes! He is a he-goat. That our son is the very type of un-castrated black he-goat that goes out and about exuding very offensive smell,” Odinaka responded in a loud clattering tone that instantly dispersed the serene atmosphere that was in place. And this was after he had thrown a glance full of aggression at Nnediye. The atmosphere now took on a rattled form. “Can’t you see that which is very obvious?” He thundered and got on with work.

“He is still our son, no matter what you call him.”

“And I must tame that he-goat called Onyirionwu, by castrating him. The only thing still stopping me is that he is my only son, and that means shutting down the lineage of my forefathers. But Onyirionwu is pushing me to the wall in a big way.”

The sun had fully risen, and it was getting quite hot in the farm. Droplets of sweat dripped from Odinaka’s back, as he made the last yam mound with his big hoe. He stood upright, grimaced out of tiredness. Then he ran quick glances around his farm and felt quite satisfied. Making forty huge yam mounds today is no little achievement, he thought. A faint smile lit up his face after a little while.

“I am still full of strength,” Odinaka muttered to himself. “Not even young men of these days with all their youthfulness still boiling hot can do better.”

      “Let us go!” Odinaka summoned his wife and daughter, scraping away soil particles from the blade of his hoe with his machete, in readiness to leave. “You both have done quite enough weeding. The sun is out now.”

“My husband, let me finish up this area,” responded Nnediye, still not willing to go.

“That is enough for today,” Odinaka thundered. “Ogechi let’s go.”

Ogechi got up in readiness to head home. But Nnediye was still bent down, uprooting weeds. One thing Odinaka hated was his orders being defied.

“Nnediye,” he screamed at his wife. “I decide what happens here! Unless you are bent on informing me that I am no longer your husband.”

“Do not be annoyed, my Lord,” Nnediye said in a tone that carried mixed nervousness and haste, in a quick intermingle that unsettled her. She had to quickly discontinue with weeding in response to Odinaka’s intimidating tone that made her shudder briefly with fear.

“We shall continue tomorrow,” Odinaka instructed, adding, “Only little by little can a very hot soup be licked.”

Odinaka was known throughout Akwaete Kingdom to be a man quick to anger. He was well known for decapitating a man’s right hand for stealing cassava tubers from his farm. |When vexed, he usually found it easy to prove that he was a fierce snake that sleeps. He would show that the way a cat walks is not the way it catches rats. Odinaka was a strong man also, named the leopard, in his very youthful days, as a wrestler, for his back never touched the ground. At only five, he floored an opponent twice his age. He won lots of laurels that made the people of Akwaete Kingdom so proud of him.

      “So my son Onyirionwu decided not to show up in the farm today,” Odinaka remarked with displeasure, as he walked home with Nnediye and Ogechi. “What a lazy thing he is.”

“He will change,” Nnediye chipped in, her voice commanding a tinge of confidence in her remark. Nnediye pleaded again. “Please do not be quick to anger and don’t ever forget what was said at his birth by the Oracle of our Kingdom.” Odinaka suddenly stopped and stared hard at her, as if she had uttered the most abominable thing in the world. “What is it again?” Nnediye demanded. She was now slightly unsettled and not being able to pin-point what she could possibly have said amiss. “Please let your eyes not swallow me. They look like the eyes with which the lion watches it prey.”

Odinaka was still speechless. He stared upwards and downwards, his left leg trembling.

“Ogechi,” Odinaka called on his daughter. “Did you hear your mother? That Onyirionwu will change? When will that be?”

“Be patient with him, my husband,” Nnediye pleaded. “Any soup that is hot will eventually get cold with time.”

“Now you want me to be patient until his pubic hairs go grey,” Odinaka obviously infuriated, said. “Onyirionwu my son must not be the one to be a symbol of laziness. Just drinking palm wine and playing the flute.”

      Odinaka began lopping forward, being followed by Nnediye and Ogechi. “No!” He thundered. “That lazy thing cannot be of my blood,” he added.

