Chapter 15: Chapter 15

The tremor ceased, and the people began to come to awareness all which happened in the community. There were traces of rainfall which astonished everyone. Eleventh month was odd for rain, though the rain had only dropped in some places. In the Igwe’s court, the clouds remained clear, even nobody announced drops of rainwater on their body.

Death cries blared, and the community rouse and trailed the wailing voices. The wailers were Ikemba’s household who returned to find their yard swept to dust. Worst of it was their father lying lifeless with swollen body.

Along with the court principal was the corpse of Ndukwe whose body was as turgid as his host. The scene smeared horror. Only the traces of raindrops marveled them, talk more of the flood havoc. Everyone wrapped their hands across their breast.

Ndukwe’s household came as the others, but discovered their own corpse in the place. What a nightmare in the noontide. They burst into tears, and their voices carried farther across the community.

“How is it that only the flocks survived?”

“Why will the gods allow common flocks to live while the blood of men spill?”

“This is quite odd. We have not called for rain?”

“What is Ndukwe’s body doing here?”

“The evil spirits have brought his poor soul to perish?”

The people pondered series of questions in their heart. Everyone who knew the responses to their queries went down with the flood. The flocks were as grievous as the people staring the ruin. They have mouth, but cannot testify their survival.

A deep silence overwhelmed the place, and all stood like the vultures beaten by rainstorm. Even the wailers dropped into silent sobbing as the diviner approached. He took his time to finish the incantation with which he arrived, and proceeded to dance surugede. When he drew closer to the lifeless bodies, he jumped away.

“Has he seen a python?”

“Do we now reverence pythons?”

The world came to standstill, waiting for the diviner to deliver verdicts. The death of Ikemba and Ndukwe were mysterious, and called for serious apprehension. Many has died before during rainfall, but not in a flood in an eleventh month.

People who saw earlier the heated barter of words in the Igwe’s court doubted the priest in this one. But, the question of Ndukwe’s mission in Ikemba’s court continued to prevail. What the duo were doing remained mystery, as nobody knew why Ikemba did not attend the funeral.

Questions kept prompting into silent minds. The drama of the priest jumping into action eased their weariness. They knew very well about displaying their amusements to the world as at this dead time. Everyone looked his neighbor and could read out warnings written on their forehead.

“I know you have some laughter in you, but keep them in your heart. BE WARNED!”

The priest had jumped into dance as though his jumping was inclusive of the surugede. Even though they do not understand the language of the spirit drum, they knew his act was more of fright. He stopped to listen to what the flute says, and broke into incantation. He listened deeper as he held his hands across his ear, and lifted the side of his cheek to the sky. Afterwards, he uprooted his staff, went, and pierced Ikemba’s stomach, then jumped away. He returned to do same to Ndukwe’s.

“The men whom the gods have rejected, the soil will also reject, but the vultures cannot reject. Their carcass will bury itself, but dust will yet defy it. The spirits of men pecked by the vultures returns to the HELL FIRE! Listen every man and woman who has ears. Heed to the counsels of the wise, and do not make friendship with evil, because it will consume you. Posterity will forget you, and your spirit will value less than the sacrificial lamb.”

When he dropped the verdict, he went on to point out youthful men whom the gods have tasked to carry the corpses. He produced strands of palm fronds which he stuffed between their lips.

The priest left the scene without any instruction, but they knew from instinct how to go about such job. They knew they were to refund the strands of palm frond to the shrine, and the priest would cleanse them. But still, they ensured none of them touched the dead bodies with their bare hands.

In no time, the young men produced stretchers, and long sticks which they pushed the corpses with. They produced two of its kind, and six men carried one body on each. As they carried the bodies away, the crowd began to disappear. Each man left carrying his arms on the head or across the breast, and walked in utter silence.

People who came in group went back as strangers. Their eyes have seen what it has not in the entirety of their lifetime. No ears has ever heard of an eleventh month flood which swept a man’s yard to dust.

