Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Ijeoma crouched on her knees, breezing the live coal cascaded over the firewood. The coals charged red and flamed, and the logs caught fire. She sat a pot on the tripod and filled it with water, and sat down on the kitchen stool opposite her mother.

Ijeoma was ripe to the period she would be taking her mother’s counsels. She was almost fifteen, which was the perfect age for marriage. If her mother allows her to stray, the cankerworms could get her spoiled.

She weaved her hair in fine ridges with knots of the bead at the tail end. The teenagers knew their beauty’s cave, and the charms encased right in it. The hair brought beauty to their face, and so, they braided their hair to earn admiration.

Every teenage girl belonged to one circle which was an association of friendship. But served the same purpose as the appeal center. There was where they gossiped and most of all, fix their beauty. The one with the expertise was the judge, and all others were advocates. The cross-examined was the one who sat on the stool encircled by curious ears. She was the person whose beauty they sorted. These circles were like the schools where a girl learns about womanhood, but misguided.

Obiageli sat admiring her daughter’s new hair. The rate at which Ijeoma changed her hairstyle astonished her. She only stopped wondering when she learned Ijeoma was befriending Chiwendu. The puzzle was not difficult to sort; Chiwendu was using her friend’s hair to practice new styles. No one rival her expertise in hair styling in the entire community. Her grip on this skill is bizarre. She could braid her own hair any style she wanted with her own hands.

Obiageli had suspected Ijeoma has started courting a boy, which was typical of girls in her age. Her prayer was that she kept her vital piece of womanhood. This was the much she could do with the new order. Children now have the right to their own privacy, much to their expense. The freedom was a ‘give and take sort of thing.

“What is the use of giving, if the taker must payback, and worst of all, he received in ignorance? Things were not so in our own days.”

She recalled her mother checking her hymen at every slight suspicion. She only felt relieved when the seal was intact. There was a day Nne-Ukwu caught her with Nwosu, her betrothal. This happened much before their marriage. Nne-Ukwu stormed their hangout and dragged her from the place, screaming and wailing. And she followed, weeping like the sheep whose driver was leading to the slaughter. Such was it for any girl who would not keep away from the men until marriage.

Her mother explained what she saw with her two naked eyes to every passerby, and they urged her on. They advised her to report to the boy’s relatives beforehand. Nne-Ukwu gave heed to them and dragged her to Nwosu’s compound to warn his parent.

There was a fuse in Nwosu’s mother’s face, and her lips quivered as she spoke. All she said and kept saying was, “please, do not speak such evil.” She tried many times to obstruct Nne-Ukwu’s mouth with her shaky hands but failed at every attempt.

Nwosu was trying to take his right when it was not due to him. The crime was with bad measures. In their value system, it was sacrilegious and considered stealing. Anyone who heard the story likened Nwosu to the man who went in the night to steal a goat from his debtor’s barn.

Nne-Ukwu’s utterances fueled the vexation in his father. He clamored to devour him as soon as he set eyes on him. His actions portrayed his outrage, as he could not act otherwise. In a situation as now, any emotion other than grief labeled one an accomplice.

Even if the abominable had happened, it still would not cost him anything grievous. However, his name will not make the list of men whose boys married a whole woman. The person who married a loosened maiden suffered the worst detriment. She knew from his flaming eyes that if Nwosu got home then, there will be a catastrophe. In her mind, she wished someone told Nwosu to stay away from home until he regained his calm.

Nne-Ukwu dragged her out at the same pace they stormed the yard. She followed as before, not wanting to leave. All her desires had been to see the end of the drama in Nwosu’s compound.

When her father got to learn all that happened, he shook his head in dismay. But he kept his cool and did not outright descend on her. He never bought into a fight without asking questions.

“Is that how it happened?”

As she did not know the contention in the question, she kept quiet.

Her father took her silence as assent to the crime. So, he sent words to Nwosu’s relatives. By truth, Nne-Ukwu saw her with her man, but her suspicions were false.

Her mother seized her to her in, like the midwife attending a pregnant lady. Later, she went out to announce the news to all and sundry. Her sad face blossomed when she felt her hymen. But her father’s voice preceded the good news, and there were responses coming.

There was no use telling Nwosu’s relatives nothing happened. After all, the matter was a serious mischief. Should anything of the sort happen, nobody will deprive him of his due homage.

Much later, Nwosu’s relatives brought palm wine and kola nuts to appease the sin of their son. They accepted responsibility for future ills. If anything went wrong, they accept they have eaten their meal when the soup pot was still on fire.

While eavesdropping on the session, her concern was Nwosu. She listened to know what harm they did him. Her mind rested when they did not mention it. The kegs of palm wine and the kola nuts were bonuses to her father. She knew more will come. This incident happened in the old days, decades ago. In the new order, a mother has boundaries with her daughters. She cannot venture to her girl’s nakedness, talk more of feeling her hymen.

