book serialisation On her good days, she had given same to Nkiru to pass across to Amina. She now brought out a sizeable quantity of smoked fish, sprinkled the black substance on it and put it in a polythene bag. It had begun to drizzle. Isioma pulled out her umbrella, fastened her wrapper around her stubby frame, and stormed out of the house with the bag. In a minute she was at the residence of Amina. She noticed the large presence of women milling around the house singing Christian songs. On reaching the door, she buckled the umbrella and placed it by the wall, splattering some drops of water on the bag and her hands. She quickly brushed this off and went into the house. Amina was seated on the mat spread out on the floor. “Our wife, how’re you doing today?” Isioma greeted. “Arrhh, long time! You’re welcome, ma,” Amina replied. “It’s well, my daughter. We’ve been quite busy lately with farm work.” “Yes, I can understand. How’s Nna anyi and the family?” Isioma grinned as she glanced across the room. “They’re fine. Nna Anyi sends his greetings.” “Thank you. Please extend my regards to him. What can we bring for you?” “Oh, we should be the ones bringing things to you,” Isioma said. Her face glowed with the milk of love, yet the heart raged with a thirst for blood. She drew up the bag and stretched forth her hand toward Amina. “Here, my daughter. I brought some smoked fish and garden eggs for you.” Amina beamed with smiles and took the bag from her. “Wow. Thank you, ma. I haven’t tasted this in a while,” she said. She quickly drew the bag open. Her eyes gleamed and her stomach rumbled as she beheld her beloved delicacy. She was yet to have a meal that day. She called Amuebie to serve her some of it in a clean flat plate and put the rest away in the kitchen. Amuebie picked up the bag and left for the kitchen and, in no time, she had returned to the sitting room with the garden eggs and fish. As she placed the plate beside her mother and began to eat with her, Isioma excused herself and left the place. ************************************* Madu strutted restlessly about the room, waiting for the return of his wife. He knew that a lot was at stake, for if anything went wrong with the mission, he would be finished in the community. But, as he imagined, success would not only mitigate the doom hanging over the village, it would also end the repeated embarrassment he had received from Amina and her late husband. More importantly, it would open up access to Udoka’s property. Lost in thought, he gave a start when Isioma tapped him on his shoulder. “How did it go,” he bubbled. “Very well, of course. Don’t you trust me?” she said. “Did you give it to her? Did you see her eat it? Did. . .” “It’s OK, my husband. By this time tomorrow the wailing across the land will still be on.” “Isi! Isi! Who else could have been trusted enough to do this if not you, my dear wife.” With broad smiles on his face, he brought out the snuff box from his pocket and made for the next chair. “Abeg send any of the children to Ikezue bo! My snuff is almost finished,” he said with a profound sense of fulfilment. “OK, Nna anyi.” “And please look by that corner and get me the keg of palm wine from Elendu.” “Arrhh, I’ll surely join you in celebrating this one.” Chapter Eight Chief Obodo was returning from the king’s palace on Monday morning when he noticed signs of trouble. The youths of the village were gathered at the village square, shouting and chanting war songs. Seeing that they were wielding machetes and sticks, threatening to unleash mayhem on the elders, he ducked into the corner of a building and watched from his safe hideout as they marched onto the major paths of the village. He waited for a few minutes to ensure they had gone far before he emerged from his cover and hurried to his residence. Not quite an hour after he got home, messages began to reach him about how the youths had marched round the village, shutting down all activities in the vicinity. As the last visitor was leaving his house, his first wife, Adanma, walked into the sitting room from her hut behind the building. “Nna anyi, thank God you’re back o. We were beginning to worry,” she said. “Where’s everyone? I hope they’re all at home?” Obodo asked. “They are. Everyone is home except Njoku. He hasn’t returned since he left the house in the morning.” Njoku was one of the teenage sons of the high chief and was generally seen as the most unmanageable of them all. Many a times he would be chased into their compound by a group of irate boys he had fought in the village. It would take the appeal of his mother to calm the nerves of his furious pursuers. Obodo shook his head and gritted his teeth. “That boy will not kill me. I just hope he’s not part of that riotous group of youths that have turned the town upside down.” After he had conferred with his wife, he asked her to send out one of the children to the elders. He needed to quickly gather them so they could find a way to stop the crisis from degenerating. In no time, the family elders had arrived at his residence and all moved to the ogwa at the front of the house. Ordinarily, they could sit and discuss in the house, but for serious matters that required the full weight of traditional sanctions, the mud hut was the appropriate location. Not quite a minute after the meeting commenced, Chief Ikuku raised his walking stick and pointed at Chief Abala. “Ikechukwu was the person spear-heading the protests of the youths today. I recognized the boy when they passed by my place. You need to see how he was rampaging all over the place,” he fumed. Embarrassed and embittered, Abala retorted. “How could you say that, Ichie Ikuku. I heard there were many boys and girls involved in the protests. Don’t you think it’s possible you may have mistaken my son for someone else?” Ikuku sat up, still clutching his walking stick. “I know what I’m saying. I may be old but my sight has not started failing me. I’m telling you that I saw the boy. You people are weakening our stance,” he said and angrily hit the stick on the floor, the rod slipping off his frail and small fingers. “Come to think of it, there is little or nothing anyone can do to hold back young men these days from doing whatever they have agreed to do. We just may have to review our position,” Abala said. “How do you mean?” Edordu said. “Of course, that’s the situation. It may surprise you to know that Njoku, Ichie Obodo’s son, was part of them, too. Somebody said he sighted him with the mob,” Abala said. The elders were divided along the arguments of both chiefs. While a few of them insisted they would not renege on their resolution, the majority of them were at odds with the resolution. Eventually they all grudgingly capitulated to the demands of the youths. ************************************************ The burial of Udoka was held the following Wednesday but the exercise was boycotted by several of the chiefs. Although the traditions of the land forbade the old from physically appearing at the burial of younger siblings, the aggrieved chiefs technically indicated their disapproval of the exercise by preventing members of their immediate families from attending the funeral. The wives and children of Uncle Madu were in attendance, yet the hostile stares of Isioma left no one in doubt of the tension within the family. Isioma and her husband had not been able to understand why the poison they gave to Amina was yet to take effect; they continued to look out for every sight and sound that indicated the expected end. Meanwhile, the burden of funding the funeral was largely left to Amina to bear. She managed to do so from what was left of her earnings. Her children returned to school a week after the burial ceremony, having missed out on much of their studies. They would need to work harder to catch up with the rest of the class. But that was not the major challenge that confronted the bereaved family. The children had gone to farm as they always did at the weekends before the death of their father. On getting there, they noticed that a rope attached with pieces of red cloth, tiny calabashes and omu was used to cordon off the farm. Omu was a long piece of leaf pulled out of a palm frond and used as a traditional symbol of injunction. They rushed back to notify their mother of the development. She was still observing the customary rites of bereavement which barred her from leaving the house or engaging in any form of work. She wondered why her children would be denied access to their father’s farm and sent Amuebie to Uncle Madu’s house to ask Nkiru to come over. Nkiru came in and joined Amina where she was seated on the floor. “How’re you doing today, my sister?” Nkiru asked. “We give God the glory,” Amina said. “This one you have sent for me this morning, I hope all is well?” “The children went to the farm but came back to report that the place has been sealed off.” “Why? What happened?” “I don’t know. How would I know when I’m seated here all day? I thought you might know or have heard something about it.” “I honestly don’t have the slightest idea about it. But hold on. Let me go and see Nna anyi. He must be aware of this,” Nkiru said and left the house. She returned some twenty minutes later to brief Amina of her findings. She informed her that the closure of the farm was a decision taken by the elders. A dispute had arisen between Uncle Madu and another member of the family over who was the proper person to inherit the land. Madu had laid claim to the property, being the oldest surviving direct relation of Udoka. But another member of the family had reasoned that the farm should be assigned to the general pool and split among members of the family. The elders had to intervene by keeping everyone out of the place pending a resolution of the dispute by the council of elders. For a few minutes after Nkiru had finished speaking, Amina kept silent and stared at the floor. She shook her head for a moment and turned to Nkiru. “So, what happens to me and my children? You mean we don’t have a say over the property of their father? On which land are we going to farm? How are we going to survive?” Nkiru bit her lips, rested her back on the wall and glanced at the ceiling. “They say property can only be inherited by male children,” she said. “Ehen, what about Afamefune, my son?” “Nna anyi says your son is still too young to lay claim to any property.” “Really? That means they can also come in here any day to dispossess us of this house.” Nkiru sighed in exasperation. She held Amina by the hand and in a teary voice said, “Nna anyi is laying claim to the house too.” “What!” Amina screamed. “My dear, that is not just all. He says you have also become his wife in line with the customs of our people,” Nkiru said and folded her hands. Startled and quivering, Amina grabbed Nkiru by the shoulder, “Nkiru, please tell me you’re joking,” she said. “It’s the truth, my sister,” Nkiru muttered. Two days had passed before the reality of the situation began to sink in. Further enquiries Amina made with visiting friends and sympathizers all confirmed that the disclosures by Nkiru were indeed the prevailing norms of the people. Amina observed that virtually every person she spoke to did not think it as despicable and distasteful as they did the issue of the corpse and bath water. But she still could not resign herself to the fact that she was to become the wife of Uncle Madu or any other person for that matter. Remarrying was the last thing on her mind. While she was willing to forfeit the property of her husband to whoever was laying claim to them, the question of having another man would have to be at her own time and volition. As she pondered the problem, she thought of who else she could bare her mind to. She remembered Father Akaduchi. She called Afamefune and asked him to proceed quickly to the rectory. The young boy was no stranger to the place, for apart from attending Sunday service with his parents and sisters, he occasionally went there to help out the Reverend Father with house chores. He squeezed into his shirt and dashed off on the errand. In time, Father Akaduchi arrived at the residence of Amina. His white cassock shone in the light of the day’s sun as he made the sign of the cross. She took time to outline all she had been going through since the death of her husband and, though Father Akaduchi had no direct influence over the decisions and actions of the traditional establishment, his empathy enlivened the morale of the hapless widow. “There may not be much I can do in the circumstance, but I believe we can find a way around the situation,” he said. “How do you mean, Father? Could there really be a way out of this?” she asked. “I think so.” “How?” “Send a message to Chief Madu and Chief Obodo and tell them you want to address the next meeting of the family elders.” Amina adjusted her position on the floor and pulled up the black wrapper that was placed over her legs. “Really? Will they agree to admit me to their meeting? What am I possibly going to tell them?” Father Akaduchi sat up. The cushion on the wooden chair drooped toward the floor. He stood, pushed it in and sat back on the seat. “Good. Once they agree to hear you out, which I believe they will, then you already would have put one foot in the door,” he said. “So, what shall I tell them at the meeting? How do I begin to convince them to abandon their age-old tradition, knowing our recent experiences?” “Tell them you’ve agreed to remarry.” “What! No, Father. I’m sorry I’m not prepared for that now. No, no, no . . . I’m sorry, I won’t do that.” “Look, tell them you’ll adapt to the traditions of the land and remarry, and being that your new husband has to be someone from the family, tell them to at least give you the honor that’s due every woman by allowing you to pick a man of your choice from among members of the family.” “Father, you don’t seem to understand me. There’s no member of the family that can win my love and affection, no matter how fine or rich he is. I just don’t have the time or emotions to share with anyone now.” “There’s someone that can meet all those expectations.” Amina reclined on the wall and looked disinterestedly toward the opposite corner of the room. She gave a sarcastic grin and scoffed. “Here in Ubo? Impossible! Who? Except you’re saying Udo will resurrect.” “Yes. He’s already resurrected, and that’s in Afamefune, your son.” Amina turned and fixed a bewildered stare on the priest. “What are you talking about, Father?” “Tell them you opt to marry your son, Afamefune. It’s allowed by the customs of the land for widows to opt to marry their sons in these circumstances. That provision of the tradition has not been invoked in a long while, but it’s there and remains very valid. Go ahead and take your destiny in your hand, my sister. The Lord shall see you through,” Father Akaduchi said and stood to depart. Amina gaped at the man of God as he stepped out of the house. She was so enraptured by his counsel that she forgot to bid him farewell. Echoes of his footsteps rang in her ears and gradually paled into thoughtful silence. Then it struck her that she had heard about such incidents having happened sometime in the distant past. She could not recollect if it was from Udoka she’d heard the story, or from one of the many people she had come across since they returned from Bulum-Kuttu. She never gave any meaningful consideration to the idea as it had quickly receded out of memory like many other stories she felt were the fables and folklores of the people. A sudden burst of enthusiasm swept aside her confusion and dejection. She stood, folded the mat and stepped into the room. She called Amuebie and asked her to reach out to Uncle Madu. The message was simple and brief: Amina wants to have an audience with the council of elders. * * * * * The following day, Chief Obodo called the meeting as proposed by Amina. Uncle Madu had not hesitated to make her request known to the old chief. The elders were in full attendance thirty minutes before the scheduled time. They bantered in curiosity over Amina’s desire to meet with them. Amina arrived for the meeting on time, together with Amuebie and Afamefune. She wore a black head tie, a black bubu and a pair of gray slip-ons. The chiefs welcomed her to the meeting and requested to know her reason for calling an emergency meeting of the council of elders. She proceeded to narrate her experiences since the death of her husband. As she had imagined, the elders advised her on the need to remarry into the family. They said it was the only guarantee she had for unimpeded access to the various privileges that would ordinarily elude her as a woman. The elders all heaved a sigh of relief when she conceded to their demand. They turned to one another in excited whispers that the non-conforming northerner had finally come to her senses. But the respite was short-lived. They were stunned to silence when she stated that her choice of husband was Afamefune, her son. For a while, they stared in bafflement at one another and gradually began to nod in resignation to the inescapable reality. When Madu observed that there appeared to be no opposition from the elders, he attempted to dissuade her on account of the young age of Afamefune. He argued that she needed an older man who would be able to manage the peculiar challenges of her situation. His submissions were, however, roundly dismissed by the elders who contended that the widow had made her choice and should not be subjected to further frustrations and misery. They directed that no other man should make advances at her and that she must be given all the respect and honor due a married woman. A date was subsequently appointed for payment of the relevant dowry and presentation of drinks by Afamefune. The elders did not, however, reach a consensus on who was to inherit the property of Udoka, as many of the chiefs argued that Afamefune was still too young to be eligible for such acquisition. They posited that an elderly member of the larger family should oversee the property until Afamefune came of age. After listening to the various shades of opinion on the matter, Chief Obodo submitted that a person they had all collectively agreed to accord marital status cannot at the same time be said to be too young to own property. The old chief contended that if Afamefune was adjudged sufficiently qualified to own a woman, it should be given that he was equally qualified to own property. With no dissenting voice to his argument, Obodo ruled that all the property of the late Udoka henceforth belonged to Afamefune. Although this position was largely adopted by the house, the murmurings and gloomy countenance of Madu left Amina with the conviction that the last may not have been heard of the issue. She returned to the house with her children and that night she observed that for the first time since the death of her husband, Nkiru did not pay her the usual evening visits. Amina called her children and explained the situation, advising that they gird their loins for the bumpy times that lay ahead. * * * * * Afamefune and his sisters concluded their holiday a week later and resumed school for the new academic session. Two days after resumption, Amuebie returned from school with a letter addressed to her mother, requesting full payment of the school fees for her three children; they would no longer be allowed to attend classes until they made full payment of the fees. Amina breathed out and sank into the wooden chair in the sitting room. Although she had tried to make good her sewing vocation, the income she generated from USMAN & LABARAN was virtually exhausted in preparing for Udoka’s burial. She thought of who to resort to for assistance and bearing in mind that Afamefune was the god-son of Uncle Madu, she sent Amuebie to the old man asking for audience with him. Amuebie did not meet him at home, but Nkiru was at her shed cracking palm kernel with her daughter. She advised that Amina should come later in the evening when her husband would have been back. By seven in the evening, Amina had reached the residence of Uncle Madu. She met him and explained the difficulties she was encountering fending for the children, pleading that there was no way she could singularly sustain her three children in secondary school. She asked the old man to assist in paying the fees for the boy, while she would endeavor to handle the schooling of the girls. Uncle Madu was quiet. He sat and gazed emptily into space as she spoke. When she was done, he turned toward her and expressed regrets over his inability to assist, saying that things had not been going quite well for him in recent times. He asked her to make a choice on who among the three to keep in school and who to send to farm, or join her in the tailoring profession. The old man stated that the popular practice for indigent families was to first send the oldest one to school, while the others would wait for him to pass out and secure a job. It was from the income from his new job he would sponsor the education of his younger ones. But Uncle Madu admitted that Amina’s case was a little complicated because her two older children were both girls. He stressed that it was wasteful to prioritize the education of girls over boys. “They will be married off after their education,” he said. “Of course, Nna anyi, I know they’ll not live with me forever. But I believe they’ll not forsake their blood,” Amina said. “Oh, so you really expect them to fend for their younger ones when they’re gone from here?” “I believe they won’t forget their home, sir.” “Which home? The one you’re in control of or the one their husband and his extended family would be running? My dear, you better use your tongue to count your teeth. One has not eaten yet one is throwing the little that