THUNDER FIRE THE gods

A TIRADE TO THE STUPID gODS.

Agbala, 1922.

I watched my husband shed bittersweet tears after I laid to bed. As I watched him shed those precious tears, I also began to cry. I’ve been a terror in this man’s life. Why have I made it a point of duty to make this man’s life a misery? Why am I always doing things that make him sober and then resort to him crying like the widows of Nzene. I’ve been a terrible wife, the worst in the whole of Ulu, maybe even in the whole world. I’ve been married to this man for seven years, and in those seven years, we’ve had six children. Amazing right? My husband, Ichie Okwudili Nkemjika, is the wealthiest man in Agbala and also the wealthiest man in the whole of Ulu. The natives gave him the title ‘ojiakuemeuzo,’ and he was respected everywhere he went. You must’ve thought that having six children in seven years of marriage is beautiful, right? Indeed, it is, except six of them are twins and stupid tradition demands every twin is sacrificed to Ulu.

In our first year of marriage, my twins were sacrificed to Ulu. I almost died as I threw my twins in the Ulu river and watched them drown to death. I watched my own children wail while drowning, then gasp for breath and finally settle in final sleep. I cried everyday, refused to eat anything, didn’t take consolation from the natives. Those hypocrites. They must’ve rejoiced watching me sacrifice my own children to the gods. I swear I caught a glimpse of Ugomma smiling as my children drowned in Ulu river. That witch, Ugomma who was once my best friend had an obsession to marry my husband and turned out as a sworn enemy when my husband proposed to me in the village market square during Iri ji festival now stood in front of my obi in the guise to console me of my grievance. Damn you, Ugomma. I wish I could yank all of your hair out and feed them to my fatted goats. Yes, I wish I could yank those beautifully plaited cornrows laced with the majestic beads from Abagana. I wish I could vent all this rage and anger on you. I wish I could hold your neck so tight and watch you suffocate. I wish I could whip you with the hardened koboko carved by the strong men of Umuokoro. I wish I could pluck your beautiful, dreamy eyes from your eye sockets and throw them inside the Ulu river but fortunately for you, I can’t. I’d reserve all the rage for Ulu. While I was wailing, lamenting, and crying for my twins, my husband stood quiet, saying nothing. Not even a drop of tears did I see from his eyes. This vexed me in no little way. I didn’t know I married such a heartless and hardened man. I didn’t know Okwuili as a hard man so why is he suddenly claiming to be. All my doubts were cleared when I heard Okwudili crying bitterly in the middle of the night in his obi. I heard him curse the elders, curse the natives, curse the umuokoro. I heard him lament acrimoniously. I heard the loud bang of some items in his obi. I heard the loud bash of some calabash breaking. I heard the loud bang on the door of his obi. I was eager to hear him curse the gods but sadly, I didn’t. Early the next morning just before the first crow, his servants went into his obi, cleaned it, replaced everything that was broken, leaving no trace of a night of agony. Obianuju then woke me up (even though I wasn’t sleeping) telling me Okwudili needed my help. I saw Okwudili’s bruised hands and I applied shea butter with aloe vera leaves on his hands, all these while saying nothing to him and him nothing to me. Okwudili was held in very high repute in Agbala and was one of the people that proposed I sacrifice my twins to Ulu. Despite being my husband, he wouldn’t defy the tradition. He woldn’t defy the gods.

Tragedy struck again in 1920. I gave birth to twins, again. They were the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen my whole life. I heard Matefi, the village midwife wail when the second baby’s head came out. Right there, I knew Ulu was already smiling, expecting to feast on my children but not this time. The moment they were born, I locked the door to my obi, shunned Matefi who was now panicking, packed a few clothes and set out to escape with the twins but before I could, the umuokoro walked into our compound and behind them, the ignorant, foolish elders. How did they know of my plot to escape? Did Matefi sell me out? The head of the elders, Nze Ozor bluntly demanded I do what’s necessary before tragedy strikes the whole of Agbala. Before I could say a word, he hefty men of Umokoro dragged me to the Ulu river where the chief priest stood, muttering incantation to the stupid Ulu .A crowd was waiting when I arrived, all of them gosipping to the person closest to them. I couldn’t sight Ugomma this time around but I saw a lot of familiar faces look at me with so much disgust. My husband stood behind the council of elders only this time, he wasn’t as hardened as before. I could see him fighting with tears, his eyes pure red looking at the brown sands of Agbala and his hands clenched tightly at his black walking stick. I, on the other hand, was wailing uncontrollably, begging the elders. I rolled on the floor begging the umuokoro as they held me tightly. I managed to break free and ran to my husband, rolled my hands round his waist and pled to him that he speak to the elders. In his eyes I could hear him respond “I’m sorry, my love. This is above me” As the umuokoro came to grab me from my husband, he immediately hit both of them with his walking stick. One of the umuokoro, Jide fell on the floor when he was hit and that was Okwudili’s golden chance to pounce all the rage inside him on someone. Okwudili continued to hit him with so much force while Jide scampered on the floor like a snake, wailing. Okwudili hit him with so much force, cursing him simultaneously. Nobody held him back, nobody dared to. At this point, Okwudili could kill anybody, except Ulu whom he revered. When Okwudili had hit Jide to his satisfaction, he spat on him and mutterd “Damn you” then he walked to me, raised me softly and walked me to Ulu. He handed me back to the umuokoro when we were approaching Ulu. The umuokoro now handled me like an egg. They let go of me some meters to the river. Matefi handed the twins to me, tears trickling from her eyes. I begged the chief priest but he didn’t say a word (he had a green leaf in between his lips) and stood akimbo. Then again, I watched my twins drown and cry, gasping for breath while drowning and finally settle in final sleep. My husband and I walked home, escorted by his servant boys who served as bodyguards. We took no visitor, not even the elders. We cried silently, ate good food and spoke to each other even though the bitterness in our voices was so evident.

Fast forward to 1922, as usual, I gave birth to twins again. My husband kept the house shut, nobody knowing I put to bed. Matefi didn’t panick. Okwudili came in immediately and told me to “dress up before they come” Matefi cleaned up the twins as they were crying and in minutes, we were on a boat to a supposed faraway land. While we were escaping from the back of Okwudili’s obi with Matefi, Obiageli and two servant boys, the umuokoro barged into the compound with the elders and some natives. Meeting the house completely empty obviously threw them into confusion and panic. How did all these happen? Well, somehow, Okwudili suspected I’ll birth twins again so he sold all of his properties to a rich man with colonial ties in Onitsha, paid Matefi who didn’t have much to stay in Agbala for some money to follow us escape and informed his servant boys and Obiageli about the plot, keeping me unaware all this while.

I may not have gotten the best laugh at Ulu, but I definitely laughed last.

While sailing to the faraway land, I heard Okwudili mutter, ‘DAMN THE gods!’