Children nowadays had not the faintest knowledge of what it was like in the old days, but they love the new order. Everyone loves freedom.

The mothering role shifted from anatomical to counseling. All they did know was to tell them what path or not to thread on. There were limitations to the kind of words one can speak to a person, say within a family. Talks about one’s sexuality were an abomination. This new custom prohibited such discourse as they consider it a ploy to corrupt a pure mind.

Mothers threaded with caution. They watched their girls, and when the time was right, they called them for counseling.

The fear of starting a talk where there was none discouraged Obiageli from taking Ijeoma on a session. Many times, such an act had triggered the dreaded desire. It was in all best interest to let her; hence she was not erring in any way.

The spell to her subconscious took about fifteen minutes. She sat with her eyes to Ijeoma as if her adjusting and fanning the firewood fascinated her.

“Mother, the water is ready.”

Ijeoma announced while opening the pot to make sure. The steam which puffed out forced her to throw her face. She almost dropped the pot cover. All her labor under the intense heat would have translated to nothing. What other worse thing could happen to a girl than dashing away all her efforts?

Some days ago, she dropped a pot on the ground. She had wanted to emphasize her ability to handle hot pots without needing rags. Against her mother’s incessant warnings to her to always protect her hand with the rag.

The result of her courage was something she never foresaw. The heat from the aluminum pot became too intense for her. So, she dropped the pot with vigor. The expensive pot smashed on the ground and slashed into two halves.

Her mother’s yelling threw her into confusion and kept the memory alive in her heart. The pot burnt her fingers which she held to her mouth, breezing to ease the pain. Then there was her mother, screaming on top of her voice. Ijeoma has broken her most expensive pot. The quarrel she received was enough that let her into wondering.

“Is this pot more precious than my hands?”

When her father came to learn what the matter was, he blamed Obiageli. How could she let the little girl handle such a big pot? She seemed to have forgotten her daughter’s age.

“Girls of Ijeoma’s age in many yards cannot do half what Ijeoma does,” Nwosu said with a firm voice. But henceforth, she did everything with utmost caution.

There was no response from her mother. She knew what was next after bringing the water to boil. But would not dare to venture if her mother has not asked her. She called again. This time, with a stronger voice.

“Mother, the water is boiling.”

Whatever Obiageli was thinking must be overwhelming. There were bubbles of smiles on her lips, and dimples formed on her cheeks.

“Mother, are you okay?” Ijeoma asked, baffled at her mother smiling at nothing.

“My dear, do not worry. Bring me the cornflour,” Obiageli requested.

More than often, many old people fell into this sort of daydreaming. They found it a consolation to the bitter anguish of the new order. Whatever they decried in their days; they now acclaim as pleasurable. Such that whenever they remembered their past, they smiled. The delight of old memories was regardless of fortune. Obiageli’s case was an unfortunate event, but she could not help the bliss.

The saying, ‘a man lived chasing the winds, and thereby never knew the value of what he had’ is true after all.

Ijeoma brought the cornflour to her mother. Then she sat down and focused her gaze. Her mother has countless times informed her she was becoming a woman. That a suitor will soon come to ask for her hand in marriage.

Each time her mother said so, it excited her, and arouse in her the desire to have a feel of her womanhood. She is waiting the day her mother allows her to do the cooking to practice all she has learned.

Obiageli cut down the boiling water before adding the cornflour to the sprinkle. She has many times had to reduce the water because Ijeoma boiled excess. Sometimes though, Ijeoma got it right and saved her the stress.

Without waiting for her mother to tell her, she reached for the turning stick and began stirring. She stopped to rest, and let the paste thicken some more. Each time she took a break, she would let the paste drip on the floor and observe if it caked. Then continued, repeating the same process until she got the desired result.

Ijeoma did the greater part of the job in the kitchen. Most times her mother sat idle staring at her. This was why every woman prayed to have female children to relieve them of kitchen stress. Obiageli has begun reaping her fruit as she is having a good break.

Obiageli inspected the food, carried it down from the fire, and gave her sum-up stir. Meanwhile, she sent Ijeoma to go and fetch some vegetables.

She cultivated a garden in her husband’s backyard. It was still recovering from the recent attack it suffered from pests. This was a plus profession she learned from her mother. Nne-Ukwu bestowed the talent on girls who grew from her household. She considered the skill a requisite for women, so she incorporated it as part of her girl child drilling.

At the time Obiageli’s vegetables began to wither, the first place she cried to was her mother’s. When she lived under her parent’s roof, she did not care much about all these. All the work she did for her mother was like under compulsion. But since her induction into womanhood, she has come to learn the full benefits of gardening. She now knows how vital it is that every woman has one. She has resolved to educate her friends on the science and benefits inherent in it. But the only thing holding her was the full recovery of her garden.