is available to a goat. Woman, I’ll advise you find a way to send your son to school,” he said derisively and looked away. Seeing that he was not willing to assist, Amina thanked him for his time and departed his residence. For two days she was in a dilemma. Afamefune had not been doing well in school. Beyond failing promotion exams once in primary school, his first term examination results in the secondary school had left much to be desired. The prospects of his passing to the next class looked bleak. He was fourteen years old. If he did not drop in any of the classes, he would be in the university at nineteen. His sisters had four and two years on him respectively. They would be in their third and second year by then. That would be the dream of every mother, Amina imagined. Meanwhile, the girls had consistently made better grades from primary to secondary school, particularly Nonyelim, whose results had been excellent. Amina sought the advice of her friends and Father Akaduchi. The priest duly advised that the girls should be educated first with the little resources she had, but the fears expressed by a majority of the other people pushed her in the opposite direction. On one Tuesday night she called Amuebie and Nonyelim to her room. She was in tears. She tried to explain the difficult times they were going through and the reality from which they could not escape. Then she broke the news to them. They would have to discontinue their education for the sake of their younger brother. The two girls gazed at their mother in shock and confusion. They cried and pleaded that they were ready to double their efforts in the farm so they could remain in school, but their mother said that even such sacrifice would not amount to much. The school fees were simply unaffordable. The girls left the room and wept for the rest of the night. The next day, they cradled and held on to their school bags, as they sobbed and watched their young brother step out of the house to begin another academic year. Nine A day after Amina concluded the period of mourning her husband, she set out to farm with Amuebie and Nonyelim. It was a Friday morning. She managed to trudge along the three-mile distance; the three-month stay at home had taken a toll on her fitness but she had no other option. She knew that the absence of Udoka meant she had to double her efforts so as to cater for the family. By six in the morning they had reached the farm and immediately settled down to work. While Amuebie focused on weeding the undergrowth around the cassava planted the previous year, Amina and Nonyelim busied themselves planting yam seedlings. For hours they toiled in the hot sun. Thirty minutes was all they took to rest and eat. They moved into the small hut in the farm. Nonyelim stepped out five minutes later to gather the firewood they would use to roast the yam they had set aside for the day, while Amuebie prepared the palm oil and dry fish for the meal. In thirty minutes they were done with the short break and returned to work. It was not until five in the evening that they got home. That was the daily routine of the family. Saturday was set aside for house cleaning and laundry. Afamefune was assigned the task of scrubbing the multi-coloured rubber carpet and white ceiling fan in the sitting room, as he would not be going to school on that day. The fan was more a piece of decoration than a functional instrument of comfort as there was no electricity to power it, but they kept it clean. Saturday was also a day when Amina would stay back to attend to her tailoring. On Sunday they would all go to church in the morning and return a few minutes before noon. Amina had become enamored of popular lines at the Sunday service and would repeatedly reflect on them in her moments of solitude: Be of good courage for the Lord thy God does not slumber . . . those who sit in covens to invoke elements of the firmament against you shall call destruction upon themselves . . . the doors to prosperity and the treasures of heaven shall open as you call upon the Name of the Lord . . . sickness shall not locate your house . . . the witnesses assembled against you shall find no listening ear . . . their rage for blood knows no bounds but God shall hide you in His secret place…you shall be invisible to the harbingers of wickedness . . . Holy Ghost fire shall strike them down as they emerge from their habitations of cruelty . . . in the race for life you shall be Carl Lewis, in the race of life you shall be Haile Gabrieselassie . . . your prayers shall not be obstructed on the highway to the Most Merciful . . . your ceaseless supplications shall bring endless benedictions . . . your sacrifices shall speak for you on the altar of judgement . . . those who thought they had shut the door against you shall see you break through from another door . . . the God of heaven and earth shall not allow your neighbors to arrest your destiny . . . the world shall not only be revealed to you, you shall be revealed to the world . . . who is he to call death upon you when the Lord has not spoken it? Not minding that the hours after church were the only time they had for whatever could be considered leisure, Nonyelim would use that period to go through what Afamefune had studied in school for the week. Although she had been a class ahead of him before she was withdrawn from school, the bits and pieces she picked from his notes and text books helped to refresh her memory. On this Sunday afternoon, Afamefune and his mother sat in the living room, while Nonyelim busied herself in the room reading. As Amuebie was in the kitchen preparing dinner, their mother sought to know from Afamefune what the school timetable was for the coming week. “When next are you having mathematics?” she asked. “That’ll be on Tuesday afternoon,” he said. “You really need to take it more seriously if you still want to become a doctor.” “Yes, Mum. That’s the course I want to study. I’m going to be a doctor. I want to be like Dr. Usman.” Although Afamefune had not been particularly bright in school, he had developed a liking for medical doctors. Severally Amina had told him and his sisters how Dr. Usman saved her and their father during the riots that compelled them to flee the North. That story had remained etched in their consciousness and, for Afamefune, he had said he would become a doctor someday so he could be in a position to save lives, too, like Dr. Usman. “But, Mummy, the teacher is making the subject difficult.” “How do you mean?” “He does not take time to teach a particular formula before he jumps to another topic.” “How come other students are able to cope with him?” “Many of them are complaining too.” “Have you raised the issue with him?” “Arrhh. He will flog the hell out of us if we dare.” “You mean you can’t approach him to discuss your problems?” “No o.” She did not take kindly to the revelations by her son. If she was straining herself to send him to school, then the teachers must fulfil their own part of the bargain. The next morning, she accompanied Afamefune to school. The mathematics teacher was not available—he had gone to Akeh to supervise an examination. She requested to meet with the principal of the school. She had met the principal when she was processing the admission of Afamefune, but she doubted if such chance meeting was sufficient to register her identity in the principal’s memory. The rumor mill claimed the woman had no friend. Her reputation as a strict disciplinarian was always a topic of discussion among the locals. Her office was two blocks away from the classrooms, adjacent to the staff room. As Amina walked toward her office, she turned to the open field and saw some students trimming the over-grown portions with machetes. She remembered the day Afamefune returned from school with blisters on his palm after he had been made to serve corporal punishment with five other boys for their failure to identify from amongst them the student that had made a sneering remark at one of the teachers. Amina was still wondering the offence the current set of boys may have committed to warrant their ordeal when she cast a glance toward the office building. The principal was stepping out of the door in her white blouse and brown skirt. As Amina approached her, she observed that the principal’s features had not changed much since she last saw her—she was a stout, dark, middle-aged woman. “Good morning, madam. I’m Mrs. Amina Udoka Ndukwe. I wish to see you, ma,” she said. “Oh, my pleasure. You are welcome. I am Emenike. Mrs. Caroline. . .” “I know you, ma.” “Oh, good.” She turned and ushered her into the office. It was half the size of a standard office, and the only window in the room was partially blocked by one of the rows of steel file cabinets. “Take a seat, madam,” the principal said as she settled into her chair and clasped her fingers on the wooden table. “Sorry for bothering you this morning, madam. There’re some matters I need to bring to your attention,” Amina said. “You are welcome. I’m all ears.” Amina went on to narrate Afamefune’s experiences with the mathematics teacher and her dissatisfaction with her son’s general poor performance in school. The principal promised to look into the matter and reassured her about the commitment of the school to the overall success of the students. She then sought to know what Amina did for a living. “I’m a seamstress and farmer,” Amina said. “Seamstress? Don’t tell me you’re the same Amina who sewed the USMAN & LABARAN brand for many of the students?” The principal placed her two hands on her forehead. “Afamefune’s mother . . . oh, my God. Where did my memory go? C’mon I should have guessed so,” she said. Her eyes glowed with excitement. She said she was especially delighted by the high quality of her clothes as evident in the flawless finish. She remarked that even in the big cities like Awka, where her family lived, their uniforms lacked the exquisite attention to detail that had become the hallmark of USMAN & LABARAN. The principal enquired whether Amina would have the time and capacity to produce those uniforms in larger quantities. “We don’t like the idea of students looking disjointed in poorly produced uniforms. We want to standardize their appearance,” she said. “I can create time to produce them, madam. But the problem would be money . . . getting the money for such expansion,” Amina said. “It’s OK. I was with the chief inspector of education over the weekend at Akeh. We discussed all that and the need to quickly find a good tailor to do the job. I’ll mention you to him. Advance payment is usually given to successful tenders. But you have to apply for it first. Bring your application letter to me here tomorrow morning, together with some samples of your work.” Amina gaped at the principal in astonishment. “Really?” she asked. The principal nodded. “There are many competing bidders, though, but let’s try and see how it goes,” she said. “Thank you, principal . . . thank you so so much, ma,” she blurted. “You’re welcome.” Amina got home and dashed to her room. She went on her knees to glorify God, praying that agents of wickedness would not make the principal change her mind before the next morning, for she knew that it was one thing to ask for her application letter and quite another to see her through the entire process. After a while, she made for the book shelf by the sitting room. She had spent most quiet moments of her post-mourning period reading and had gone halfway on The Pursuit of History by John Tosh. She picked it and returned to the room. * * * * * Although Amina had hired some young men to work in the farm so her daughters could focus fully on the tailoring work, she observed that Nonyelim was not showing as much enthusiasm in the business as Amuebie. “You’ve not been looking happy these days, Nonye,” Amina said and, from her chair in the sitting room, glanced at her second daughter. “I’m fine, Mummy,” Nonyelim said. Amuebie stood from the dining and moved to join them in the sitting room. “Nonye, Mummy’s right. I observed the same thing, too,” she said. Nonyelim said, “Ehh, it’s not as if I don’t like the business, but, Mummy, I really would wish to go back to school.” “Oh, is that the reason you’ve been so moody? No wonder,” Amina said. “Ehen! I thought as much,” Amuebie said and watched her mother. “That’s OK. I can understand,” Amina said and turned toward Amuebie. “What about you. Will you not like to return to school?” she asked. Amuebie shrugged her shoulders and shot, “Hiaaa! Not at all. I love what I’m doing now. Business is my calling and business I’ll do. I want to be a big businesswoman.” “Are you sure you’re both speaking your minds?” Amina asked, her eyes scanning her two daughters, “You must settle for what’ll give you happiness in life.” “Me, I know what I want and I’m not going to change my mind. Mba nu, not now that market is expanding and business is booming,” Amuebie said. Amina observed that Nonyelim had fixed a stare on the floor and had suddenly gone thoughtful and reticent. “What about you, Nonye? You seriously wish to leave the business and return to school?” her mother asked. “Yes, Mummy, but I’m thinking of how you’ll be able to cope with the cost of training me and Afam at the same time,” Nonyelim said with her gaze still on the floor. “That’s OK. God will provide. But remember, you’ll not be starting from where you left off last year. They’re going to step you down to Class One,” her mother said. “I don’t mind, Mummy,” Nonyelim said. “What!” Amuebie broke in, “You’ll now be junior to Afam in school. Lai lai! Never! Count me out of that kind of arrangement,” she said. “Whatever. I don’t mind,” Nonyelim said. She glanced across the different family pictures hanging on the wall and focused on their father’s graduation picture. “It’s all right. Get ready then. I’ll get across to the principal tomorrow,” their mother said. Nonyelim jumped out of her chair in a burst of excitement and ran to her mother. She hugged her, a well of tears in her eyes, and stuttered, “Thank you, Mummy. Thank you so so much.” * * * * * On the evening of the following Saturday, Uncle Madu returned from the farm and began to complain of dizziness. In no time he had lost his voice. Isioma observed that his face had twisted to the left side. She sent for Nkiru and two of their children. By the time they arrived, Uncle Madu was lying motionless on the bed. Isioma asked one of the children to quickly get a cab. More vehicles had begun to ply the village since the road from Ubo to Akeh was tarred by the state government two years earlier. They hurriedly secured a cab and rushed Uncle Madu to the hospital. The doctor disclosed that he had suffered a stroke and an unusual facial protruberance that would require further diagnosis. He advised that the old man should be quickly taken to the hospital in Awka and that if they delayed for more than thirty minutes his condition would deteriorate irreversibly. Meanwhile, the estimates he had given for the man’s treatment were way beyond their capacity. The two wives thought of what to do; how were they going to raise the money to save the life of their husband? Nkiru suggested that they reach out to Amina for assistance, but Isioma balked at the idea and stared furiously at Nkiru. She warned her never to mention that name before her again. She wondered if Nkiru did not know that Amina’s desecration of their customs may have been responsible for the strange ailment that struck their husband. Isioma returned to the doctor and deposited the little money she had come with. She asked him to proceed with the plan to take her husband to Awka, stating that Nkiru and one of her sons would accompany him, while she would meet them up later with some more money. She fastened the wrapper around her waist and stepped out of the building. Ten On hearing about the illness of Uncle Madu and how he was rushed out of the house for treatment, Amina quickly left her house and made for the hospital. Incidentally, Uncle Madu had been taken to Awka when she got there. She returned home and began to contemplate whether to proceed to Awka or not. It was already past six in the evening. Nonyelim had just stepped into the room with her dinner. She noticed the mood of her mother and walked toward her. “Mummy, are you OK?” she asked with a mouthful of yam and plantain clump. “Yes. It’s Uncle Madu.” Nonyelim stopped and placed the plate on the stool. “What happened to him?” she asked. “He’s been rushed to the hospital. I hear his condition is very bad.” “Oh! Let’s go and see him.” “It’s not the hospital in Ubo. He’s at Awka.” “What! When did that happen?” Amuebie and Afamefune breezed in. They had heard the conversation between their mother and Nonyelim. “What happened to him?” Afamefune asked. “I hear he suffered a stroke. But they say it’s not just that. There’s a lump on his head which the doctors couldn’t understand,” their mother said. “Arrhh! Ngwa nu! That serves him right . . . Not only a lump but dump,” Amuebie mocked and walked away to take a seat at the far end of the room. “Hey, you don’t say a thing like that,” Nonyelim said and turned to take her plate from the stool. “I’m thinking of going to see him this evening at the hospital in Awka,” their mother said. Amuebie stormed out of her seat. “Never! Look at the time. It’ll take you three hours to go and return. Why take such a risk for him? You have forgotten all they did to you and daddy?” she said. “But we can’t let him die,” Afamefune said. “Ehen, are you a doctor? What are you supposed to do when you get there?” Amuebie asked. “At least let’s show some concern. Mummy should go and visit him,” Nonyelim said. “How much of that concern have they been showing us? Please o, you’re all we’ve got. It’s just too risky to start traveling,” Amuebie retorted, swinging her gaze from her sister to her mother. “But we don’t have to pay evil with evil,” Nonyelim said. Afamefune glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, though. Mummy can just go to their compound to see the family today. By tomorrow you can start thinking of what to do,” he said. Their mother had sat quiet listening to the dialogue between her children. Inasmuch as she was pained by all what Uncle Madu and his cohorts did to her family, she felt she still had a duty as a Christian to show compassion. While she admitted that it was indeed too late to embark on the Awka trip, it would not be out of place, as suggested by Afamefune, to take the one-minute walk to the residence of her in-laws. She stood and asked Afamefune to accompany her to the house of Uncle Madu. They got to the compound and made for the front door of Uncle Madu’s hut, only to see Isioma hurrying out of the place, her travelling bag in her right hand. She was moving toward a blue Toyota Corolla that was parked by the orange tree in front of the house. Amina greeted and pulled closer to enquire about the situation. Isioma gave her a disinterested look and hopped into the vehicle. Embarrassed and disillusioned, Amina and Afamefune stood and watched as the vehicle did a reverse and sped out of the area, spewing a hail of dust on them. * * * * * A week later, Amina secured the contract to supply uniform to schools, having received the award letter from the principal. It was issued by the Ministry of Education Headquarters through the chief inspector of education. Amina would supply school uniforms to all the secondary schools in Ubo and Akeh, under the name of USMAN & LABARAN. The measurements and specifications for the first set of five hundred garments were given to her. Subsequent orders would come with the relevant details. She was given a cheque in the sum of five hundred thousand naira, while the balance amount of one million naira would be paid at the completion and delivery of the first set of uniforms. She was all smiles from the school back to her house. No one was at home to share the joy with her as Amuebie and Nonyelim had gone to the market. She pranced about the house in excitement and began to figure out how she would cope with the deluge of work that had come. She thanked God that she had been training many people over the years; at least, there would not be a problem assembling the team to work with her. She already had a pool of well-groomed tailors she always called upon whenever she had a load of work. But all that haphazard arrangement would now give way to a more formal engagement of the workers—she would need to offer full-time employment to some of them. She immediately contacted her local sources of supply and set out to procure the cloths and extra sewing machines for the new assignment. She selected the best from her pool of trained tailors, taking time to visit them individually to seek the consent of their parents. Some declined the offer as they did not wish to take up tailoring as a profession. Those who agreed were recruited and placed on a salary. She dressed the women in her favorite colors of gray skirt and orange blouses, while the men wore shirt and trousers of same colour. With the logo ‘U&L’ boldly embossed at the front of the uniforms, they became a spectacle in the village, and by the second month, she had rented a bigger house. A large white signpost with black inscription of ‘USMAN & LABARAN’ hung from the roof of the bungalow. She bought power generating sets and moved her equipment and staff from her house to the new location. Uncle Madu and his family had been following the sudden turn in the fortunes of Amina. She had changed the 14-inch black and white television in her sitting room to a 24-inch colored set. The book shelf had been expanded to a mini study to accommodate the additional books they had acquired. The rubber carpet had given way to a red rug, while a velvet damask fabric had taken the place of the