“Father, Onyirionwu always says I am his wife,” Ogechi announced.

“Shut up!” said Nnediye as she rebuked Ogechi for her comment.

“He says that to me,” Ogechi continued. “It worries me when he says that. Why should my brother be saying I am his wife?”

“Then, Ogechi, better be ready to die of hunger,” Odinaka responded, “if that will ever happen. A woman without a man is like a rich farm soil without the feel of roots, but not with Onyirionwu my son. That had better not be your wish, Ogechi! Any young woman’s dream should be to have a hardworking man to marry her. Not some weakling that will begin to pant like tired chicken when asked to do a simple task in the farm.”

“I think our son will learn,” Nnediye added in an optimistic tone that rattled Odinaka.

“When the sky is no longer without the sun?” Odinaka grunted his fierce disagreement and smiled, but his smile was not one that contained any true humour. “Is it when that change of yours will come? Change that will cleanse Onyirionwu of his chronic laziness and turn him to an excellent hardworking farmer overnight?” He chuckled. “Keep making him a child he is not while his mates are accomplishing things. He is not of my blood.”

“Then whose blood? That of a tiger or monkey? Or other sort of humans?”

“Maybe from a very strange ancestral lineage of weaklings yet unknown to man. Maybe somebody from your own side.”

“It is always said that a child resembles her mother or her mother’s people when something is wrong with him or when things are not going well for him. We mothers always get blamed.”

“That is right! You want to contest that? It also includes when a child is not behaving as expected. And that is the tragedy in our hands now.”

“But when all gets well for the child,” Nnediye continued, “he will be quickly said to resemble his father. It shall be well with my son Onyirionwu.”

“It had better be well with him fast before I castrate him. That is my stand!”Odinaka thundered.

And none of the three further exchanged words with each other while they trekked the three-mile distance that separated home from the farm. This then bred a long silence only punctuated at intervals by throbs of their feet on the ground, and when slight breeze caused leaves and branches of nearby trees to fling around, as the heat of the afternoon sun ensured that beads of sweat kept tearing away from their faces, dotting the ground as they dropped.

The circumstance in which Nnediye first met Odinaka was one that was not pleasant at first, but left her feeling good about him in the end. She was returning late after going to the market to buy fish and some pepper she needed to make herself a pot of soup. It was in the evening and she was the only person on a pathway flanked by bush on the left and on the right. Then she came across two men. The men were in their late thirties. They were notorious loafers. Nnediye felt goose pimples appear all over her hands and feet on sighting the men. Fear had taken hold of her because she had heard stories about both men that were not pretty. And both men wasted no time in showing their true colour.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Both men asked Nnediye in unison. Their voices were intimidating, and little wonder they managed to instil fear into Nnediye. Nnediye tried to shut down her fear by ignoring the men and walking on, but that was only an invitation to the men to put on an act. One of them ran up to Nnediye and grabbed her from behind. Nnediye began to scream and engaged the man in a futile scuffle to set herself free.

“Leave me alone,” she screamed. “Leave me! Let me go!” A leather bag in her left hand, which contained the fish and pepper, and some money, fell on the ground. The second man got close and picked up the bag, as Nnediye continued to try to set herself free. The second man opened the bag, took the fish and the money in it. He then tossed the bag into the air, from which it fell to the ground, scattering all the pepper it contained. The man holding on to Nnediye quickly left her. While Nnediye walked away and wailed about her loss, both men laughed as they walked away with her possession. Then she noticed a man coming in the opposite direction. It was Odinaka. He was taking an evening walk when he heard the voice of a screaming woman and wondered what was going on. He hastened up and came face to face with the sobbing Nnediye.

“What is it?” He quickly asked Nnediye. “Why are you crying?” Nnediye pointed backwards, which was in the direction the men who had accosted her had gone. She then told Odinaka what had happened to her.