“What spirit preferred the lifeblood of living men to the flocks? Even the gods whom every man owe, and have no clue how to pay in full quantum has never demanded human heads. They were always satisfied with the flocks offered them,” the people wondered as they went.

Of recent, a lot has happened which warranted the deliberation of the Igwe and council. They must choose one standpoint, because the monkey’s hand is now turning into a human hand in the soup pot. This convention would be to the avail of the life of the community.

All titled men dropped whatever job they have at hand, and sprang to their foot upon the sound of ekwe. Though only few had their hands on a job as the anxiety with which they returned lingered in their hearts. Even if one wanted to work, the person’s hands were unwilling to hold any tool as firm as they should.

The death of Ikemba and Ndukwe were profane, but who will see their corpses and remain unmoved? Some may claim they feel nothing, but when one look their eyes, he can tell out the betrayal to their ego. Think of a man’s courtyard razed by flood, where will they hide their faces from night rancor? No one had an idea, but the man who has a heart must feel compassion, even as the custom prohibited mourning.

The Igwe first sent for Ikebe who jumped into the footprints of the messenger as if the summon took forever. He followed without asking the usual ‘is it for good or bad?’ To his consciousness or not, he stamped where the messenger left a print. The manner he did called for humor, but there was no laughter on people’s face this day. As they went, Ikebe began to imagine his degree of recognition in the community.

“If I am not the town crier, will the Igwe have known the path to my yard? I am a man of good humor, and no one can deny my presence wherever I went. The Igwe may not have known much about me, but I will still be famous with the people,” he kept his soul alive with the thoughts. He would have engaged the messenger, but the happenings left everyone tightening faces.

When they approached the Igwe’s court, he felt he had bloated the urgency of his summon. If not, then he has misrepresented the Igwe’s unreserved tranquility. The Igwe led him into his inn, and treated him to some chunks of meat which he received both hands.

About now, his mouth found new lives and crunched with grace. Ikebe had no idea he was feeding the sights of the Igwe who sank into his throne with a fixed stare. There was silence for a little while, until his host found it appropriate to break.

“The community left me with heap loads of meat. I have no clue what to do with them,” the Igwe said, intending to fetch Ikebe’s opinion. He has been thinking all alone, and does not seem to get the right solutions from his head.

“I have finally met a man who confess god’s blessings are too much for him,” Ikebe flattered him with his remark. The Igwe did concede to laugh, and almost forgot himself in it. “This is not a laughing matter. Did you know after the gods, the people of your caliber comes next? In this generation that greed will not leave man to himself, you can still recollect all the gods has given you.”

“Ikebe can always steal his way into any heart he so desires,” the Igwe said, and in truth was the obvious. Even though he never wished to make such comment, he never felt sorry he did. Ikebe was an expert orator who knew the right words to soften the hearts of every man. Mere words of the mouth never shaken him. He even accepted the Igwe’s comment as a dignified compliment which will be quite odd.

“Have you forgotten it is I, Mazi Ikebe. A town crier must talk, and I bless the gods. I can only imagine what will become of me if I go mum someday.”

“I was asking your opinion what we do with the meat, because I cannot keep all to myself.”

His level of relevance thrilled him. He knew the Igwe does not invite everyone to offer him their opinions. It did take him some moments to pick up his voice, as he tossed his head as if to pop out the most brilliant of answers.

“If you ask me, I will say,” he paused to contemplate, then wiggled his head as an urge on. “Why not summon the community to muster again?”

The Igwe received Ikebe’s opinion with a cheerful smile. He has had same thought in mind earlier, but dismissed it as dumb. Now that he found someone with same idea as he, he thought it is right he gave it precedence.

“Did you know I have thought about this?”

“The community will be happy if you do.”

“Very well, this is not the reason I sent for you.” Ikebe drew the empty bowl to aside, wiped his hands on his thighs, and his lips with the back of his palms. Then, listened to the purpose of his summon, “I want to have a session with the chieftains. Let us not overlook the things which will one day cause us ills.”

“What you have said is very wise. I will go and call the chieftains at once. All thanks to our gods, I have come along with my ekwe.”