cloth on the cushioned seats. Although Nkiru still made efforts to visit Amina once in a while, it was clear that their relationship had suffered a mortal blow from the circumstances of Udoka’s burial. Isioma never bothered to go near Amina since the day she presented the poisoned food to her. She and her sick husband remained convinced that the widow’s days were numbered. Every day they hoped to hear that Amina had dropped dead. The more the reputation of Amina soared, the more the relationship between the two families soured. Eleven Amina got up early one day and set out for her shop. She had scheduled to visit Awka that day to purchase a bale of cloths for the uniforms she was to send to schools that week. The scarcity of clothing materials at that period had affected her tradition of promptness. One of her suppliers informed her that he could make some materials available if only she would pay the extra cost. She did not object. All that was important to her was her integrity with the schools. She could not afford to fail them. Not after all the commendations that had come the way of USMAN & LABARAN from far and wide. She called the cashier and asked that the money from sales be given to her. One hundred and fifty thousand naira was brought, but that was barely enough to meet the demands of the suppliers. She looked around the shop, put together all what she could gather and made her way home to prepare for the trip to Awka. She arrived in a few minutes, and just as she was about to step back out of the house, Nkiru rushed in panting and crying. “How is he?” asked a bewildered Amina. Nkiru wiped her eyes and slouched by the pillar of the house. “My sister, the situation is beyond me,” she said. “What are the doctors saying? Cheer up, dear. Nothing is impossible with God,” Amina said as she walked toward Nkiru and, with a hand across her shoulders, ushered her into the house. “His condition is not improving. In fact, it is getting worse,” Nkiru said, gazing at the floor. Then she turned and faced Amina. “My sister, we need your help. We’re stranded. The doctors say they need two hundred thousand naira to carry out an operation on him. We’ve been able to raise fifty thousand. All I’ve made from my palm kernel is gone.” Amina sighed and recoiled on her seat. Inasmuch as she wished to save the life of her in-law, she knew that her own survival was hanging in the balance. She had not only failed to meet the deadline for her supplies to the schools, the money she had managed to put together was barely sufficient to clear her obligations. She could see the agony in Nkiru’s eyes as she sobbed. Amina understood what it meant for a woman to lose her husband. The pitiable sight of her closest confidante in the village evoked memories of her own ordeal just a few years back. “Gaskiya, this is a difficult time,” Amina said. It was all she could mutter as she stared meditatively into space. Nkiru scooted to the edge of the chair and knelt before her. “Please help me, Amina. My husband is dying. Kindly forgive whatever we have done to you. I beg you in the Name of God.” Amina stood and tried pulling her up. “Please get up, my dear. Believe me, there’s no iota of bitterness in my heart. The past is gone and it’s gone.” “I know what the situation is. It’s only a person with your type of heart that can overlook all that was done to you. I didn’t tell Isioma I was coming here. But please try to ignore her and consider me.” “Isioma, or any person for that matter, is not a problem, Nkiru. The issue is that there just is nothing I can do now. This is happening at a very wrong time. I’ve committed all I’ve got to my business.” Nkiru folded her arms and gazed at the blank wall. “I can understand. I know it’ll be difficult to forget the recent happenings. I know,” she said. Amina shifted on the chair. She took pity on her friend. Thoughts of giving her the money she had raised that morning started to well in her. She remembered her own predicament: if they terminated her contract with the schools for failure to meet up with her contractual obligations, all she had built around USMAN & LABARAN would come crashing down, and she would return to her former days of penury and helplessness. She remembered, too, that beyond the pressures from the school, she still had the tenement rate of her shop to cope with. The local government council had sent in the accumulated bill that morning, and the staff who brought the notice had threatened that the shop would be sealed off if the bill was not settled within two weeks. Tears dropped from her eyes. She moved toward Nkiru and held her by the hand. “My sister, you just have to believe me. I don’t have anything to give at this time. It’s not because of what may have happened before. If I were in a position to help, you know I would, walahi,” she said. “It’s OK. Thank you. Let me go and continue cracking my palm kernels,” a weeping Nkiru said as she stood to leave the room, Amina sauntering behind her to the door. Nkiru stepped out of the house and, without a backward glance, headed dejectedly toward her palm kernel shed. Ten minutes after Nkiru left the house, Amina was still agonizing over her discussion with the distressed woman. She had no one at home to share her thoughts with as Amuebie had gone to the shop while Afamefune and Nonyelim were in school. The urge to intervene and help the dying man began to grow. She knew her conscience would never let her have peace if Uncle Madu died when she had in hand the money needed to save his life. She had concealed it behind one of the book shelves. If she gave part of the money to Nkiru it would hardly solve the problem. It would seem as if no help was offered at all. The man was at the point of death. The situation needed immediate intervention. She took another look at the money, nodded her head and walked out of the house with the bag. * * * * * Nkiru arrived at the Awka hospital in Udeozor Street and rushed to the office of the consultant surgeon. She did not bother to go to the general ward where her husband, Isioma and the children were staying. She feared that Isioma might ask her to return the money she had just taken from Amina. She understood that Isioma’s hatred for Amina knew no bounds. Isioma would rather their husband died than stoop to accept any assistance from Amina. She got to the doctor’s office and was told he had gone to attend to some patients within the hospital. She chose to await his return. As she lowered her tall frame onto the visitor’s chair, she began to pray for Amina. She had lost all hope. She was dumbfounded when Amina walked into her palm kernel shed and handed over the entire money to her. It took a while before she was able to regain herself. She had hugged Amina with tears in her eyes. As she recalled those moments, she began to wonder how she would ever be able to repay Amina for her uncommon kindness. Her tears of joy had hardly dried up when the doctor stepped into the office. Nkiru informed him that she had raised the money for the operation. He stared at her in doubt and only became convinced when she pulled out the money from her bag and gave it to him. Though he quickly directed her to take the money to the cash office and make the payment, she could see the shock on his face. Even after he had asked the nurses to move her husband to the theatre and prepare him for the operation, his countenance was for a while shadowed by disbelief. Isioma too was amazed at the swiftness with which the medical staff began to attend to their husband. She called Nkiru aside and asked how she was able to raise that kind of money. Nkiru replied that it was a saving she had made over the years. With her lips tight, Isioma glared at her suspiciously and gave a wary nod. They both went to the adjacent room to await the fate of their husband. * * * * * Amuebie returned home for lunch and was surprised to meet her mother in the house. “Hiaaa! Mummy, you’re still at home? I thought you’d long left for Awka to get the cloths,” she said. “No, some other urgent issues came up that I needed to quickly attend to,” her mother said. “So, when are you leaving? Or are you no longer going today? The time’s almost gone.” “It’s all right, dear. If I’m not able to make it today, I’ll do so tomorrow.” Amina would not let her daughter in on what she had done, especially in the face of Amuebie’s attitude to Uncle Madu and his family. “With the seriousness you showed in the morning I thought it was urgent that you reach your suppliers in Awka,” Amuebie said. “It’s okay. I’ve sent a message across. I’ll meet them some other time,” her mother said. Amina peeked at Amuebie from the corner of her eyes and saw her daughter cast a searching look at her. She suspected that Amuebie would be wondering why the sudden lack of enthusiasm about the Awka trip, considering the desperation she had shown in the morning. She could sense a tinge of disillusionment around her daughter that she had not seen in a long while. “Mummy, are you sure there is no problem?” Amuebie asked. Her mother pulled her eyes away from her and stood to head for the kitchen. “It’s all right, dear. There’s no problem. Try to get something to eat so you can return to the shop in good time. I guess we still have some of the nsala soup left?” she said. Amina knew that Amuebie was not convinced. She could feel her daughter’s eyes on her trying to detect any subtle indication of trouble. Remembering her daughter’s traumatized childhood, she hoped nothing would ever again make the family relapse into the dark old days. When Afamefune and Nonyelim returned from school and sought to know the situation with Uncle Madu, their mother simply informed them that he was responding to treatment. She ensured the discussion was brief and was relieved that none of them asked if Uncle Madu had been able to get some assistance from her. All through the day, she tried to avoid any conversation that would highlight the delivery of the uniforms. It was not until the next morning that she began to come to terms with the reality of what had happened. Although she had been able to scrap additional thirty thousand naira from what she had at home and office, she realized she had no option but to reach out to the suppliers and plead for a down payment of the thirty thousand naira. She hoped they would release the materials to her on credit, with plans to defray the outstanding debt when she finished her supplies and got paid by government. She concluded it was the only thing she could do in the circumstance and, after her children had all left the house, she dressed up and set out for the city of Awka. * * * * * Although the doctors battled all night to save the life of Uncle Madu, the operation was unsuccessful. He died in the early hours of the morning. The information did not get to Ubo until noon when his children returned home to break the news. Isioma and Nkiru had stayed back at the hospital to arrange to deposit his body in the mortuary. The two wives returned to Ubo two hours later to behold the wailing from the horde of sympathizers and relations who had besieged their residence. Amina was yet to return from her own mission to Awka but Afamefune and Nonyelim were back from school. They took off their uniforms, slipped into their house wears and dashed to the house of the late man to join the bourgeoning crowd. It did not take time to locate Nkiru in her hut behind the main house. Afamefune was the first to sight her seated on the floor with a group of women. “How is your mother?” Nkiru asked welcomingly. “She’s fine, ma. She’s yet to return from Awka,” Afamefune said. Nkiru nodded her head. “OK,” she muttered into her folded arms. Afamefune and Nonyelim expressed their condolences and, after a while, they stood and excused themselves to visit Isioma. They got to the hut of Isioma and could hardly find their way into the abode of the bereaved woman. Although they eventually managed to force their way in, they did not get the same attention they received from Nkiru. Among the number of people who had swarmed the house were Chief Obodo and many of the elders. As the first wife, Isioma’s abode was the formal reception point for condolence visits. Afamefune and Nonyelim kept craning their necks, hoping to make eye contact with Isioma. They did, but the venomous stare from the bereaved woman made them understand they were in enemy territory. Afamefune winked at Nonyelim and, quietly, they slipped out of the place. They got home to the aroma of fresh soup that had enveloped the sitting room and quickly headed for the kitchen. Amuebie was sprinkling ogiri into the egusi soup she was preparing for dinner when Afamefune and Nonyelim strolled in. Afamefune sneered. “Oh no, I thought it was oha soup,” he said. “See who is talking. Can you prepare any one? Where’re you coming from?” Amuebie asked. “You won’t believe what we saw at Uncle Madu’s house,” he said. “What’s it?” she asked disinterestedly and turned away to stir the soup. “Hmmm! It’s Auntie Isioma o,” Nonyelim said. Amuebie remained focused on the pot of soup. After she had stirred the contents, she pulled up the long spoon and tapped a little of the soup on her left palm. As she bent to taste her cooking, she asked, “What happened?” “The way she frowned at us ehhh! Hmmm . . . you’d think that we’re the ones who killed her husband,” Afamefune said. “Really?” Amuebie said. “Yes o. I’m sure if she had a gun she would have shot us,” Nonyelim said. “Serves you right. Who sent you on the errand? Why did you have to go there? Is that your JAMB exams you should be reading and preparing for?” Amuebie fumed. “Of course we had to go. How could we hear that Uncle Madu was dead and not go to sympathize with them?” Nonyelim said. Amuebie turned the control of the stove to lower the flame and then lifted the pot and placed it on the concrete floor. She had filled the kettle with water and as she placed it on the stove, she said, “It’s when you get into trouble that you’ll know what you’ve done to yourselves.” She adjusted the kettle and turned toward them. “I just hope it won’t be too late by then,” she said and breezed past her befuddled siblings. She was just stepping into the sitting room when Amina came into the house. Amuebie noticed that her mother looked pale and dejected, and also did not acknowledge her greeting. She watched as her mother sat on the chair by the door, leaned her head on her hand and gazed sorrowfully at the blank wall. She’d gone a little darker, with her straight and thick eyebrows looking slightly unkempt. “Mummy, what’s the problem? You’re getting me scared. For two days now you’ve been looking strange,” Amuebie said. Her two younger ones were now a few steps behind. They all gathered around their mother who looked up and tried to disguise her agony. “It’s all right, my dears,” she said. “It can’t be all right, Mummy. Amuebie is right. I’ve also noticed you’ve been looking worried for some time now. Or is it the death of Uncle Madu that’s made you moody?” Nonyelim said. Amuebie scowled at her sister. “Which Uncle Madu? Please forget about that one,” she said and turned to their mother. “Mummy, please don’t tell me it’s because of those people you’re looking this way.” Amina stood and walked toward the TV stand. She clasped her fingers and gradually made her way back to her seat. “You won’t understand,” she said. “There’s nothing there to understand, Mummy. Those people have never meant well for us. Why bother yourself about them. Can you imagine how they treated Afam and Nonye when they went to see them,” Amuebie said. Her naturally thick voice sounding a notch stronger. Amina’s eyes shot across her three children. “What happened?” she asked and focused on Amuebie. “Ehen. Ask them. See them,” Amuebie said, waving in the direction of Afamefune and Nonyelim as she moved to sit in the chair opposite her mother. Amina looked again at the two. Their faces were downcast. “What did they do to you, Nonye,” she asked. “It’s Auntie Isioma,” Nonyelim said. Nonyelim narrated how they had gone to see Isioma and the hostile manner in which she reacted to their presence. Although Amina was taken aback by her children’s experience, she knew that such despicable attitude was not beyond Isioma. She had gotten used to her crankiness over the years, but she would have thought that her bereavement would have tempered her excesses. “That’s OK. You stay at home. When I need you to go there I’ll let you know,” Amina said. “Aaahaa,” Amuebie said. Amina stood and began to walk toward the front door. “I’d be back soon. I’ve not been there since his death,” she said. In less than a minute she was at the residence of Uncle Madu. The usual mourning crowd was already ambling about the premises. She greeted and exchanged banters with the familiar faces around as she made her way to the hut of Nkiru. Nkiru saw her walk in and rose from the floor she was seated. She gave her an impassioned embrace and uttered, “Oh, my sister, God will continue to bless you.” The other people in the room looked at one another, amazed at the burst of delight from the bereaved woman who had been reticent all through the day. Amina stayed with Nkiru for about half an hour before proceeding to the hut of Isioma. She had just made her way into the room when Isioma looked up and saw her. She halted the conversation she was having with the sympathizers seated around her, gave a loud hiss and swung her face away from Amina. Her other visitors turned and stared at Amina as she stood by the door, befuddled by the reaction of her sister-in-law. For a moment she hesitated. Then she calmly inched her way into the room and went over to where Isioma was seated—her bulky frame had taken up a large portion of the floor. “Sorry about what has happened o,” Amina said as she stooped to sit on the floor. Two people were seated between her and Isioma. Isioma gave a dismissive glance, nodded and mumbled cynically, “Thank you.” She picked up her chewing stick from the flat rubber plate by her side, nudged the visitor seated next to her to continue what she was saying, but the woman was struck dumb. The visitor looked at Isioma in bewilderment while the others all glanced at one another in silence. Amina looked across the place and sighed. The cold stares in the room delivered the message. She stood and excused herself. Isioma ignored her and kept looking in the opposite way. Amina had hardly exited the room before Isioma spitefully rekindled her conversation with her other visitors. * * * * * Mrs. Caroline Emenike, the principal of Community Secondary School, Ubo, arrived at Akeh Motor Park by noon. She stepped out of the cab and hurried to the office of Mr. Dumbelu, a hundred meters from the council secretariat. As she walked into the room, the chief inspector of education was going to the iron file cabinet beside the window, nervously tapping the scroll he held against his leg. He turned with a furious look toward the visitor. “What’s happening? Where’s the woman you recommended? Where are the uniforms for the children?” he yelled. Mrs. Emenike flinched in embarrassment and slowly placed her handbag on the seat adjacent to the table. She had made an effort to keep the fact away from the authorities, hoping they would not discover that Amina had defaulted in her supplies to the schools. Now that the complaint had reached the C.I.E.’s office at Akeh, she knew there was big trouble. She inched closer to the chief inspector of education. “I’m sorry, sir. The woman has never failed like this before,” she said. “Where is she exactly? You just have to do something fast before petitions begin to flood the headquarters. Parents are already complaining.” “This is very much unlike her. Please, sir, I can assure you she’ll supply the uniforms.” “When, Principal? She’s already three weeks behind schedule. Many students now go to school in mufti. Some are even using that excuse to stay away from school.” “I’m going straight to her place from here.” “This is a clear failure on your path, Mrs. Emenike. You should have done due diligence before bringing her to do this type of work.” “I’m sorry, sir. I’m leaving for her place now.” “You better do so,” he said and threw the papers he held on the wooden table. He cast another fiery glare at the principal and stomped to his seat. Mrs. Emenike had never seen the chief inspector in such an angry mood. As she left his office it began to dawn on her that she truly should have weighed the capacity of Amina before engaging her to produce uniforms for the schools. Twice in the last week now Amina had asked for more time and twice she had failed to deliver. Now my own job is hanging in the balance for trying to patronize a woman I hardly know. She returned to Ubo and headed for USMAN & LABARAN. The staff she met at the shop informed her that Amina had returned home for the day. She had held most of her meetings with Amina at the shop. The few times she met her at home were at the weekends. She thought it was unusual for Amina to close from the shop and return home before four. She stepped out of the shop and flagged down a tricycle. In ten minutes she was at the residence of Amina. “Who’s in the house?” she asked and rapped on the door. As her eyes swept the area, she noticed that many people were streaming toward a house located about a hundred meters away. She feared that Amina may have joined the crowd that was building up around the place. She knocked on the door again. “Who is it?” Amina’s voice rang from inside. “It’s me, Mrs. Emenike.” “Arrhh, madam you’re welcome. Please come in.” As Amina swung the door open, her heart skipped a beat on seeing the stern frown on the principal’s face. She ushered her to a chair and stood by the next seat. “You’re welcome, madam. Please what can I offer you?” Amina’s voice was