“No!” Odinaka screamed. “Not when I have heard of this.” He sped off in the direction Nnediye had pointed, looking very determined to reach the two culprits. He soon caught up with them.

“Return her fish and her money now!” Odinaka said to both men from behind. His voice was loud and commanding.

Both men turned to face Odinaka who soon got ready to race some more because he thought the men were going to attempt to flee. “I am lightening and you both are the tortoise. The tortoise can’t be faster than lightening. So do not even think of attempting to run.”

“Who are you?” One of the men asked Odinaka in a sarcastic fashion.

“And what do you think you can do to stop us?” Asked the other.

“I don’t have time to answer silly questions from men who are a big disgrace to other men in our Kingdom,” Odinaka responded in a firm manner. “Return her fish and her money now!” He repeated.

“What are you going to do?” One of the men who had the fish and the money in his right hand asked Odinaka. And that was the question that drove Odinaka’s rage his way. Odinaka pounced on him like a lion in pursuit of a cheetah, landed a strong blow on this chin. The man fell flat on the ground, his mouth kissing some sand. On the ground now were also the stolen fish and money. The second man made straight for them, but could not reach them because his head met with another blow which Odinaka had unleashed. The second man fell on his buttocks, his hands around his head in pain. Both men had nothing else to do but watch Odinaka pick up the money and the fish. They were clearly no match for Odinaka who returned the stolen fish and money to Nnediye. She had stopped crying when Odinaka got back to her. And she was very thankful because right before she met Odinaka, there was no way she could ever begin to imagine that she would get back her money and fish.

CHAPTER TWO

Onyirionwu was tall. He was thin as well. He had a neck that was almost as scrawny as that of a vulture. He always left people wondering if all the much he ate ever got assimilated into his body. His bones would virtually beg for more covering of flesh if they could talk. He was dark in complexion. This he undoubtedly took from Nnediye. His head, big as it was, was taken from Odinaka. Onyirionwu’s feet could be compared to that of an elephant in size. They would throb like a drum as he walked, his huge head, tilting backwards and forward. Head projected on the thin stalk called his neck. One would fear it could fall off whenever he ran. The fact that Onyirionwu was thin was of big concern to Odinaka, who had completely given up on all attempts to fatten him. Odinaka could not understand why on earth his only son would not respond to a fattening diet of ten big wraps of pounded cassava on daily basis. The more he ate, the thinner he would seem to become. The bigger would be the mountainous size of his faeces whenever he defecated in the bush. And of course, making stray dogs that stumbled upon them thank their stars for such delicacy. Why is this cassava treatment not working in my son’s case? This was the question that often jostled in Odinaka’s mind, and got it often times, stretched in turmoil. Or is this thing given to me as son not a descendant of those strange creatures our great grandfathers told us in stories? He would often wonder. Odinaka as a child was told stories of certain kind of monkeys that lacked tails, which once existed in Akwaete Kingdom. Their posteriors had mere stubs that were believed to be tails their creator forgot to completely install. These monkeys ate so much but kept on growing thinner and thinner. But when it came to defecation, the monkeys made it quite clear they were on top of their game. They proved defecation was an art. They proved that expulsion of faeces from the anus could be imbued with sublime skills and techniques that would steal the show if showcased in open and organised exhibition. Their faeces were so large that no one that saw them ever believed they came from within their shabby looking bodies.

“My son ate so much pounded cassava that it began telling on my farm, yet no result,” Odinaka would sometimes say aloud to himself in deep disappointment.

Onyirionwu was at what he knew how to do best— generating nice melodies with his flute, when Odinaka returned from the farm with Nnediye and Ogechi. He played his flute louder for a while on sighting them. Then he stopped and sang a song.

