Npa did not believe me when I told him the lamp would fall to the floor, and shards of glass would mingle with our supper, and that we would take in the smell of the kerosene. Maybe he was right not to because it never happened. Do you remember? You were sitting by the door, with your hands on your laps, staring at me. I saw you shake your head subtly as if warning me not to say another word. Now that I think about it, you always did that. You should have said something instead.
We ate in silence, with Ebuka and Ngozi sneering at me. My seven-year-old self was enraged. I was not proud of the actions that followed, but I was seven! Nma barely remembered that fact as she made me scrub the floor until the smell of the Ofensala that I had kicked to the floor vanished. You shook your head again, and I scowled at your ashen face.
But even at that moment, I knew the lamp was meant to have fallen. My memory couldn’t have painted a false image. So why didn’t it?
Nma Oyinye, my father’s youngest wife, took in the used bowls. It was her turn to cook for the family, and that meant missing half of the story Npa had for us tonight. My siblings and I hated when it was Nma’s turn because we had to wash the bowls the moment supper ended. I would rather sit under the stars, in the centre of the compound, gazing up at Npa as his face shone with the distant memories of the stories that poured from his lips like the undying warm spring of Ikogosi.
That night, I raced ahead of everyone else, getting the spot farthest from Npa but still directly opposite him so I could stare at his face and feel the emotions he portrayed through his eyes. They always kept me spellbound and aching for more.
Npa sauntered out into the compound exactly fifteen minutes later. I knew because our faces had become completely lit by the moon, and Npa always said it took fifteen minutes for this to happen. He cleared his throat and started his tale. This time, it was one of a beautiful maiden born into a wealthy home. It rained cats and dogs on the morning she was born, and the Obis’ ascribed it to the good fortunes of the child. But the moment she reached the earth, the rain stopped, and a big black bird flew past the big hut. No one had seen it save Okoro, the village drunk. Who would believe the word of a staggering individual sporting a bowl of ogogoro in his hands? Maybe the fortune teller would have been visited had someone else seen it. That might have stopped it from happening.
The child was named Chiachogomnma, and people marveled at her parent’s choice of name. But not Okoro. He knew what he had seen.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw you leave your spot by the door, strolling into the compound. For a minute, I was scared Ngozi would see you when you walked right past her to sit beside Npa. But I guess everyone was too focused on the story to notice you. That was what my seven-year-old mind thought.
Npa continued the story just as you beckoned onto me with a hand. Now, it was my turn to shake my head at you. I didn’t want to be distracted, especially when Papa widened his eyes in delight. The tale was about to take an interesting turn.
On Chiachogomnma’s 13th birthday, she stepped on a nail while playing with her friends in the village square. Npa’s arms flailed around him as he demonstrated how Chiachogomnma fell to the ground in pain. The wound got infected, and all attempts to treat it proved futile. She died a few months after that, and her mother’s world came to an end. But not Nnayi, who got married to a second wife that same year and bore a set of twins the next.
But Npa’s story wasn’t about Chiachogomnma. It was about the twins who had totally normal births and a birthmark underneath their left foot. It was about the day Nnayi, his wives, and children took a stroll around their farmland, which was due for the year’s cultivation. One of the twins suddenly halted.
“Biko, walk fast so that you won’t get lost,” her mother said as she noticed her daughter was no longer following behind.
“Nne, I remember this place,” her shaky voice carried into the farm, causing everyone to halt and look back.
“What do you mean you remember this place? This is the first time you have ever been here since you were born.” Nnayi’s second wife was confused. They had never been taken to the farmland because Nnayi didn’t want them stepping on a nail like Chiachogomnma. He only decided to do it when his friends wouldn’t stop laughing at how Nnayi was raising his daughters to be cowards.
“But…Nne,” the twin maintained, not wanting to go any further. “I really remember this place.”
Her mother sighed. “Okay. When did you come here?”
“This is where I was buried, Nne. Over there, behind the dying plantain tree. At that time, it had a ripening bunch on it.”
The silence was resounding.
“You might not remember, but you can ask Papa. It was an infected wound.”
I felt the chill of the night air deep in my bones. But it wasn’t the story. It was the way Npa stared fixedly at me. It was the birthmark under my left foot that seemed to have suddenly meant much more than that.
But again, I was seven, and my mind was prone to jump to conclusions a lot. Nothing changed that night, as my chills were gone in a couple of minutes.
But not for you.
You smiled at me as Npa asked us to go to bed – that chilling smile that sent shivers down my spine immediately. Npa stared at me as I watched the spot beside him, where you sat cross-legged, your white cloth touching the bare ground. I don’t know how I heard you without your lips moving, but I knew you wanted me to come to you. You said it was better on the other side, with more meaningful conversations.