apologetic and her mien benign. “What’s happening, Mrs. Ndukwe?” “I’m really sorry, madam.” “This is not a question of being sorry. There’s trouble.” Amina was startled. She knew she had defaulted on the terms of her contract. She knew there would be consequences for such failure, but she had not imagined the scope of the problem until she saw the vehemence on the face of the principal that afternoon. With tears streaming down her face, Amina knelt and held the principal by the hand. “Don Allah! I’ll supply the uniforms, madam. I promise you, I will.” “When, Mrs. Ndukwe? When? This is the third time you’re saying so in the last three weeks.” “No, I’m serious, ma. I am serious.” “You should have told me you didn’t have the capacity to do the work. Now I’m about to lose my job because of you.” “God forbid! You’ll not lose your job, ma. Never, not when I’m serving a living God.” The principal looked Amina in the eye. “OK, tell me. I want to hear the truth. What really is the matter?” Amina pulled back and sat on the chair. She looked out of the door, exhaled and put her hands on the chair handle. She wondered whether to open up on her predicament or continue putting up a courageous face with the hope that in no distant time she would be able to sort out the issue. As she momentarily weighed the options, she looked up and noticed the principal’s eyes were still fixed on her. “I ran into some difficulties,” Amina muttered and stared at the floor. Mrs. Emenike leaned closer. “Sorry, I didn’t get you,” she said. With moist eyes, Amina turned again to the principal. She explained the circumstances that led to her not being able to meet up with her obligations. She held nothing back. She told the principal how she had tried to save the life of her father-in-law. The principal listened with rapt attention as Amina tried to justify her magnanimity to a dying man. Amina however conceded that in light of the reaction of Isioma to her and her children, it was beginning to look like her benevolence was misdirected. She appealed for a little more time and promised that their meeting that day would be the last they would ever again discuss this matter. Mrs. Emenike was torn between empathy and disgust and for a few minutes after Amina had finished speaking the principal folded her arms and gazed helplessly at the wall. The principal glanced at the pictures hanging on the white wall. She fixed a look on Afamefune’s. Then she reverted her gaze on Udoka’s picture. She took another intent view of both images and turned to Amina. “So how’d you intend to raise the money to purchase the cloths?” she asked. “I’m already discussing with my suppliers. In fact, I’m supposed to have a meeting with them tomorrow,” Amina said. She did not tell the principal that the few people she had met among the suppliers had all declined her request to make the materials available. None of them was ready to supply the cloths and await payment. They all rejected the thrity thousand down payment; releasing their goods on credit in such time of acute scarcity of cloths was too much a risk to take. Only one of the suppliers had indicated willingness to sell on credit. Chief Omenka, the seventy-year-old leading distributor of textiles in Awka had shown some sympathy toward the widow, but the man had come up with a condition that frightened Amina. She was so rattled by the demand of the septuagenarian that she had not summoned the courage to mention it to anyone. The man had asked Amina to accompany him on a three-day pleasure trip to Lagos. Although in the real sense, as a widow, Amina had been discharged of all marital obligations, she felt that to travel and sleep with a man she didn’t know would not speak well of her. Moreover, her Christian faith forbade her from having an affair with another woman’s husband. On the strength of this, she had courteously declined the man’s offer and returned to Ubo without accomplishing the objective of her visit to Awka. A few minutes after the principal had left the house, Amina began to ponder the options she had. Failure to supply the uniforms within the week would not only see to the termination of the contract, but also permanently damage her integrity in the entire area. She neither had sufficient collateral nor the requisite connections that would have facilitated a bank loan. As she grieved over the issue, it began to dawn on her that the demand of the randy seventy-year-old businessman appeared to be the only lifeline in the circumstance. * * * * * Preparations for the burial of Uncle Madu had gone into high gear. The elders had met and appointed dates for the funeral ceremonies. Amina had been informed that members of the extended family had begun arranging how to put in a befitting appearance at the occasion. Since her arrival from Bulum-Kuttu, she had observed how burial ceremonies across the various communities in the area had become a theatre for the display of the social status of the different family members. The wake preceding interment and the post-burial reception had gradually metamorphosed from the solemnity of old to a carnival of sorts. She wished that a way could be devised to scale down the cost of burial ceremonies, being that, more often than not, funeral expenses left bereaved families impoverished, with only few able to re-build their finances to pre-funeral levels. While Amina and her children prepared for the exercise, disturbing messages began to seep from the compound of Uncle Madu. It was a Thursday and Amina was readying to depart for Awka when one of her customers walked into the house. Amina had structured her work schedule in such a way that her customers met her more at the shop than the house. She knew that those who came calling at home, in most cases, had serious issues to discuss beyond the demands of the job, and seeing the distressed appearance of the middle-aged woman on this day, Amina knew she had come with discomforting information. The woman informed Amina that she had heard from the grapevine that Isioma and her children were planning to attack or embarrass her at the funeral ceremony. “My sister, you and your children should be careful on the day of the burial o,” she said. “But what exactly did she say I’ve done to her?” Amina asked. “She’s telling people that you’re responsible for the death of her husband.” “Me? In what way did I cause the death of her husband?” “That was what she said o. I feel I should let you know so you can be on your guard. My sister, they say that the stone a person had seen coming does not strike her eye blind.” The woman said Isioma had told some people that Udoka and Amina’s violation of the customs of the land was what brought tragic repercussions on not just Udoka but now, Uncle Madu, her husband. Moreover, Amina also never cared to come to their assistance when they needed help in the hospital for Uncle Madu’s treatment. Amina thanked the woman for the timely information and managed to conceal her feelings. She felt it was not in her power to question the deaths in the family. And, it was also not necessary to make public the assistance she had rendered to the late Uncle Madu. Even when her kindness was already threatening her own survival, she resolved to dig deep into her inner strength for the fortitude to face the catastrophe that loomed in the horizon. After the woman had left, Amina began to prepare for her visit to Awka. While she was putting things together for the trip, she could not help but ponder the information from the woman. If the threats from Isioma and her cohorts intensified, she would be left with no option than to stay away from the occasion. She would not want to cause any scene on that day, nor would she want to endanger her life or that of her children. However, the traditions of the land demanded that she and her children not only show up at the burial ceremony but also participate actively in all the funeral rites. There was no way she could abstain from the exercise without attracting the brunt of traditional sanctions. With that in mind, she concluded she would do all within her ability to make her presence and that of her family felt on the occasion, hoping that other people would comport themselves accordingly. She hurried to the village square for a vehicle that would take her to Awka, for the principal had visited earlier in that day to press for the supply of the uniforms. She had come threatening and had vowed that if the uniforms were not made available in three days, she would get the police to arrest Amina. Twelve A friend had mentioned the name of another supplier that was renowned for his generous attitude to his customers. Amina decided to make a last ditch effort to visit him but she would not submit to anything that would dishonor her as a woman, for she would rather go to jail than compromise her moral and spiritual convictions. As she sat at the back of the Toyota Corolla, tears dropped from her eyes. She pulled up her bag and found her handkerchief. How I wish Udo was still alive. It was a windy day at Awka. She arrived and proceeded to the shop of Mr. Iwuagwu. On meeting him, she solicited for credit purchase, with a down payment of thirty thousand naira. She narrated her ordeal to the trader and begged for his understanding. Mr. Iwuagwu sympathized with her but declined to offer any assistance, saying he had not known her well enough to enter into such a huge transaction with her. Moreover, there was severe scarcity of materials. He just could not part with the little he had on credit. All appeals from her did not move the man. She left his shop and took another taxi to head back to Ubo. As the vehicle made its way through the city, they drove past Eke-Awka market where Chief Omenka—the old man who had requested to take her on a Lagos romp—had his shop. They had driven some fifty meters past the shop when she suddenly asked the driver to stop and reverse. Her heart began to pound. Should I or should I not? As the vehicle got close to the shop of the lewd businessman, she asked the driver to pull over. She stepped out of the car, paid off the cabman and began to head for the shop of the old trader. She was a few steps from the building when she stopped and glanced around the area. It was a busy environment, with people darting about the place in pursuit of their daily bread. A group of women with basins of gravel on their heads were shuttling back and forth at a nearby construction site, while further off some others were hawking groundnuts in the scorching sun. She saw she was not the only one fighting for survival. Everyone appeared to be laboring in dignity for livelihood. For a while, she stood by a tree beside the shop. The leaves on the tree flapped in the racing wind and her heart fluttered along with them. Should she or should she not? How does a hungry soul put wisdom to practice? She shut her eyes for a moment, knowing that the bitterness of reality would not be so easily obliterated by the rumbling of the hour. She turned back and headed out of the vicinity to continue the dialogue with her conscience. She got a taxi and returned to Ubo. She got home and began to think seriously of a way to solve the problem without compromising her self-esteem. She had spoken to everyone she could conceivably speak to and they had all shuddered at the request for a credit of two hundred and fifty thousand naira, not minding her proposed thirty thousand advance payment. More painful was the attitude of the suppliers she had patronized in the past. None of the traders was moved to sympathy by thoughts of the various successful transactions she had had with them. She had thought they were building a business relationship that was beyond a mindless cash and carry routine. Suddenly her mind went to Father Akaduchi. The priest was one confidant to whom she was yet to present the matter; she had not bothered to look his way because of the non-materialistic lives of priests. The probability of finding financial succor in the church was the least by her estimation. But she imagined that there was no harm in sounding him out on her travails. If for no other thing, at least she would get his advice and prayers over the matter. She recalled the breakthroughs that had resulted from his counsel in her previous predicaments. With Father Akaduchi still on her mind, she drifted off to sleep. * * * * * Father Akaduchi was in his white shorts and white singlet when Amina arrived that morning. Seated in the front of the rectory, he looked up as the widow approached. She was sporting her gray wrap skirt and white blouse. “How’re you doing today Mrs. USMAN & LABARAN?” the Reverend Father asked and made the sign of the cross. “We give glory to God, sir,” Amina said. “Bless you. What has brought you this early? I hope all is well?” “All is not well, Father. But I believe that God is faithful.” After the Reverend Father had pulled up a chair for her, she began to narrate her ordeal to the priest. She told him how the only person willing to assist her had requested to take her to bed. Father Akaduchi was moved by the plight of the widow. He however chided her for not letting Isioma know that she had made a contribution of such an amount to save the life of her husband. The priest said that on such matters of life and death, it was proper that the contributions of everyone were made evident. Moreover, it still was not clear from her explanations if it was a loan she gave to Nkiru or not. “You should have at least made her sign some papers before parting with such money,” he said. “It was a desperate situation, Father. The circumstance was such that I could not bring myself to do that. She was crying and hurrying to the hospital,” Amina said. “Well, I think it’s a lesson to you. You don’t take things for granted these days. She can simply deny you ever had such a transaction with her.” “Deny? Well, God is my witness.” “Yes, I know. But remember we are still mortals. And as long as we remain on this plane, you must learn to relate with humans bearing in mind their imperfections as mortal beings.” Father Akaduchi saw the desperate situation in which Amina had found herself. He knew that if nothing was done to assist her she might be compelled to seek less virtuous means of solving the problem. The Reverend Father recalled the exemplary manner in which she had upheld her Christian faith and felt that her current travails were a classic case of the devil lurking around the corner seeking whom to devour. He gazed contemplatively at the church building. He remembered he still had the offerings that were made in the different parishes across the local government area for that week; he was yet to submit them to the diocesan headquarters. He could dip into it to solve the immediate problem confronting the helpless widow. But he knew he must make up the money and submit to headquarters before the coming Sunday. How am I going to raise such funds in five days? Different thoughts began to flash through his mind. He thought about appealing to the Bishop to convert same to a loan he would repay before the end of the month. Before then Amina would have been paid by the government and she would have returned the money to him. The priest stood and made for the vault of the church. * * * * * Amina rushed to Awka to purchase the materials, and prayed all through the journey for Father Akaduchi, for he had virtually pulled her away from the jaws of the lion. She arrived at the shop of Chief Omenka before noon. The old man was sitting on a wooden bench by the entrance and on sighting her he began to lick his lips and beam with smiles. He called on one of his salesmen to get his vehicle ready for movement, and beckoned her to sit next to him on the long bench. “You’re welcome, my darling. We shall soon leave,” he said. Amina greeted him. She walked past him to the stack of cloths behind. “Please, sir, I have come to pay and collect these cloths,” she said and pointed to the roll of blue and white cloths on display. The message from her stern expression was unmistakable; the old man knew that his amorous appetite had hit the rocks. He stared at her, wondering how she could have mustered the money she so desperately needed. “OK . . . OK,” he said. He stood and made for the bale of cloths, and in an hour they had cut out the quantity required by her and got a pickup vehicle to take the load of cloths to Ubo. As she left the shop, the man sat and gritted his teeth in grief, seeing that his much-cherished target had escaped his ambush. Amina hurriedly mobilized all her staff, including those who were not working on permanent basis with her. They toiled day and night to meet up with the three-day ultimatum issued by the principal. But they could only go as far as was humanly possible. By the afternoon of the third day, the principal came with a group of policemen from Akeh. “There she is,” the principal said and pointed toward Amina. Three policemen moved for Amina whilst the remaining two stood guard outside. Various lengths of cloths littered the floor of the shop, so much that the policemen could hardly find their way in. “You have to come with us,” one of the policemen said as he inched closer to Amina. She reckoned he was the leader of the team. He had managed to hop over a stretch of cloths and had almost tripped in the process. Amuebie and the other workers stopped what they were doing, and watched as Amina gaped beside her table. Amina dropped the cloth in her hand and pushed the sewing machine aside. “What is the matter, Officer?” she asked. The principal had stomped further into the shop. She froze at the sight before her. Many of the uniforms were on display on the long hangers by the wall. Her eyes flashed across the various tables; the uniforms glittered in their various stages of completion. She noted with grudging admiration that the urgency in which Amina had sewn the uniforms did not detract from the sublime finishing for which she was renowned. The lead policeman gazed at the principal. He observed that the principal had suddenly turned pensive and was looking seemingly remorseful. “What? Are we no longer arresting her?” the policeman asked curiously. “Hold on a minute,” the principal said and turned toward Amina with some measure of calm. “When will they be ready?” she asked. “Eighty percent of it is ready, as you can see,” Amina said and pointed at the hangers by the wall and the boxes stacked by the corner of the shop. The completed uniforms sparkled in their diverse colors. “I’ve already sent for two Hilux pickups to take the available ones to you today.” The principal ran another glance across the place. “It’s OK, Officers. You can leave now. I’ll sort it out with her,” she said. Scarcely had she finished saying so before screeching tires pierced the tension in the shop. The two Hilux pickups were just arriving. They loaded the vehicles with the uniforms and headed for Akeh. After the principal had left with the consignment of uniforms, Amina went round her staff, patting them on their backs. She asked them not to be demoralized by what had just happened, as every path to enduring success was strewn with obstacles. If anything, they should be spurred to higher heights by the embarrassing experience. For it was only by so doing they would erase all misconceptions about their performance. A few minutes later, a lady walked into the shop and sought to see Amina. She wore a white scarf and a white gown; she had come with a message from Father Akaduchi. Amina welcomed her in and took the letter she brought from the priest. She quickly tore the brown envelope open and fished out the note and, for a few seconds after reading the message, she held on to the letter and gazed out of the door. After a while, she began to pace about the room. Then she pulled herself together when it occurred to her that Amuebie and the rest were watching. Yet, she could hardly concentrate to do the job. She stood again, picked up her bag and walked out of the shop. * * * * * Amina arrived at the rectory to meet the priest pacing about the empty church hall in his cassock. He was speaking silently, lost in his world. On seeing her, he stopped and fixed a frightful stare on the widow. She gasped and moved in guarded steps toward the Reverend Father, for she had never seen him look so worried and desperate. If there was anyone who had inspired and given her hope with his confident management of crisis, it was Father Akaduchi. But the countenance of the priest on that day stood at stark variance with all she had known about him. “We have a problem, madam.” “What is it, Father?” “They want me to turn in the money this Sunday.” “I thought you said you could make them hold on till the month end?” “Yes, I remember I said so, but I just don’t know what happened. The Bishop is insisting I have to render full account this weekend.” Amina moved toward the left side of the aisle and took a seat. In the heat of the moment, the Father had not remembered to offer her a seat. Amina knew that big trouble was in the offing. She could feel it. The intensity was scorching. It hung in the air as though the sun had fixed its furnace on the church. Blobs of sweat had begun to build on her face. She was yet to supply all the uniforms, but even if she succeeded in supplying the uniforms that day, there was no possibility of getting paid within the remaining two working days. “What are we going to do?” she muttered. Arms akimbo, Father Akaduchi moped about the place. He could not understand why the Bishop would want him to urgently turn in the collections in his possession. It was very much unlike the Bishop to pressure him to render account of the ch … [Message clipped] View entire message The post book serialisation appeared first on Vanguard News. from Vanguard News http://ift.tt/2sQgLoQ via Naijapounds