“Let each day pass”

“Let each day pass with its worries”

“Let each day pass and not stain me with it”

“Let each day pass me while I play the flute”

“Let me play and play on to honour”

Nnediye and Ogechi ignored Onyirionwu and made straight for their own hut, leaving Odinaka, who stood and watched Onyirionwu sing all things he dismissed as incomprehensible and utter madness. There was growing displeasure on Odinaka’s face. This got it taut. Anger surged in instantly, his face flushed, and it all looked uglier than ugly. His anger fulminated and was very evident as usual in the way his left leg trembled. Then he vociferated. This escaped, howled and tore into the surrounding atmosphere.

“Enough of that laziness! Enough of that flute and enough of that song I don’t know where you got from.”

In shock, Onyirionwu found company in silence. Even Nnediye and Ogechi trembled, as Odinaka thundered words, inviting the attention of passers-by.

“Do not kill him, I beg you, my husband,” Nnediye pleaded on Onyirionwu’s behalf from inside her hut.

“You are a woman, Nnediye! And don’t talk while I talk,” was Odinaka’s stern retort. His eyeballs bulged as if they would burst. His left leg trembled more, as passers-by who cared to stop by, found themselves in the task of restraining him from manifesting his now full blown anger.

“Take it easy,” they kept telling Odinaka in turn. “Is he not your son? Please spare him the wrought of your terrifying anger.”

“Son indeed!” Odinaka bellowed in sarcastic scorn. Then he went on to mutter some inaudible words that clearly suggested hate were all they carried. “What is a son to me, who has given his entire life to laziness? Son indeed,” he shrieked.

“Take it easy,” passers-by, further pleaded. They had to hold unto Odinaka now. His hands, trembling leg, his chest and waist were held strongly by tenacious hands that were a maze, for the passers-by knew without doubt that only a fast disappearing self-restraint was what kept him from surging towards Onyirionwu like a cheetah so determined not to lose its first chance of a new day at catching a gazelle.

“This is what you said I must not kill,” Odinaka continued, pointing at Onyirionwu, but responding to Nnediye’s earlier plea. His voice had gathered enough crescendos very near to such a climax that it was heard quite some distance away. “This thing that is nothing but laziness.” His attention turned to Onyirionwu. “Why did you not follow us to the farm, Onyirionwu? Your sister, Ogechi, made it and here you are wasting away with that flute. That flute will kill you, Onyirionwu. It will kill you.”

The very thinnest and the last of his restraint faded away and he made to pounce on Onyirionwu, but was restrained by the bigger crowd that had gathered by now, whose maze of hands could muster enough resistance to his attempt.

“Do not lay your hands on him,” they told Odinaka.

“But how do I get him to change?” Odinaka asked Okechukwu, an elderly man and a friend of his, present.

“He will,” Okechukwu responded in a tone in which optimism resided.

“Look at your day. See how you spend it,” Odinaka in another outburst of anger referred to his son, in whom he was most, unpleased.

Littered beside Onyirionwu were three palm wine kegs he had already emptied their contents.

“You fill me with madness,” Odinaka lamented. “Oh! Onyirionwu, only you consumed three kegs of palm wine that you are most unwilling to learn how to tap? And your stomach has never protruded before. The day it does, I will slaughter the fattest sheep in our Kingdom for you.”

“And I will marry Ogechi,” said Onyirionwu, who all that while never bothered to utter a word. The anger that had grabbed Odinaka gradually began to reduce, and the restraining hands strapped around him loosened up. This left him free.

“That can never happen because you are lazy!” Odinaka voiced his disagreement. “Your madness has reached its peak again. I have been too soft on you, Onyirionwu.”

The crowd that gathered had gradually begun to disperse in disbelief when Okechukwu went close to Odinaka and warned.

“Do not lay your hands on him. Do not allow your anger fetch you the wrath you will not outlive. I must go now.” Okechukwu had only thrown two steps away when Odinaka called on him.

“Please, Okechukwu, my friend, come.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“I find it increasingly hard to keep on condoning his attitude to hard work. He is a disgrace to me.”