“Please do, let us come to consensus before night comes, and do not forget to join the assembly. We will need a lot of heads together.”

Ikebe started right from the Igwe’s court to calling unto the chieftains. After attending his immediate audience as always, he carried on to the community. He went throughout the neighborhood to pass on the Igwe’s summon.

They were fast with their response to the summon, upon his return, he found they have all assembled. One has so little to wonder as an untold hysteria gripped the community. Disappointment stole into them as soon as the Igwe announced the topic of discourse. All had thought it was something to talk about what becomes of Ikemba and Ndukwe’s households. A lot of them had earlier begun to acknowledge the Igwe’s meekness. Nonetheless, the matter that Igwe threw for deliberation was still of grieve importance. The intrusion of the Local Authority has passed the friendly limit, and they must put them to check.

The first man got up to answer to the question which the Igwe left. He had ended his speech with a question of whether they cooperate with the strangers. The implication will be submitting their thumbprint whenever they demanded for it.

“Igwe has said so little, but his words are as broad as iyi ocha during the raining seasons. The answer will be to trace the history of our existence. Let us know if by truth we own this community, or we are like strangers in our own land.”

“This part of the world was vacant when our ancestors possessed it. Was it not Ogbuefi who sojourned here first, then Ozalla came, and Amogu...?” another man stood up to respond to the first speaker, but got lost at their order of arrival.

“We know Ogbuefi came first, and the others followed after. Whether it was Ozalla or Amogu who came next is not the issue right now. What I want to know is the lineage of the man who said the community is under his command. Is he from the Ogbuefi lineage or whose?”

There were whispers every here and there, and the outcome was series of disapproving nods. One of the men stood up to voice their stance, as if the others chose him to talk on their behalf.

“We do not know that man or his descent. Truth, he spoke our tribe, but he is not one of us. His accent alone is there to bare testimony against him.”

“We must deal with this menace before they snatch our community from us. One with the sort of character as of the man is not worthy of acquaintance. We have not accepted him, and he has begun to contend the ownership of the court with us. That man cannot be our friend.”

“What about all the good things they had pledged to our community? Their promises are too great, and my spirit tells me if we cooperate, they will fulfill them,” the Igwe said. But all the chieftains has buried their own share of same faith.

“I do not think it is right we cooperate with them without asking them to redeem their earlier promises. We must remember it was for these pledges we agreed on giving our thumbprints to them. I am afraid if we grow too mild with them, they may as well drop excreta on our head, and expect we bare the discomfort. Truth, they promised us many things, even the undoable, but now we want signs. Let them start with whatever, and we will offer them more thumbprints.”

“I am waiting to see the houses they promised to build on the rock. And the ridge which will bring water during the dry seasons.”

They all laughed to the joke, or what seemed like one, which the last speaker was trying to make out of the situation.

“We are far from the truth,” another man started to say, and everyone kept quiet to listen. “I heard the man need many thumbprints to remain at the helm of local affairs. This is the reason they go about deceiving people with empty promises.”

“I am learning for the first time the power of the thumb. Well, I want to tell the local authority man we are not fools that we may not know his intent. This time, we must tell them the true worth of our thumbprints, hence I understand this is more like barter.”

“Unless I receive my bags of corn as promised me, I will not produce my thumbprint to anybody.”

All declared support for the last man’s stand. They all adopted the speech, and started to demand for redemption before more deals.

With everyone trying to air the bit of their mind, commotion crept into the assembly. The Igwe dismissed the meeting in this light, but they have reached consensus. They do not wish to trade their land to their greedy guest, so they must denounce their cheap lures.

Even the Igwe who had conflicting thoughts from the rest of the people now aligned with them. If he had not called for this convergence, he may not have known, but now, he is very much against the Local Authority.

What they did not talk about was their strategy, but it was certain, even though they never raised it as a concern. The only stratagem they had in mind was bold resistance. They all intended to voice out on their next encounter with the Local Authority.

“We know about your dubious scheme. Keep your pledges in your pockets, because we have no need of them. Our thumbprints are worth more than you can stake.”