On her good days, she had given same to Nkiru to pass across to Amina. She now brought out a sizeable quantity of smoked fish, sprinkled the black substance on it and put it in a polythene bag.

It had begun to drizzle. Isioma pulled out her umbrella, fastened her wrapper around her stubby frame, and stormed out of the house with the bag. In a minute she was at the residence of Amina.

She noticed the large presence of women milling around the house singing Christian songs. On reaching the door, she buckled the umbrella and placed it by the wall, splattering some drops of water on the bag and her hands. She quickly brushed this off and went into the house. Amina was seated on the mat spread out on the floor.

“Our wife, how’re you doing today?” Isioma greeted. “Arrhh, long time! You’re welcome, ma,” Amina replied.

“It’s well, my daughter. We’ve been quite busy lately with farm work.”

“Yes, I can understand. How’s Nna anyi and the family?” Isioma grinned as she glanced across the room. “They’re fine. Nna Anyi sends his greetings.”

“Thank you. Please extend my regards to him. What can we bring for you?”

“Oh, we should be the ones bringing things to you,” Isioma said. Her face glowed with the milk of love, yet the heart raged with a thirst for blood. She drew up the bag and stretched forth her hand toward Amina. “Here, my daughter. I brought some smoked fish and garden eggs for you.”

Amina beamed with smiles and took the bag from her. “Wow. Thank you, ma. I haven’t tasted this in a while,” she said. She quickly drew the bag open. Her eyes gleamed and her stomach rumbled as she beheld her beloved delicacy. She was yet to have a meal that day. She called Amuebie to serve her some of it in a clean flat plate and put the rest away in the kitchen. Amuebie picked up the bag and left for the kitchen and, in no time, she had returned to the sitting room with the garden eggs and fish.

As she placed the plate beside her mother and began to eat with her, Isioma excused herself and left the place.

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

Madu strutted restlessly about the room, waiting for the return of his wife. He knew that a lot was at stake, for if anything went wrong with the mission, he would be finished in the community. But, as he imagined, success would not only mitigate the doom hanging over the village, it would also end the repeated embarrassment he had received from Amina and her late husband. More importantly, it would open up access to Udoka’s property. Lost in thought, he gave a start when Isioma tapped him on his shoulder.

“How did it go,” he bubbled.

“Very well, of course. Don’t you trust me?” she said.

“Did you give it to her? Did you see her eat it? Did. . .”

“It’s OK, my husband. By this time tomorrow the wailing across the land will still be on.”

“Isi! Isi! Who else could have been trusted enough to do this if not you, my dear wife.” With broad smiles on his face, he brought out the snuff box from his pocket and made for the next chair. “Abeg send any of the children to Ikezue bo! My snuff is almost finished,” he said with a profound sense of fulfilment.

“OK, Nna anyi.”

“And please look by that corner and get me the keg of palm wine from Elendu.”

“Arrhh, I’ll surely join you in celebrating this one.”

Chapter Eight

Chief Obodo was returning from the king’s palace on Monday morning when he noticed signs of trouble. The youths of the village were gathered at the village square, shouting and chanting war songs. Seeing that they were wielding machetes and sticks, threatening to unleash mayhem on the elders, he ducked into the corner of a building and watched from his safe hideout as they marched onto the major paths of the village.

He waited for a few minutes to ensure they had gone far before he emerged from his cover and hurried to his residence. Not quite an hour after he got home, messages began to reach him about how the youths had marched round the village, shutting down all activities in the vicinity. As the last visitor was leaving his house, his first wife, Adanma, walked into the sitting room from her hut behind the building.

“Nna anyi, thank God you’re back o. We were beginning to worry,” she said.

“Where’s everyone? I hope they’re all at home?” Obodo asked.

“They are. Everyone is home except Njoku. He hasn’t returned since he left the house in the morning.”

Njoku was one of the teenage sons of the high chief and was generally seen as the most unmanageable of them all. Many a times he would be chased into their compound by a group of irate boys he had fought in the village. It would take the appeal of his mother to calm the nerves of his furious pursuers.

Obodo shook his head and gritted his teeth. “That boy will not kill me. I just hope he’s not part of that riotous group of youths that have turned the town upside down.”

After he had conferred with his wife, he asked her to send out one of the children to the elders. He needed to quickly gather them so they could find a way to stop the crisis from degenerating.

In no time, the family elders had arrived at his residence and all moved to the ogwa at the front of the house. Ordinarily, they could sit and discuss in the house, but for serious matters that required the full weight of traditional sanctions, the mud hut was the appropriate location.

Not quite a minute after the meeting commenced, Chief Ikuku raised his walking stick and pointed at Chief Abala. “Ikechukwu was the person spear-heading the protests of the youths today. I recognized the boy when they passed by my place. You need to see how he was rampaging all over the place,” he fumed.

Embarrassed and embittered, Abala retorted. “How could you say that, Ichie Ikuku. I heard there were many boys and girls involved in the protests. Don’t you think it’s possible you may have mistaken my son for someone else?”

Ikuku sat up, still clutching his walking stick. “I know what I’m saying. I may be old but my sight has not started failing me. I’m telling you that I saw the boy. You people are weakening our stance,” he said and angrily hit the stick on the floor, the rod slipping off his frail and small fingers.

“Come to think of it, there is little or nothing anyone can do to hold back young men these days from doing whatever they have agreed to do. We just may have to review our position,” Abala said.

“How do you mean?” Edordu said.

“Of course, that’s the situation. It may surprise you to know that Njoku, Ichie Obodo’s son, was part of them, too. Somebody said he sighted him with the mob,” Abala said.

The elders were divided along the arguments of both chiefs. While a few of them insisted they would not renege on their resolution, the majority of them were at odds with the resolution. Eventually they all grudgingly capitulated to the demands of the youths.

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

The burial of Udoka was held the following Wednesday but the exercise was boycotted by several of the chiefs. Although the traditions of the land forbade the old from physically appearing at the burial of younger siblings, the aggrieved chiefs technically indicated their disapproval of the exercise by preventing members of their immediate families from attending the funeral.

The wives and children of Uncle Madu were in attendance, yet the hostile stares of Isioma left no one in doubt of the tension within the family.

Isioma and her husband had not been able to understand why the poison they gave to Amina was yet to take effect; they continued to look out for every sight and sound that indicated the expected end.

Meanwhile, the burden of funding the funeral was largely left to Amina to bear. She managed to do so from what was left of her earnings. Her children returned to school a week after the burial ceremony, having missed out on much of their studies. They would need to work harder to catch up with the rest of the class. But that was not the major challenge that confronted the bereaved family.

The children had gone to farm as they always did at the weekends before the death of their father. On getting there, they noticed that a rope attached with pieces of red cloth, tiny calabashes and omu was used to cordon off the farm. Omu was a long piece of leaf pulled out of a palm frond and used as a traditional symbol of injunction.

They rushed back to notify their mother of the development. She was still observing the customary rites of bereavement which barred her from leaving the house or engaging in any form of work. She wondered why her children would be denied access to their father’s farm and sent Amuebie to Uncle Madu’s house to ask Nkiru to come over.

Nkiru came in and joined Amina where she was seated on the floor. “How’re you doing today, my sister?” Nkiru asked.

“We give God the glory,” Amina said.

“This one you have sent for me this morning, I hope all is well?”

“The children went to the farm but came back to report that the place has been sealed off.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know. How would I know when I’m seated here all day? I thought you might know or have heard something about it.”

“I honestly don’t have the slightest idea about it. But hold on. Let me go and see Nna anyi. He must be aware of this,” Nkiru said and left the house.

She returned some twenty minutes later to brief Amina of her findings. She informed her that the closure of the farm was a decision taken by the elders. A dispute had arisen between Uncle Madu and another member of the family over who was the proper person to inherit the land. Madu had laid claim to the property, being the oldest surviving direct relation of Udoka. But another member of the family had reasoned that the farm should be assigned to the general pool and split among members of the family. The elders had to intervene by keeping everyone out of the place pending a resolution of the dispute by the council of elders.

For a few minutes after Nkiru had finished speaking, Amina kept silent and stared at the floor. She shook her head for a moment and turned to Nkiru. “So, what happens to me and my children? You mean we don’t have a say over the property of their father? On which land are we going to farm? How are we going to survive?”

Nkiru bit her lips, rested her back on the wall and glanced at the ceiling. “They say property can only be inherited by male children,” she said.

“Ehen, what about Afamefune, my son?”

“Nna anyi says your son is still too young to lay claim to any property.”

“Really? That means they can also come in here any day to dispossess us of this house.”

Nkiru sighed in exasperation. She held Amina by the hand and in a teary voice said, “Nna anyi is laying claim to the house too.”

“What!” Amina screamed.

“My dear, that is not just all. He says you have also become his wife in line with the customs of our people,” Nkiru said and folded her hands.

Startled and quivering, Amina grabbed Nkiru by the shoulder, “Nkiru, please tell me you’re joking,” she said.

“It’s the truth, my sister,” Nkiru muttered.

Two days had passed before the reality of the situation began to sink in. Further enquiries Amina made with visiting friends and sympathizers all confirmed that the disclosures by Nkiru were indeed the prevailing norms of the people. Amina observed that virtually every person she spoke to did not think it as despicable and distasteful as they did the issue of the corpse and bath water. But she still could not resign herself to the fact that she was to become the wife of Uncle Madu or any other person for that matter. Remarrying was the last thing on her mind. While she was willing to forfeit the property of her husband to whoever was laying claim to them, the question of having another man would have to be at her own time and volition.

As she pondered the problem, she thought of who else she could bare her mind to. She remembered Father Akaduchi. She called Afamefune and asked him to proceed quickly to the rectory. The young boy was no stranger to the place, for apart from attending Sunday service with his parents and sisters, he occasionally went there to help out the Reverend Father with house chores. He squeezed into his shirt and dashed off on the errand.

In time, Father Akaduchi arrived at the residence of Amina. His white cassock shone in the light of the day’s sun as he made the sign of the cross. She took time to outline all she had been going through since the death of her husband and, though Father Akaduchi had no direct influence over the decisions and actions of the traditional establishment, his empathy enlivened the morale of the hapless widow.

“There may not be much I can do in the circumstance, but I believe we can find a way around the situation,” he said.

“How do you mean, Father? Could there really be a way out of this?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“How?”

“Send a message to Chief Madu and Chief Obodo and tell them you want to address the next meeting of the family elders.” Amina adjusted her position on the floor and pulled up the black wrapper that was placed over her legs.

“Really? Will they agree to admit me to their meeting? What am I possibly going to tell them?”

Father Akaduchi sat up. The cushion on the wooden chair drooped toward the floor. He stood, pushed it in and sat back on the seat. “Good. Once they agree to hear you out, which I believe they will, then you already would have put one foot in the door,” he said.

“So, what shall I tell them at the meeting? How do I begin to convince them to abandon their age-old tradition, knowing our recent experiences?”

“Tell them you’ve agreed to remarry.”

“What! No, Father. I’m sorry I’m not prepared for that now. No, no, no . . . I’m sorry, I won’t do that.”

“Look, tell them you’ll adapt to the traditions of the land and remarry, and being that your new husband has to be someone from the family, tell them to at least give you the honor that’s due every woman by allowing you to pick a man of your choice from among members of the family.”

“Father, you don’t seem to understand me. There’s no member of the family that can win my love and affection, no matter how fine or rich he is. I just don’t have the time or emotions to share with anyone now.”

“There’s someone that can meet all those expectations.” Amina reclined on the wall and looked disinterestedly toward the opposite corner of the room. She gave a sarcastic grin and scoffed.

“Here in Ubo? Impossible! Who? Except you’re saying Udo will resurrect.”

“Yes. He’s already resurrected, and that’s in Afamefune, your son.”

Amina turned and fixed a bewildered stare on the priest. “What are you talking about, Father?”

“Tell them you opt to marry your son, Afamefune. It’s allowed by the customs of the land for widows to opt to marry their sons in these circumstances. That provision of the tradition has not been invoked in a long while, but it’s there and remains very valid. Go ahead and take your destiny in your hand, my sister. The Lord shall see you through,” Father Akaduchi said and stood to depart.

Amina gaped at the man of God as he stepped out of the house. She was so enraptured by his counsel that she forgot to bid him farewell. Echoes of his footsteps rang in her ears and gradually paled into thoughtful silence. Then it struck her that she had heard about such incidents having happened sometime in the distant past. She could not recollect if it was from Udoka she’d heard the story, or from one of the many people she had come across since they returned from Bulum-Kuttu.

She never gave any meaningful consideration to the idea as it had quickly receded out of memory like many other stories she felt were the fables and folklores of the people.

A sudden burst of enthusiasm swept aside her confusion and dejection. She stood, folded the mat and stepped into the room. She called Amuebie and asked her to reach out to Uncle Madu. The message was simple and brief: Amina wants to have an audience with the council of elders.

* * * * *

The following day, Chief Obodo called the meeting as proposed by Amina. Uncle Madu had not hesitated to make her request known to the old chief. The elders were in full attendance thirty minutes before the scheduled time. They bantered in curiosity over Amina’s desire to meet with them.

Amina arrived for the meeting on time, together with Amuebie and Afamefune. She wore a black head tie, a black bubu and a pair of gray slip-ons. The chiefs welcomed her to the meeting and requested to know her reason for calling an emergency meeting of the council of elders.

She proceeded to narrate her experiences since the death of her husband. As she had imagined, the elders advised her on the need to remarry into the family. They said it was the only guarantee she had for unimpeded access to the various privileges that would ordinarily elude her as a woman.

The elders all heaved a sigh of relief when she conceded to their demand. They turned to one another in excited whispers that the non-conforming northerner had finally come to her senses. But the respite was short-lived. They were stunned to silence when she stated that her choice of husband was Afamefune, her son. For a while, they stared in bafflement at one another and gradually began to nod in resignation to the inescapable reality.

When Madu observed that there appeared to be no opposition from the elders, he attempted to dissuade her on account of the young age of Afamefune. He argued that she needed an older man who would be able to manage the peculiar challenges of her situation. His submissions were, however, roundly dismissed by the elders who contended that the widow had made her choice and should not be subjected to further frustrations and misery. They directed that no other man should make advances at her and that she must be given all the respect and honor due a married woman.

A date was subsequently appointed for payment of the relevant dowry and presentation of drinks by Afamefune.

The elders did not, however, reach a consensus on who was to inherit the property of Udoka, as many of the chiefs argued that Afamefune was still too young to be eligible for such acquisition. They posited that an elderly member of the larger family should oversee the property until Afamefune came of age.