“Are you your son’s creator? Please, Odinaka, tell me if you are your son’s creator.”

“I am not as a matter of fact, but why should he have to be this way, filling me with bitterness?”

“It is good to hear from you that you are not his maker. Where were you when he was created?”

“I do not know, Okechukwu.”

“Can you understand why your son is like this?”

“I can’t! And it gets me mad!”

“You can’t, means you must leave him alone and stop getting mad. Only the goddess knows what she packaged in your son. If a man makes it his mission to unravel divine things or upset the order already spoken by the Oracle, I don’t think such a man will find it funny. Doom shall be his final destination. Be wise, Odinaka, and leave things as you see them. Man cannot understand the purposes of the goddess until they are finally unravelled. Give yourself rest, my friend,” Okechukwu ended and left. Distance gradually absorbed him away from Odinaka.

Odinaka then took one long look at Onyirionwu and sharpened his machete on a nearby stone. He then wielded it before Onyirionwu, showcasing some cannibalistic manoeuvres, and grunted, “It is not kindness but the need for a clean mouth that makes the hippopotamus open its mouth wide for the river bird to peck at”, before storming into his hut. Odinaka dropped the machete he carried, and sat on bare floor when he entered his hut. He went deep in thought, after which he began to speak to himself. All worries about his son making a strong manifestation on his face. They got his face creased, taut wrinkles stretched out on it as well. There was no doubt that Odinaka looked ugly in this state, and it would not be hard for him to compete effectively with the ugliest beast on earth for unprecedented ugliness. Maybe a black baboon.

“My own father was strong. A man of many feats in the farm and in the art of wrestling,” he said to himself. “He had me just like that. But my own son is not what I am. Very weak in the farm. A woman can even floor him in wrestling the way I see things.”

Odinaka felt like an open wound infested with flies. His mind was a storehouse of bitterness that ripped through his heart, all what Okechukwu had said to him notwithstanding. He could not just brace himself to accept Onyirionwu his son the way he was.

“My people say that whatever a snake gives birth to cannot fail to be long. This saying does not hold in my case,” said Odinaka in a tone of regret. He got up and took slow measured steps while still thinking. Then approaching footsteps broke into his thoughts.

“Who is that coming?” He asked. His tone held a tinge of surged aggression as his whole body tickled with awareness.

“I am the one,” Nnediye’s voice sounded as she walked in. “I only came to know what I should cook for your lunch, my husband,” she hinted. But Odinaka was not in the mood to think of food, let alone the type to eat. Ignoring Nnediye’s request, he breathed out hard, an attempt to dispel some frustration that had found home in him. And Nnediye needed nobody to signal her that her presence was unwanted. Odinaka reached for his snuffbox as soon as Nnediye had left. First he gave the lid a gentle finger tap, followed by another one, with his right elbow. He opened the snuffbox and stuffed his nostrils with some snuff. The snuff that was a ground mixture of dried tobacco leaves and potash soothed his already frayed nerves, and it took no time before he fell asleep, snoring thunderously. The snuff had also doused the fire of his anger just like castration douses the fire of a he-goat’s promiscuity.

Smoke issued generously from logs of firewood Nnediye had lit up in the kitchen. It was a small mud-house with a thatched roof thickly blackened by rising smoke. Ogechi came along with a basket of plates she had finished washing outside.

“Hard working girl,” Nnediye praised her, and further directed she took the basket into the store. Ogechi did just that.

“What are we preparing for father?” She asked Nnediye who hesitated a bit before replying.

“Your father did not say what he wants to eat but let’s prepare bitter-leaf soup with smoked fish, his favourite.”

“And pounded cassava,” Ogechi added with a smile that lit up her face and radiated succulent youth she had in abundance.

“Yes, my daughter,” Nnediye concurred in delight. “But where is Onyirionwu? Let him go to the stream and fetch us some more water.”

“I saw him going out,” said Ogechi.