“No!” I breathed my resistance out, earning an eye raise from Npa. He looked at the spot beside him, and my fragile mind was relieved he did that. I wanted him to tell you never to bother me again.
Years later, I’ll realize that he didn’t see anything there but the brown sand of the earth and a strange chill in his bones.
But that night, he got on his foot as fast as lightning and yelled for Nma, who came hurrying back into the compound.
“They are here,” he said with gravity laced in his voice. Nma shook her head and looked at me.
“It’s impossible! Don’t tell me you are still thinking about what the priest said. It’s been seven whole years.” Although I didn’t know what they were talking about, it sounded like Nma didn’t want to believe it.
“Yet, they are here,” Npa maintained, shaking his head. He walked over to me and lifted me at once on his shoulders, racing out of the compound. Nma walked behind him, retying her bleaching yellow wrapper each time it threatened to slide down her waist.
Npa didn’t say a word as he raced, and I didn’t mind the silence. I was more intrigued by you and the fact that you followed silently behind us with a mischievous glint in your eyes. You were enjoying the show, but at the same time, you thought it was all a waste of time.
The wind sang in my ears, and the crickets beckoned to me, but Npa didn’t halt for a second until we reached the Dibia’s hut, far away from where the people lived. It was my first time there because we had been warned by the elders to steer clear of that part of the village. If the situation had been any different, I would have marveled at the huge shells hanging from the thatched roof, the wooden dolls staring wide-eyed from one corner of the hut or the white powder that seemed to have been sprinkled generously on the ground.
Just as Npa put me down on the mat, you crept to sit beside me, putting an arm around my shoulders. I shrugged away from your reach because it felt too cold, and my movement caught the Dibia’s attention.
“They are here!” he echoed Npa’s words, then closed his eyes, humming a tone under his breath. He pointed to the spot beside me suddenly, the exact spot you sat, watching the scene.
Finally, someone could see you!
The Dibia moved closer, the cowries around his ankles shrieking with every step he took. He did a funny dance with one leg in the air and the other on the mat. Or at least, I thought it was funny because I chuckled. But the look the Dibia gave me wiped the smile off, and in a few seconds, I could no longer see anything funny. It made me wonder why I laughed in the first place.
I got up on the instructions of the chanting Dibia, and my parents came to flank me on both sides. At that moment, I felt for you because you were left with no choice but to scoot away. It felt like you were being cast away, and I somewhere within me, that felt wrong.
Perhaps it was because I had known you since the day I clocked three when you walked into Nma’s hut like you belonged there. I had unconsciously grown attached to you, and even though I didn’t particularly understand you, the sadness on your face tugged at my emotions.
The Dibia‘s chants got louder each minute, and I wished he would just stop. A calabash was brought out, with the contents sprinkled all over me. But in the midst of all the chaos, I still watched you at intervals. I saw the discomfort etched boldly on your features and felt how hard you tried not to leave the hut.
But in the end, you had to go. I thought you got tired of waiting and that I would meet you at home, at your usual spot beside my bed. But days turned into months, and months into years. You didn’t come back.
Just when Npa and Nma thought it was all over, just when I was old enough to understand what the Dibia did in the hut that day, you returned with an even greater smile and a shine in your eyes. It was the time I didn’t have any friends because no one wanted to be associated with the girl who had once been taken into the Dibia’s hut in the middle of the night. I know I didn’t say it often, but your return made things better.
I enjoyed staying in my room because of your tales that replaced Npa’s own since he got too busy with the farm to continue the tradition. You told me about Ezinma and how she left you all alone to be with her mother, who didn’t want to let her go. Your voice fell each time you spoke about your loneliness, and I promised never to leave you alone.
That was why I didn’t mind the nail when it pierced me that day on my way back from feeding the goats. You told me it was all part of the promise I made to you. The Dibia returned, and with him did Npa and Nma’s strange looks and worries. Npa‘s eyes strayed to the birthmark underneath my left foot at intervals, the same spot where I was pierced by the nail, and I remembered the tale he told us when I was seven.
Npa knew you. He was only pretending not to be able to see you. Or so I thought.
The wound wouldn’t heal up, and the pain got unbearable. That night, you told me to come with you because you needed to see your people. And because I already promised never to leave you alone, I took your hands and walked out of our compound, looking back just once at myself lying on the bed.
So now, do you understand why I find it hard to understand your reason for asking me to go back? What about my promise to you? Why does this feel like it has happened before?
Wash
Rinse
Repeat
But I still cannot leave you alone.