After listening to the various shades of opinion on the matter, Chief Obodo submitted that a person they had all collectively agreed to accord marital status cannot at the same time be said to be too young to own property. The old chief contended that if Afamefune was adjudged sufficiently qualified to own a woman, it should be given that he was equally qualified to own property.

With no dissenting voice to his argument, Obodo ruled that all the property of the late Udoka henceforth belonged to Afamefune. Although this position was largely adopted by the house, the murmurings and gloomy countenance of Madu left Amina with the conviction that the last may not have been heard of the issue. She returned to the house with her children and that night she observed that for the first time since the death of her husband, Nkiru did not pay her the usual evening visits.

Amina called her children and explained the situation, advising that they gird their loins for the bumpy times that lay ahead.

* * * * *

Afamefune and his sisters concluded their holiday a week later and resumed school for the new academic session. Two days after resumption, Amuebie returned from school with a letter addressed to her mother, requesting full payment of the school fees for her three children; they would no longer be allowed to attend classes until they made full payment of the fees. Amina breathed out and sank into the wooden chair in the sitting room.

Although she had tried to make good her sewing vocation, the income she generated from USMAN & LABARAN was virtually exhausted in preparing for Udoka’s burial. She thought of who to resort to for assistance and bearing in mind that Afamefune was the god-son of Uncle Madu, she sent Amuebie to the old man asking for audience with him. Amuebie did not meet him at home, but Nkiru was at her shed cracking palm kernel with her daughter. She advised that Amina should come later in the evening when her husband would have been back.

By seven in the evening, Amina had reached the residence of Uncle Madu. She met him and explained the difficulties she was encountering fending for the children, pleading that there was no way she could singularly sustain her three children in secondary school. She asked the old man to assist in paying the fees for the boy, while she would endeavor to handle the schooling of the girls.

Uncle Madu was quiet. He sat and gazed emptily into space as she spoke. When she was done, he turned toward her and expressed regrets over his inability to assist, saying that things had not been going quite well for him in recent times. He asked her to make a choice on who among the three to keep in school and who to send to farm, or join her in the tailoring profession.

The old man stated that the popular practice for indigent families was to first send the oldest one to school, while the others would wait for him to pass out and secure a job. It was from the income from his new job he would sponsor the education of his younger ones. But Uncle Madu admitted that Amina’s case was a little complicated because her two older children were both girls. He stressed that it was wasteful to prioritize the education of girls over boys.

“They will be married off after their education,” he said.

“Of course, Nna anyi, I know they’ll not live with me forever. But I believe they’ll not forsake their blood,” Amina said.

“Oh, so you really expect them to fend for their younger ones when they’re gone from here?”

“I believe they won’t forget their home, sir.”

“Which home? The one you’re in control of or the one their husband and his extended family would be running? My dear, you better use your tongue to count your teeth. One has not eaten yet one is throwing the little that is available to a goat. Woman, I’ll advise you find a way to send your son to school,” he said derisively and looked away.

Seeing that he was not willing to assist, Amina thanked him for his time and departed his residence.

For two days she was in a dilemma. Afamefune had not been doing well in school. Beyond failing promotion exams once in primary school, his first term examination results in the secondary school had left much to be desired.

The prospects of his passing to the next class looked bleak. He was fourteen years old. If he did not drop in any of the classes, he would be in the university at nineteen. His sisters had four and two years on him respectively. They would be in their third and second year by then. That would be the dream of every mother, Amina imagined. Meanwhile, the girls had consistently made better grades from primary to secondary school, particularly Nonyelim, whose results had been excellent.

Amina sought the advice of her friends and Father Akaduchi. The priest duly advised that the girls should be educated first with the little resources she had, but the fears expressed by a majority of the other people pushed her in the opposite direction.

On one Tuesday night she called Amuebie and Nonyelim to her room. She was in tears. She tried to explain the difficult times they were going through and the reality from which they could not escape. Then she broke the news to them. They would have to discontinue their education for the sake of their younger brother. The two girls gazed at their mother in shock and confusion.

They cried and pleaded that they were ready to double their efforts in the farm so they could remain in school, but their mother said that even such sacrifice would not amount to much. The school fees were simply unaffordable. The girls left the room and wept for the rest of the night. The next day, they cradled and held on to their school bags, as they sobbed and watched their young brother step out of the house to begin another academic year.

Nine

A day after Amina concluded the period of mourning her husband, she set out to farm with Amuebie and Nonyelim. It was a Friday morning. She managed to trudge along the three-mile distance; the three-month stay at home had taken a toll on her fitness but she had no other option. She knew that the absence of Udoka meant she had to double her efforts so as to cater for the family. By six in the morning they had reached the farm and immediately settled down to work.

While Amuebie focused on weeding the undergrowth around the cassava planted the previous year, Amina and Nonyelim busied themselves planting yam seedlings. For hours they toiled in the hot sun. Thirty minutes was all they took to rest and eat.

They moved into the small hut in the farm. Nonyelim stepped out five minutes later to gather the firewood they would use to roast the yam they had set aside for the day, while Amuebie prepared the palm oil and dry fish for the meal. In thirty minutes they were done with the short break and returned to work. It was not until five in the evening that they got home.

That was the daily routine of the family. Saturday was set aside for house cleaning and laundry. Afamefune was assigned the task of scrubbing the multi-coloured rubber carpet and white ceiling fan in the sitting room, as he would not be going to school on that day. The fan was more a piece of decoration than a functional instrument of comfort as there was no electricity to power it, but they kept it clean. Saturday was also a day when Amina would stay back to attend to her tailoring. On Sunday they would all go to church in the morning and return a few minutes before noon.

Amina had become enamored of popular lines at the Sunday service and would repeatedly reflect on them in her moments of solitude:

Be of good courage for the Lord thy God does not slumber . . . those who sit in covens to invoke elements of the firmament against you shall call destruction upon themselves . . . the doors to prosperity and the treasures of heaven shall open as you call upon the Name of the Lord . . . sickness shall not locate your house . . . the witnesses assembled against you shall find no listening ear . . . their rage for blood knows no bounds but God shall hide you in His secret place…you shall be invisible to the harbingers of wickedness . . . Holy Ghost fire shall strike them down as they emerge from their habitations of cruelty . . . in the race for life you shall be Carl Lewis, in the race of life you shall be Haile Gabrieselassie . . . your prayers shall not be obstructed on the highway to the Most Merciful . . . your ceaseless supplications shall bring endless benedictions . . . your sacrifices shall speak for you on the altar of judgement . . . those who thought they had shut the door against you shall see you break through from another door . . . the God of heaven and earth shall not allow your neighbors to arrest your destiny . . . the world shall not only be revealed to you, you shall be revealed to the world . . . who is he to call death upon you when the Lord has not spoken it?

Not minding that the hours after church were the only time they had for whatever could be considered leisure, Nonyelim would use that period to go through what Afamefune had studied in school for the week. Although she had been a class ahead of him before she was withdrawn from school, the bits and pieces she picked from his notes and text books helped to refresh her memory.

On this Sunday afternoon, Afamefune and his mother sat in the living room, while Nonyelim busied herself in the room reading. As Amuebie was in the kitchen preparing dinner, their mother sought to know from Afamefune what the school timetable was for the coming week.

“When next are you having mathematics?” she asked.

“That’ll be on Tuesday afternoon,” he said.

“You really need to take it more seriously if you still want to become a doctor.”

“Yes, Mum. That’s the course I want to study. I’m going to be a doctor. I want to be like Dr. Usman.”

Although Afamefune had not been particularly bright in school, he had developed a liking for medical doctors. Severally Amina had told him and his sisters how Dr. Usman saved her and their father during the riots that compelled them to flee the North. That story had remained etched in their consciousness and, for Afamefune, he had said he would become a doctor someday so he could be in a position to save lives, too, like Dr. Usman.

“But, Mummy, the teacher is making the subject difficult.”

“How do you mean?”

“He does not take time to teach a particular formula before he jumps to another topic.”

“How come other students are able to cope with him?”

“Many of them are complaining too.”

“Have you raised the issue with him?”

“Arrhh. He will flog the hell out of us if we dare.”

“You mean you can’t approach him to discuss your problems?”

“No o.”

She did not take kindly to the revelations by her son. If she was straining herself to send him to school, then the teachers must fulfil their own part of the bargain.

The next morning, she accompanied Afamefune to school. The mathematics teacher was not available—he had gone to Akeh to supervise an examination.

She requested to meet with the principal of the school. She had met the principal when she was processing the admission of Afamefune, but she doubted if such chance meeting was sufficient to register her identity in the principal’s memory. The rumor mill claimed the woman had no friend. Her reputation as a strict disciplinarian was always a topic of discussion among the locals.

Her office was two blocks away from the classrooms, adjacent to the staff room. As Amina walked toward her office, she turned to the open field and saw some students trimming the over-grown portions with machetes. She remembered the day Afamefune returned from school with blisters on his palm after he had been made to serve corporal punishment with five other boys for their failure to identify from amongst them the student that had made a sneering remark at one of the teachers.

Amina was still wondering the offence the current set of boys may have committed to warrant their ordeal when she cast a glance toward the office building. The principal was stepping out of the door in her white blouse and brown skirt. As Amina approached her, she observed that the principal’s features had not changed much since she last saw her—she was a stout, dark, middle-aged woman.

“Good morning, madam. I’m Mrs. Amina Udoka Ndukwe. I wish to see you, ma,” she said.

“Oh, my pleasure. You are welcome. I am Emenike. Mrs. Caroline. . .”

“I know you, ma.”

“Oh, good.”

She turned and ushered her into the office. It was half the size of a standard office, and the only window in the room was partially blocked by one of the rows of steel file cabinets.

“Take a seat, madam,” the principal said as she settled into her chair and clasped her fingers on the wooden table.

“Sorry for bothering you this morning, madam. There’re some matters I need to bring to your attention,” Amina said.

“You are welcome. I’m all ears.”

Amina went on to narrate Afamefune’s experiences with the mathematics teacher and her dissatisfaction with her son’s general poor performance in school. The principal promised to look into the matter and reassured her about the commitment of the school to the overall success of the students. She then sought to know what Amina did for a living.

“I’m a seamstress and farmer,” Amina said.

“Seamstress? Don’t tell me you’re the same Amina who sewed the USMAN & LABARAN brand for many of the students?” The principal placed her two hands on her forehead. “Afamefune’s mother . . . oh, my God. Where did my memory go? C’mon I should have guessed so,” she said. Her eyes glowed with excitement. She said she was especially delighted by the high quality of her clothes as evident in the flawless finish. She remarked that even in the big cities like Awka, where her family lived, their uniforms lacked the exquisite attention to detail that had become the hallmark of USMAN & LABARAN.

The principal enquired whether Amina would have the time and capacity to produce those uniforms in larger quantities.

“We don’t like the idea of students looking disjointed in poorly produced uniforms. We want to standardize their appearance,” she said.

“I can create time to produce them, madam. But the problem would be money . . . getting the money for such expansion,” Amina said.

“It’s OK. I was with the chief inspector of education over the weekend at Akeh. We discussed all that and the need to quickly find a good tailor to do the job. I’ll mention you to him. Advance payment is usually given to successful tenders. But you have to apply for it first. Bring your application letter to me here tomorrow morning, together with some samples of your work.”

Amina gaped at the principal in astonishment. “Really?” she asked.

The principal nodded. “There are many competing bidders, though, but let’s try and see how it goes,” she said.

“Thank you, principal . . . thank you so so much, ma,” she blurted.

“You’re welcome.”

Amina got home and dashed to her room. She went on her knees to glorify God, praying that agents of wickedness would not make the principal change her mind before the next morning, for she knew that it was one thing to ask for her application letter and quite another to see her through the entire process. After a while, she made for the book shelf by the sitting room. She had spent most quiet moments of her post-mourning period reading and had gone halfway on The Pursuit of History by John Tosh. She picked it and returned to the room.

* * * * *

Although Amina had hired some young men to work in the farm so her daughters could focus fully on the tailoring work, she observed that Nonyelim was not showing as much enthusiasm in the business as Amuebie.

“You’ve not been looking happy these days, Nonye,” Amina said and, from her chair in the sitting room, glanced at her second daughter.

“I’m fine, Mummy,” Nonyelim said.

Amuebie stood from the dining and moved to join them in the sitting room. “Nonye, Mummy’s right. I observed the same thing, too,” she said.

Nonyelim said, “Ehh, it’s not as if I don’t like the business, but, Mummy, I really would wish to go back to school.”

“Oh, is that the reason you’ve been so moody? No wonder,” Amina said.

“Ehen! I thought as much,” Amuebie said and watched her mother.

“That’s OK. I can understand,” Amina said and turned toward Amuebie. “What about you. Will you not like to return to school?” she asked.

Amuebie shrugged her shoulders and shot, “Hiaaa! Not at all. I love what I’m doing now. Business is my calling and business I’ll do. I want to be a big businesswoman.”

“Are you sure you’re both speaking your minds?” Amina asked, her eyes scanning her two daughters, “You must settle for what’ll give you happiness in life.”

“Me, I know what I want and I’m not going to change my mind. Mba nu, not now that market is expanding and business is booming,” Amuebie said.

Amina observed that Nonyelim had fixed a stare on the floor and had suddenly gone thoughtful and reticent.

“What about you, Nonye? You seriously wish to leave the business and return to school?” her mother asked.

“Yes, Mummy, but I’m thinking of how you’ll be able to cope with the cost of training me and Afam at the same time,” Nonyelim said with her gaze still on the floor.

“That’s OK. God will provide. But remember, you’ll not be starting from where you left off last year. They’re going to step you down to Class One,” her mother said.

“I don’t mind, Mummy,” Nonyelim said.

“What!” Amuebie broke in, “You’ll now be junior to Afam in school. Lai lai! Never! Count me out of that kind of arrangement,” she said.

“Whatever. I don’t mind,” Nonyelim said. She glanced across the different family pictures hanging on the wall and focused on their father’s graduation picture.

“It’s all right. Get ready then. I’ll get across to the principal tomorrow,” their mother said.

Nonyelim jumped out of her chair in a burst of excitement and ran to her mother. She hugged her, a well of tears in her eyes, and stuttered, “Thank you, Mummy. Thank you so so much.”

* * * * *

On the evening of the following Saturday, Uncle Madu returned from the farm and began to complain of dizziness. In no time he had lost his voice. Isioma observed that his face had twisted to the left side. She sent for Nkiru and two of their children. By the time they arrived, Uncle Madu was lying motionless on the bed. Isioma asked one of the children to quickly get a cab. More vehicles had begun to ply the village since the road from Ubo to Akeh was tarred by the state government two years earlier.

They hurriedly secured a cab and rushed Uncle Madu to the hospital. The doctor disclosed that he had suffered a stroke and an unusual facial protruberance that would require further diagnosis. He advised that the old man should be quickly taken to the hospital in Awka and that if they delayed for more than thirty minutes his condition would deteriorate irreversibly. Meanwhile, the estimates he had given for the man’s treatment were way beyond their capacity.

The two wives thought of what to do; how were they going to raise the money to save the life of their husband? Nkiru suggested that they reach out to Amina for assistance, but Isioma balked at the idea and stared furiously at Nkiru. She warned her never to mention that name before her again. She wondered if Nkiru did not know that Amina’s desecration of their customs may have been responsible for the strange ailment that struck their husband.

Isioma returned to the doctor and deposited the little money she had come with. She asked him to proceed with the plan to take her husband to Awka, stating that Nkiru and one of her sons would accompany him, while she would meet them up later with some more money. She fastened the wrapper around her waist and stepped out of the building.

Ten

On hearing about the illness of Uncle Madu and how he was rushed out of the house for treatment, Amina quickly left her house and made for the hospital. Incidentally, Uncle Madu had been taken to Awka when she got there. She returned home and began to contemplate whether to proceed to Awka or not. It was already past six in the evening.

Nonyelim had just stepped into the room with her dinner. She noticed the mood of her mother and walked toward her.

“Mummy, are you OK?” she asked with a mouthful of yam and plantain clump.

“Yes. It’s Uncle Madu.”

Nonyelim stopped and placed the plate on the stool. “What happened to him?” she asked.

“He’s been rushed to the hospital. I hear his condition is very bad.”

“Oh! Let’s go and see him.”

“It’s not the hospital in Ubo. He’s at Awka.”

“What! When did that happen?”

Amuebie and Afamefune breezed in. They had heard the conversation between their mother and Nonyelim.

“What happened to him?” Afamefune asked.

“I hear he suffered a stroke. But they say it’s not just that. There’s a lump on his head which the doctors couldn’t understand,” their mother said.

“Arrhh! Ngwa nu! That serves him right . . . Not only a lump but dump,” Amuebie mocked and walked away to take a seat at the far end of the room.

“Hey, you don’t say a thing like that,” Nonyelim said and turned to take her plate from the stool.