“With a pot on his head?” Nnediye asked. She was wrong. Onyirionwu had left home with his flute in his mouth. “What a son I have,” said Nnediye in a tone that carried resignation.

The water in the pot she put on fire was boiling when her mind cast back to the day she gave birth to Onyirionwu. It was on a hot afternoon. There was a heavy down-pour of rain, after which the Oracle Priest entered. Both Odinaka and Nnediye could not believe their eyes. The most unexpected visitor had shown his face. The Priest very rarely left the shrine to pay anyone a visit. If he did, then there was a serious message from the Oracle he came to pass on. Clad in white loin clothes around his waist and showing a bare chest spotted with white chalk, the Priest took a discerning look at Onyirionwu who was a gentle baby at peace in his mother’s arms. He then walked piously out of the hut. He had the attention of Odinaka and Nnediye, and that of all those that had come to rejoice about the new birth.

When the Priest got to the entrance of Odinaka’s compound, he said, “That baby boy is needed at the shrine by midnight. He is a very special child.”

An atmosphere of uncertainty pervaded, leaving everyone wondering about the kind of message the Oracle had for Odinaka and Nnediye. The Priest’s sudden strange announcement left no clues. It also left no spring-boards for even the wildest of conjectures to be attempted.

“Priest,” said Odinaka. “I hope it is for good.”

“I wonder when mere mortals have begun to question the motives of our great Oracle. Obedience pays. Midnight! Midnight!” The Priest repeated in a tone that was nothing but stern, and took his leave after muttering something unintelligible.

Then silence descended with the swiftness comparable to that of a strong howling wind pushing across a very long stretch of sandy arid plain devoid of any vegetation. Many mouths were left agape.

As instructed, Odinaka and Nnediye were at the shrine with their baby boy at midnight. Four upright palm tree fronds that supported two others, which ran horizontally, and two small white chicken eggs at the frame’s centre, all revealed the stark simplicity of the shrine. There was a rhythmic clinking of metallic materials going on, spurned by spirits that operated in the shrine, by the time Odinaka and Nnediye arrived. They were promptly instructed to be on their knees, while the Priest did a good job of swaddling Onyirionwu in white linen. Sharp unearthly voices came in turn and died quickly. Each one carried merry singing. Intense drumming came alive as the Priest laid Onyirionwu before the Oracle who could only be heard and could not be seen by invitees and those who served at the shrine, except the Priest, because it was only the Priest who could have access to the exact spot in the shrine inhabited by the Oracle. Being an Oracle was about things that included leading a secluded lifestyle necessary for top performance of its demanding intercessory responsibilities. The Oracle system was one that had women in charge, women chosen and specially empowered by Etey the goddess that ruled in the affairs of humankind, to be channels of divine communication. It was only the goddess that had the power to select those to assume the role of an Oracle, a role that would last for a lifetime. Candidates for the role were teenage virgin girls between fifteen and eighteen years of age. Only one girl would end up being chosen through a selection procedure, only known to the goddess, to replace a serving Oracle nearing the end of her life. And being an Oracle demanded total strict abstinence from all forms of sexual activities for always, to establish the required purity necessary to hear from the omnipotent goddess, and communicate her messages through many forms that could include a combination of words, sounds and songs.

The Priest sprinkled some white chalk on Onyirionwu’s forehead, carried him shoulder high and gently danced to the pulsating rhythm of the drums. A smug smile lay on his face, as he muttered some inaudible incantations to Onyirionwu, who by now had begun to cry in a shrill tone. Odinaka looked on. So did Nnediye. They had to do nothing else but watch the Priest’s activities they could not understand. On their faces were distinct expressions that suggested they were afraid, as they did not know what Onyirionwu was undergoing. Are the spirits about to take Onyirionwu’s life? Will he now be made to be the next Oracular servant after the priest, thereby making us childless after all? Will he be turned into a spirit? Is this the tragic end of the joy we had for having our child? A flurry of questions they were so indisposed to finding answers to, barged around in their minds already enshrouded by fear. The Priest then lay Onyirionwu down. He cast a stringed object twice, studied them and made further incantations which were so loud that prevailing throbs of drums could not subdue them. The future that Onyirionwu brought was divined at last.