“I’m thinking of going to see him this evening at the hospital in Awka,” their mother said.

Amuebie stormed out of her seat. “Never! Look at the time. It’ll take you three hours to go and return. Why take such a risk for him? You have forgotten all they did to you and daddy?” she said.

“But we can’t let him die,” Afamefune said.

“Ehen, are you a doctor? What are you supposed to do when you get there?” Amuebie asked.

“At least let’s show some concern. Mummy should go and visit him,” Nonyelim said.

“How much of that concern have they been showing us? Please o, you’re all we’ve got. It’s just too risky to start traveling,” Amuebie retorted, swinging her gaze from her sister to her mother.

“But we don’t have to pay evil with evil,” Nonyelim said. Afamefune glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, though. Mummy can just go to their compound to see the family today. By tomorrow you can start thinking of what to do,” he said.

Their mother had sat quiet listening to the dialogue between her children. Inasmuch as she was pained by all what Uncle Madu and his cohorts did to her family, she felt she still had a duty as a Christian to show compassion. While she admitted that it was indeed too late to embark on the Awka trip, it would not be out of place, as suggested by Afamefune, to take the one-minute walk to the residence of her in-laws. She stood and asked Afamefune to accompany her to the house of Uncle Madu.

They got to the compound and made for the front door of Uncle Madu’s hut, only to see Isioma hurrying out of the place, her travelling bag in her right hand. She was moving toward a blue Toyota Corolla that was parked by the orange tree in front of the house. Amina greeted and pulled closer to enquire about the situation. Isioma gave her a disinterested look and hopped into the vehicle.

Embarrassed and disillusioned, Amina and Afamefune stood and watched as the vehicle did a reverse and sped out of the area, spewing a hail of dust on them.

* * * * *

A week later, Amina secured the contract to supply uniform to schools, having received the award letter from the principal. It was issued by the Ministry of Education Headquarters through the chief inspector of education. Amina would supply school uniforms to all the secondary schools in Ubo and Akeh, under the name of USMAN & LABARAN.

The measurements and specifications for the first set of five hundred garments were given to her. Subsequent orders would come with the relevant details. She was given a cheque in the sum of five hundred thousand naira, while the balance amount of one million naira would be paid at the completion and delivery of the first set of uniforms.

She was all smiles from the school back to her house. No one was at home to share the joy with her as Amuebie and Nonyelim had gone to the market. She pranced about the house in excitement and began to figure out how she would cope with the deluge of work that had come. She thanked God that she had been training many people over the years; at least, there would not be a problem assembling the team to work with her. She already had a pool of well-groomed tailors she always called upon whenever she had a load of work. But all that haphazard arrangement would now give way to a more formal engagement of the workers—she would need to offer full-time employment to some of them.

She immediately contacted her local sources of supply and set out to procure the cloths and extra sewing machines for the new assignment. She selected the best from her pool of trained tailors, taking time to visit them individually to seek the consent of their parents. Some declined the offer as they did not wish to take up tailoring as a profession. Those who agreed were recruited and placed on a salary.

She dressed the women in her favorite colors of gray skirt and orange blouses, while the men wore shirt and trousers of same colour. With the logo ‘U&L’ boldly embossed at the front of the uniforms, they became a spectacle in the village, and by the second month, she had rented a bigger house. A large white signpost with black inscription of ‘USMAN & LABARAN’ hung from the roof of the bungalow. She bought power generating sets and moved her equipment and staff from her house to the new location.

Uncle Madu and his family had been following the sudden turn in the fortunes of Amina. She had changed the 14-inch black and white television in her sitting room to a 24-inch colored set. The book shelf had been expanded to a mini study to accommodate the additional books they had acquired. The rubber carpet had given way to a red rug, while a velvet damask fabric had taken the place of the cloth on the cushioned seats. Although Nkiru still made efforts to visit Amina once in a while, it was clear that their relationship had suffered a mortal blow from the circumstances of Udoka’s burial.

Isioma never bothered to go near Amina since the day she presented the poisoned food to her. She and her sick husband remained convinced that the widow’s days were numbered. Every day they hoped to hear that Amina had dropped dead. The more the reputation of Amina soared, the more the relationship between the two families soured.

Eleven

Amina got up early one day and set out for her shop. She had scheduled to visit Awka that day to purchase a bale of cloths for the uniforms she was to send to schools that week. The scarcity of clothing materials at that period had affected her tradition of promptness. One of her suppliers informed her that he could make some materials available if only she would pay the extra cost. She did not object. All that was important to her was her integrity with the schools. She could not afford to fail them. Not after all the commendations that had come the way of USMAN & LABARAN from far and wide.

She called the cashier and asked that the money from sales be given to her. One hundred and fifty thousand naira was brought, but that was barely enough to meet the demands of the suppliers. She looked around the shop, put together all what she could gather and made her way home to prepare for the trip to Awka. She arrived in a few minutes, and just as she was about to step back out of the house, Nkiru rushed in panting and crying.

“How is he?” asked a bewildered Amina.

Nkiru wiped her eyes and slouched by the pillar of the house. “My sister, the situation is beyond me,” she said.

“What are the doctors saying? Cheer up, dear. Nothing is impossible with God,” Amina said as she walked toward Nkiru and, with a hand across her shoulders, ushered her into the house.

“His condition is not improving. In fact, it is getting worse,” Nkiru said, gazing at the floor. Then she turned and faced Amina. “My sister, we need your help. We’re stranded. The doctors say they need two hundred thousand naira to carry out an operation on him. We’ve been able to raise fifty thousand. All I’ve made from my palm kernel is gone.”

Amina sighed and recoiled on her seat. Inasmuch as she wished to save the life of her in-law, she knew that her own survival was hanging in the balance. She had not only failed to meet the deadline for her supplies to the schools, the money she had managed to put together was barely sufficient to clear her obligations. She could see the agony in Nkiru’s eyes as she sobbed. Amina understood what it meant for a woman to lose her husband. The pitiable sight of her closest confidante in the village evoked memories of her own ordeal just a few years back.

“Gaskiya, this is a difficult time,” Amina said. It was all she could mutter as she stared meditatively into space.

Nkiru scooted to the edge of the chair and knelt before her. “Please help me, Amina. My husband is dying. Kindly forgive whatever we have done to you. I beg you in the Name of God.”

Amina stood and tried pulling her up. “Please get up, my dear. Believe me, there’s no iota of bitterness in my heart. The past is gone and it’s gone.”

“I know what the situation is. It’s only a person with your type of heart that can overlook all that was done to you. I didn’t tell Isioma I was coming here. But please try to ignore her and consider me.”

“Isioma, or any person for that matter, is not a problem, Nkiru. The issue is that there just is nothing I can do now. This is happening at a very wrong time. I’ve committed all I’ve got to my business.”

Nkiru folded her arms and gazed at the blank wall. “I can understand. I know it’ll be difficult to forget the recent happenings. I know,” she said.

Amina shifted on the chair. She took pity on her friend. Thoughts of giving her the money she had raised that morning started to well in her. She remembered her own predicament: if they terminated her contract with the schools for failure to meet up with her contractual obligations, all she had built around USMAN & LABARAN would come crashing down, and she would return to her former days of penury and helplessness. She remembered, too, that beyond the pressures from the school, she still had the tenement rate of her shop to cope with.

The local government council had sent in the accumulated bill that morning, and the staff who brought the notice had threatened that the shop would be sealed off if the bill was not settled within two weeks. Tears dropped from her eyes. She moved toward Nkiru and held her by the hand.

“My sister, you just have to believe me. I don’t have anything to give at this time. It’s not because of what may have happened before. If I were in a position to help, you know I would, walahi,” she said.

“It’s OK. Thank you. Let me go and continue cracking my palm kernels,” a weeping Nkiru said as she stood to leave the room, Amina sauntering behind her to the door. Nkiru stepped out of the house and, without a backward glance, headed dejectedly toward her palm kernel shed.

Ten minutes after Nkiru left the house, Amina was still agonizing over her discussion with the distressed woman. She had no one at home to share her thoughts with as Amuebie had gone to the shop while Afamefune and Nonyelim were in school. The urge to intervene and help the dying man began to grow.

She knew her conscience would never let her have peace if Uncle Madu died when she had in hand the money needed to save his life. She had concealed it behind one of the book shelves. If she gave part of the money to Nkiru it would hardly solve the problem. It would seem as if no help was offered at all. The man was at the point of death. The situation needed immediate intervention. She took another look at the money, nodded her head and walked out of the house with the bag.

* * * * *

Nkiru arrived at the Awka hospital in Udeozor Street and rushed to the office of the consultant surgeon. She did not bother to go to the general ward where her husband, Isioma and the children were staying. She feared that Isioma might ask her to return the money she had just taken from Amina. She understood that Isioma’s hatred for Amina knew no bounds. Isioma would rather their husband died than stoop to accept any assistance from Amina.

She got to the doctor’s office and was told he had gone to attend to some patients within the hospital. She chose to await his return. As she lowered her tall frame onto the visitor’s chair, she began to pray for Amina. She had lost all hope. She was dumbfounded when Amina walked into her palm kernel shed and handed over the entire money to her. It took a while before she was able to regain herself. She had hugged Amina with tears in her eyes.

As she recalled those moments, she began to wonder how she would ever be able to repay Amina for her uncommon kindness. Her tears of joy had hardly dried up when the doctor stepped into the office. Nkiru informed him that she had raised the money for the operation. He stared at her in doubt and only became convinced when she pulled out the money from her bag and gave it to him. Though he quickly directed her to take the money to the cash office and make the payment, she could see the shock on his face. Even after he had asked the nurses to move her husband to the theatre and prepare him for the operation, his countenance was for a while shadowed by disbelief.

Isioma too was amazed at the swiftness with which the medical staff began to attend to their husband. She called Nkiru aside and asked how she was able to raise that kind of money. Nkiru replied that it was a saving she had made over the years. With her lips tight, Isioma glared at her suspiciously and gave a wary nod. They both went to the adjacent room to await the fate of their husband.

* * * * *

Amuebie returned home for lunch and was surprised to meet her mother in the house.

“Hiaaa! Mummy, you’re still at home? I thought you’d long left for Awka to get the cloths,” she said.

“No, some other urgent issues came up that I needed to quickly attend to,” her mother said.

“So, when are you leaving? Or are you no longer going today? The time’s almost gone.”

“It’s all right, dear. If I’m not able to make it today, I’ll do so tomorrow.”

Amina would not let her daughter in on what she had done, especially in the face of Amuebie’s attitude to Uncle Madu and his family.

“With the seriousness you showed in the morning I thought it was urgent that you reach your suppliers in Awka,” Amuebie said.

“It’s okay. I’ve sent a message across. I’ll meet them some other time,” her mother said.

Amina peeked at Amuebie from the corner of her eyes and saw her daughter cast a searching look at her. She suspected that Amuebie would be wondering why the sudden lack of enthusiasm about the Awka trip, considering the desperation she had shown in the morning. She could sense a tinge of disillusionment around her daughter that she had not seen in a long while.

“Mummy, are you sure there is no problem?” Amuebie asked.

Her mother pulled her eyes away from her and stood to head for the kitchen.

“It’s all right, dear. There’s no problem. Try to get something to eat so you can return to the shop in good time. I guess we still have some of the nsala soup left?” she said.

Amina knew that Amuebie was not convinced. She could feel her daughter’s eyes on her trying to detect any subtle indication of trouble. Remembering her daughter’s traumatized childhood, she hoped nothing would ever again make the family relapse into the dark old days.

When Afamefune and Nonyelim returned from school and sought to know the situation with Uncle Madu, their mother simply informed them that he was responding to treatment. She ensured the discussion was brief and was relieved that none of them asked if Uncle Madu had been able to get some assistance from her. All through the day, she tried to avoid any conversation that would highlight the delivery of the uniforms.

It was not until the next morning that she began to come to terms with the reality of what had happened. Although she had been able to scrap additional thirty thousand naira from what she had at home and office, she realized she had no option but to reach out to the suppliers and plead for a down payment of the thirty thousand naira. She hoped they would release the materials to her on credit, with plans to defray the outstanding debt when she finished her supplies and got paid by government. She concluded it was the only thing she could do in the circumstance and, after her children had all left the house, she dressed up and set out for the city of Awka.

* * * * *

Although the doctors battled all night to save the life of Uncle Madu, the operation was unsuccessful. He died in the early hours of the morning. The information did not get to Ubo until noon when his children returned home to break the news. Isioma and Nkiru had stayed back at the hospital to arrange to deposit his body in the mortuary. The two wives returned to Ubo two hours later to behold the wailing from the horde of sympathizers and relations who had besieged their residence.

Amina was yet to return from her own mission to Awka but Afamefune and Nonyelim were back from school. They took off their uniforms, slipped into their house wears and dashed to the house of the late man to join the bourgeoning crowd. It did not take time to locate Nkiru in her hut behind the main house. Afamefune was the first to sight her seated on the floor with a group of women.

“How is your mother?” Nkiru asked welcomingly.

“She’s fine, ma. She’s yet to return from Awka,” Afamefune said.

Nkiru nodded her head. “OK,” she muttered into her folded arms.

Afamefune and Nonyelim expressed their condolences and, after a while, they stood and excused themselves to visit Isioma. They got to the hut of Isioma and could hardly find their way into the abode of the bereaved woman. Although they eventually managed to force their way in, they did not get the same attention they received from Nkiru. Among the number of people who had swarmed the house were Chief Obodo and many of the elders. As the first wife, Isioma’s abode was the formal reception point for condolence visits.

Afamefune and Nonyelim kept craning their necks, hoping to make eye contact with Isioma. They did, but the venomous stare from the bereaved woman made them understand they were in enemy territory. Afamefune winked at Nonyelim and, quietly, they slipped out of the place.

They got home to the aroma of fresh soup that had enveloped the sitting room and quickly headed for the kitchen. Amuebie was sprinkling ogiri into the egusi soup she was preparing for dinner when Afamefune and Nonyelim strolled in.

Afamefune sneered. “Oh no, I thought it was oha soup,” he said.

“See who is talking. Can you prepare any one? Where’re you coming from?” Amuebie asked.

“You won’t believe what we saw at Uncle Madu’s house,” he said.

“What’s it?” she asked disinterestedly and turned away to stir the soup.

“Hmmm! It’s Auntie Isioma o,” Nonyelim said.

Amuebie remained focused on the pot of soup. After she had stirred the contents, she pulled up the long spoon and tapped a little of the soup on her left palm. As she bent to taste her cooking, she asked, “What happened?”

“The way she frowned at us ehhh! Hmmm . . . you’d think that we’re the ones who killed her husband,” Afamefune said.

“Really?” Amuebie said.

“Yes o. I’m sure if she had a gun she would have shot us,” Nonyelim said.

“Serves you right. Who sent you on the errand? Why did you have to go there? Is that your JAMB exams you should be reading and preparing for?” Amuebie fumed.

“Of course we had to go. How could we hear that Uncle Madu was dead and not go to sympathize with them?” Nonyelim said.

Amuebie turned the control of the stove to lower the flame and then lifted the pot and placed it on the concrete floor. She had filled the kettle with water and as she placed it on the stove, she said, “It’s when you get into trouble that you’ll know what you’ve done to yourselves.” She adjusted the kettle and turned toward them. “I just hope it won’t be too late by then,” she said and breezed past her befuddled siblings.

She was just stepping into the sitting room when Amina came into the house. Amuebie noticed that her mother looked pale and dejected, and also did not acknowledge her greeting. She watched as her mother sat on the chair by the door, leaned her head on her hand and gazed sorrowfully at the blank wall. She’d gone a little darker, with her straight and thick eyebrows looking slightly unkempt.

“Mummy, what’s the problem? You’re getting me scared. For two days now you’ve been looking strange,” Amuebie said.

Her two younger ones were now a few steps behind. They all gathered around their mother who looked up and tried to disguise her agony.

“It’s all right, my dears,” she said.

“It can’t be all right, Mummy. Amuebie is right. I’ve also noticed you’ve been looking worried for some time now. Or is it the death of Uncle Madu that’s made you moody?” Nonyelim said.

Amuebie scowled at her sister. “Which Uncle Madu? Please forget about that one,” she said and turned to their mother. “Mummy, please don’t tell me it’s because of those people you’re looking this way.”

Amina stood and walked toward the TV stand. She clasped her fingers and gradually made her way back to her seat. “You won’t understand,” she said.

“There’s nothing there to understand, Mummy. Those people have never meant well for us. Why bother yourself about them. Can you imagine how they treated Afam and Nonye when they went to see them,” Amuebie said. Her naturally thick voice sounding a notch stronger.

Amina’s eyes shot across her three children. “What happened?” she asked and focused on Amuebie.

“Ehen. Ask them. See them,” Amuebie said, waving in the direction of Afamefune and Nonyelim as she moved to sit in the chair opposite her mother.