Drumming by spirits gradually waned in intensity until it ceased. And there was brief silence that was broken afterwards by languid oracular intonations that came this way:

“Man, Woman. This child is the chosen one. Chosen by Etey the goddess. Child of a mission.”

“Odinaka,” the Priest’s strong voice sounded. This was followed by sombre voices of spirits chanting a dirge. But when Nnediye was called by the Priest, spirit voices wafted in, in merry chants. There was a strong revelation that Odinaka’s relationship with his son would be a rocky one that would lead to something unpleasant happening to him, something to set the stage for more of what was to happen in Onyirionwu and Ogechi’s lives. How all these would start to unfold was only a thing time would tell. And neither Odinaka nor Nnediye could really understand the revelation, being mere mortals.

Onyirionwu’s birth came with some remarkable occurrences in Akwaete Kingdom. Osakwe, a man renowned for having a scrotal sac as big as that of a fully matured coconut pod, got healed. His scrotum shrunk to acceptable size. This meant he could walk freely without the excess bulge he had from birth being an impediment that made him always curse the day of his birth and his fate. His joy was more than profound, and knew no bounds.

“I don’t know what is happening in our Kingdom. Etey our goddess is spreading blessings. Thank you for remembering my cries!” Osakwe wailed, springing up like a boy of seven, full of youth, when he was nearly fifty-five. “I never knew I would become a real man in this life. People will no longer laugh at me for my large scrotum. Yes! I am now ripe enough for a woman to fancy. Now I can get married. Yes!” And Ezinne, a woman, was another person who benefitted.

“What is happening?” Was the big question that surged out of Ezinne’s mouth. “Is this real or am I dreaming? Is this all in a trance? Oh! This must be our goddess paying me back for harsh plights I have been facing for years now. This is beyond all what human mouth can say. I am so full of joy that I lack how to start celebrating. Should I start jumping up or dance? Oh! Let me spread this good news to my neighbours.” Ezinne’s petty trade in vegetables like tomato and pepper shrunk in size and finally faded out of existence when all her debtors left no words and disappeared on her. This forced her to become a sit-at-home mother, fully depended on her husband’s purse. But all her debtors appeared from nowhere with all the money owed her on Onyirionwu’s birthday. Osita, a man, was another person who had a story to tell.

“I thank our goddess!” Osita wailed. “I never knew I would be alive after this fall. Nobody has ever been known to have fallen without a scratch. I am a living witness to this great favour Etey our goddess has done me this day.” Osita was a wine-taper who accidentally fell off a palm tree. Many before him had sustained serious injuries, broken their necks, limbs and had even lost their lives.

*********************************************************************

“Mother, the water has been boiling for some time now,” Ogechi’s voice came. She touched Nnediye on the left shoulder. Nnediye was aroused to the awareness that the water in the pot was nearly dried up. Her voice suddenly became filled with haste, as she made to rescue the situation.

“My thoughts. Do not take me away again and cause me trouble. Please, Ogechi, quickly get me some water.” Ogechi sped off. “Onyirionwu my son, you’re twenty years old, and I do not know what you are,” Nnediye muttered with both hands up in the air. “Only time will tell as one cannot predict the temper of a chick still in the egg.”

It did not take a long while after Nnediye had again faced her kitchen chores before Onyirionwu showed up in the compound. He did not enter while playing his flute but toddled in drunk. His left hand held a keg of palm wine while his right held his flute. He was all vivacious and hummed a song. Nnediye’s attention was immediately drawn to him.

“I can sense you have had enough of your favourite stuff today,” she said to Onyirionwu who belched and roared in laughter.