Amina looked again at the two. Their faces were downcast. “What did they do to you, Nonye,” she asked.

“It’s Auntie Isioma,” Nonyelim said.

Nonyelim narrated how they had gone to see Isioma and the hostile manner in which she reacted to their presence. Although Amina was taken aback by her children’s experience, she knew that such despicable attitude was not beyond Isioma. She had gotten used to her crankiness over the years, but she would have thought that her bereavement would have tempered her excesses.

“That’s OK. You stay at home. When I need you to go there I’ll let you know,” Amina said.

“Aaahaa,” Amuebie said.

Amina stood and began to walk toward the front door. “I’d be back soon. I’ve not been there since his death,” she said.

In less than a minute she was at the residence of Uncle Madu. The usual mourning crowd was already ambling about the premises. She greeted and exchanged banters with the familiar faces around as she made her way to the hut of Nkiru.

Nkiru saw her walk in and rose from the floor she was seated. She gave her an impassioned embrace and uttered, “Oh, my sister, God will continue to bless you.”

The other people in the room looked at one another, amazed at the burst of delight from the bereaved woman who had been reticent all through the day. Amina stayed with Nkiru for about half an hour before proceeding to the hut of Isioma.

She had just made her way into the room when Isioma looked up and saw her. She halted the conversation she was having with the sympathizers seated around her, gave a loud hiss and swung her face away from Amina. Her other visitors turned and stared at Amina as she stood by the door, befuddled by the reaction of her sister-in-law. For a moment she hesitated. Then she calmly inched her way into the room and went over to where Isioma was seated—her bulky frame had taken up a large portion of the floor.

“Sorry about what has happened o,” Amina said as she stooped to sit on the floor.

Two people were seated between her and Isioma. Isioma gave a dismissive glance, nodded and mumbled cynically, “Thank you.”

She picked up her chewing stick from the flat rubber plate by her side, nudged the visitor seated next to her to continue what she was saying, but the woman was struck dumb. The visitor looked at Isioma in bewilderment while the others all glanced at one another in silence.

Amina looked across the place and sighed. The cold stares in the room delivered the message. She stood and excused herself. Isioma ignored her and kept looking in the opposite way. Amina had hardly exited the room before Isioma spitefully rekindled her conversation with her other visitors.

* * * * *

Mrs. Caroline Emenike, the principal of Community Secondary School, Ubo, arrived at Akeh Motor Park by noon. She stepped out of the cab and hurried to the office of Mr. Dumbelu, a hundred meters from the council secretariat. As she walked into the room, the chief inspector of education was going to the iron file cabinet beside the window, nervously tapping the scroll he held against his leg. He turned with a furious look toward the visitor.

“What’s happening? Where’s the woman you recommended? Where are the uniforms for the children?” he yelled.

Mrs. Emenike flinched in embarrassment and slowly placed her handbag on the seat adjacent to the table. She had made an effort to keep the fact away from the authorities, hoping they would not discover that Amina had defaulted in her supplies to the schools. Now that the complaint had reached the C.I.E.’s office at Akeh, she knew there was big trouble. She inched closer to the chief inspector of education.

“I’m sorry, sir. The woman has never failed like this before,” she said.

“Where is she exactly? You just have to do something fast before petitions begin to flood the headquarters. Parents are already complaining.”

“This is very much unlike her. Please, sir, I can assure you she’ll supply the uniforms.”

“When, Principal? She’s already three weeks behind schedule. Many students now go to school in mufti. Some are even using that excuse to stay away from school.”

“I’m going straight to her place from here.”

“This is a clear failure on your path, Mrs. Emenike. You should have done due diligence before bringing her to do this type of work.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m leaving for her place now.”

“You better do so,” he said and threw the papers he held on the wooden table. He cast another fiery glare at the principal and stomped to his seat.

Mrs. Emenike had never seen the chief inspector in such an angry mood. As she left his office it began to dawn on her that she truly should have weighed the capacity of Amina before engaging her to produce uniforms for the schools. Twice in the last week now Amina had asked for more time and twice she had failed to deliver. Now my own job is hanging in the balance for trying to patronize a woman I hardly know.

She returned to Ubo and headed for USMAN & LABARAN. The staff she met at the shop informed her that Amina had returned home for the day. She had held most of her meetings with Amina at the shop. The few times she met her at home were at the weekends. She thought it was unusual for Amina to close from the shop and return home before four. She stepped out of the shop and flagged down a tricycle.

In ten minutes she was at the residence of Amina.

“Who’s in the house?” she asked and rapped on the door. As her eyes swept the area, she noticed that many people were streaming toward a house located about a hundred meters away. She feared that Amina may have joined the crowd that was building up around the place. She knocked on the door again.

“Who is it?” Amina’s voice rang from inside. “It’s me, Mrs. Emenike.”

“Arrhh, madam you’re welcome. Please come in.”

As Amina swung the door open, her heart skipped a beat on seeing the stern frown on the principal’s face. She ushered her to a chair and stood by the next seat. “You’re welcome, madam. Please what can I offer you?” Amina’s voice was apologetic and her mien benign.

“What’s happening, Mrs. Ndukwe?”

“I’m really sorry, madam.”

“This is not a question of being sorry. There’s trouble.” Amina was startled. She knew she had defaulted on the terms of her contract. She knew there would be consequences for such failure, but she had not imagined the scope of the problem until she saw the vehemence on the face of the principal that afternoon. With tears streaming down her face, Amina knelt and held the principal by the hand.

“Don Allah! I’ll supply the uniforms, madam. I promise you, I will.”

“When, Mrs. Ndukwe? When? This is the third time you’re saying so in the last three weeks.”

“No, I’m serious, ma. I am serious.”

“You should have told me you didn’t have the capacity to do the work. Now I’m about to lose my job because of you.”

“God forbid! You’ll not lose your job, ma. Never, not when I’m serving a living God.”

The principal looked Amina in the eye. “OK, tell me. I want to hear the truth. What really is the matter?”

Amina pulled back and sat on the chair. She looked out of the door, exhaled and put her hands on the chair handle. She wondered whether to open up on her predicament or continue putting up a courageous face with the hope that in no distant time she would be able to sort out the issue. As she momentarily weighed the options, she looked up and noticed the principal’s eyes were still fixed on her.

“I ran into some difficulties,” Amina muttered and stared at the floor.

Mrs. Emenike leaned closer. “Sorry, I didn’t get you,” she said.

With moist eyes, Amina turned again to the principal. She explained the circumstances that led to her not being able to meet up with her obligations. She held nothing back. She told the principal how she had tried to save the life of her father-in-law. The principal listened with rapt attention as Amina tried to justify her magnanimity to a dying man.

Amina however conceded that in light of the reaction of Isioma to her and her children, it was beginning to look like her benevolence was misdirected. She appealed for a little more time and promised that their meeting that day would be the last they would ever again discuss this matter.

Mrs. Emenike was torn between empathy and disgust and for a few minutes after Amina had finished speaking the principal folded her arms and gazed helplessly at the wall. The principal glanced at the pictures hanging on the white wall. She fixed a look on Afamefune’s. Then she reverted her gaze on Udoka’s picture. She took another intent view of both images and turned to Amina.

“So how’d you intend to raise the money to purchase the cloths?” she asked.

“I’m already discussing with my suppliers. In fact, I’m supposed to have a meeting with them tomorrow,” Amina said.

She did not tell the principal that the few people she had met among the suppliers had all declined her request to make the materials available. None of them was ready to supply the cloths and await payment. They all rejected the thrity thousand down payment; releasing their goods on credit in such time of acute scarcity of cloths was too much a risk to take. Only one of the suppliers had indicated willingness to sell on credit.

Chief Omenka, the seventy-year-old leading distributor of textiles in Awka had shown some sympathy toward the widow, but the man had come up with a condition that frightened Amina. She was so rattled by the demand of the septuagenarian that she had not summoned the courage to mention it to anyone. The man had asked Amina to accompany him on a three-day pleasure trip to Lagos.

Although in the real sense, as a widow, Amina had been discharged of all marital obligations, she felt that to travel and sleep with a man she didn’t know would not speak well of her. Moreover, her Christian faith forbade her from having an affair with another woman’s husband. On the strength of this, she had courteously declined the man’s offer and returned to Ubo without accomplishing the objective of her visit to Awka.

A few minutes after the principal had left the house, Amina began to ponder the options she had. Failure to supply the uniforms within the week would not only see to the termination of the contract, but also permanently damage her integrity in the entire area. She neither had sufficient collateral nor the requisite connections that would have facilitated a bank loan. As she grieved over the issue, it began to dawn on her that the demand of the randy seventy-year-old businessman appeared to be the only lifeline in the circumstance.

* * * * *

Preparations for the burial of Uncle Madu had gone into high gear. The elders had met and appointed dates for the funeral ceremonies. Amina had been informed that members of the extended family had begun arranging how to put in a befitting appearance at the occasion. Since her arrival from Bulum-Kuttu, she had observed how burial ceremonies across the various communities in the area had become a theatre for the display of the social status of the different family members.

The wake preceding interment and the post-burial reception had gradually metamorphosed from the solemnity of old to a carnival of sorts. She wished that a way could be devised to scale down the cost of burial ceremonies, being that, more often than not, funeral expenses left bereaved families impoverished, with only few able to re-build their finances to pre-funeral levels.

While Amina and her children prepared for the exercise, disturbing messages began to seep from the compound of Uncle Madu. It was a Thursday and Amina was readying to depart for Awka when one of her customers walked into the house. Amina had structured her work schedule in such a way that her customers met her more at the shop than the house. She knew that those who came calling at home, in most cases, had serious issues to discuss beyond the demands of the job, and seeing the distressed appearance of the middle-aged woman on this day, Amina knew she had come with discomforting information.

The woman informed Amina that she had heard from the grapevine that Isioma and her children were planning to attack or embarrass her at the funeral ceremony.

“My sister, you and your children should be careful on the day of the burial o,” she said.

“But what exactly did she say I’ve done to her?” Amina asked. “She’s telling people that you’re responsible for the death of her husband.”

“Me? In what way did I cause the death of her husband?”

“That was what she said o. I feel I should let you know so you can be on your guard. My sister, they say that the stone a person had seen coming does not strike her eye blind.”

The woman said Isioma had told some people that Udoka and Amina’s violation of the customs of the land was what brought tragic repercussions on not just Udoka but now, Uncle Madu, her husband. Moreover, Amina also never cared to come to their assistance when they needed help in the hospital for Uncle Madu’s treatment.

Amina thanked the woman for the timely information and managed to conceal her feelings. She felt it was not in her power to question the deaths in the family. And, it was also not necessary to make public the assistance she had rendered to the late Uncle Madu. Even when her kindness was already threatening her own survival, she resolved to dig deep into her inner strength for the fortitude to face the catastrophe that loomed in the horizon.

After the woman had left, Amina began to prepare for her visit to Awka. While she was putting things together for the trip, she could not help but ponder the information from the woman. If the threats from Isioma and her cohorts intensified, she would be left with no option than to stay away from the occasion. She would not want to cause any scene on that day, nor would she want to endanger her life or that of her children.

However, the traditions of the land demanded that she and her children not only show up at the burial ceremony but also participate actively in all the funeral rites. There was no way she could abstain from the exercise without attracting the brunt of traditional sanctions. With that in mind, she concluded she would do all within her ability to make her presence and that of her family felt on the occasion, hoping that other people would comport themselves accordingly.

She hurried to the village square for a vehicle that would take her to Awka, for the principal had visited earlier in that day to press for the supply of the uniforms. She had come threatening and had vowed that if the uniforms were not made available in three days, she would get the police to arrest Amina.

Twelve

A friend had mentioned the name of another supplier that was renowned for his generous attitude to his customers. Amina decided to make a last ditch effort to visit him but she would not submit to anything that would dishonor her as a woman, for she would rather go to jail than compromise her moral and spiritual convictions. As she sat at the back of the Toyota Corolla, tears dropped from her eyes. She pulled up her bag and found her handkerchief. How I wish Udo was still alive.

It was a windy day at Awka. She arrived and proceeded to the shop of Mr. Iwuagwu. On meeting him, she solicited for credit purchase, with a down payment of thirty thousand naira. She narrated her ordeal to the trader and begged for his understanding. Mr. Iwuagwu sympathized with her but declined to offer any assistance, saying he had not known her well enough to enter into such a huge transaction with her. Moreover, there was severe scarcity of materials. He just could not part with the little he had on credit.

All appeals from her did not move the man. She left his shop and took another taxi to head back to Ubo. As the vehicle made its way through the city, they drove past Eke-Awka market where Chief Omenka—the old man who had requested to take her on a Lagos romp—had his shop. They had driven some fifty meters past the shop when she suddenly asked the driver to stop and reverse. Her heart began to pound. Should I or should I not?

As the vehicle got close to the shop of the lewd businessman, she asked the driver to pull over. She stepped out of the car, paid off the cabman and began to head for the shop of the old trader. She was a few steps from the building when she stopped and glanced around the area. It was a busy environment, with people darting about the place in pursuit of their daily bread. A group of women with basins of gravel on their heads were shuttling back and forth at a nearby construction site, while further off some others were hawking groundnuts in the scorching sun. She saw she was not the only one fighting for survival. Everyone appeared to be laboring in dignity for livelihood.

For a while, she stood by a tree beside the shop. The leaves on the tree flapped in the racing wind and her heart fluttered along with them. Should she or should she not? How does a hungry soul put wisdom to practice? She shut her eyes for a moment, knowing that the bitterness of reality would not be so easily obliterated by the rumbling of the hour. She turned back and headed out of the vicinity to continue the dialogue with her conscience.

She got a taxi and returned to Ubo.

She got home and began to think seriously of a way to solve the problem without compromising her self-esteem. She had spoken to everyone she could conceivably speak to and they had all shuddered at the request for a credit of two hundred and fifty thousand naira, not minding her proposed thirty thousand advance payment. More painful was the attitude of the suppliers she had patronized in the past. None of the traders was moved to sympathy by thoughts of the various successful transactions she had had with them. She had thought they were building a business relationship that was beyond a mindless cash and carry routine.

Suddenly her mind went to Father Akaduchi. The priest was one confidant to whom she was yet to present the matter; she had not bothered to look his way because of the non-materialistic lives of priests. The probability of finding financial succor in the church was the least by her estimation.

But she imagined that there was no harm in sounding him out on her travails. If for no other thing, at least she would get his advice and prayers over the matter. She recalled the breakthroughs that had resulted from his counsel in her previous predicaments. With Father Akaduchi still on her mind, she drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

Father Akaduchi was in his white shorts and white singlet when Amina arrived that morning. Seated in the front of the rectory, he looked up as the widow approached. She was sporting her gray wrap skirt and white blouse.

“How’re you doing today Mrs. USMAN & LABARAN?” the Reverend Father asked and made the sign of the cross.

“We give glory to God, sir,” Amina said.

“Bless you. What has brought you this early? I hope all is well?”

“All is not well, Father. But I believe that God is faithful.” After the Reverend Father had pulled up a chair for her, she began to narrate her ordeal to the priest. She told him how the only person willing to assist her had requested to take her to bed. Father Akaduchi was moved by the plight of the widow.

He however chided her for not letting Isioma know that she had made a contribution of such an amount to save the life of her husband. The priest said that on such matters of life and death, it was proper that the contributions of everyone were made evident. Moreover, it still was not clear from her explanations if it was a loan she gave to Nkiru or not.

“You should have at least made her sign some papers before parting with such money,” he said.

“It was a desperate situation, Father. The circumstance was such that I could not bring myself to do that. She was crying and hurrying to the hospital,” Amina said.

“Well, I think it’s a lesson to you. You don’t take things for granted these days. She can simply deny you ever had such a transaction with her.”

“Deny? Well, God is my witness.”

“Yes, I know. But remember we are still mortals. And as long as we remain on this plane, you must learn to relate with humans bearing in mind their imperfections as mortal beings.”

Father Akaduchi saw the desperate situation in which Amina had found herself. He knew that if nothing was done to assist her she might be compelled to seek less virtuous means of solving the problem.

The Reverend Father recalled the exemplary manner in which she had upheld her Christian faith and felt that her current travails were a classic case of the devil lurking around the corner seeking whom to devour. He gazed contemplatively at the church building. He remembered he still had the offerings that were made in the different parishes across the local government area for that week; he was yet to submit them to the diocesan headquarters.

He could dip into it to solve the immediate problem confronting the helpless widow. But he knew he must make up the money and submit to headquarters before the coming Sunday. How am I going to raise such funds in five days? Different thoughts began to flash through his mind. He thought about appealing to the Bishop to convert same to a loan he would repay before the end of the month. Before then Amina would have been paid by the government and she would have returned the money to him. The priest stood and made for the vault of the church.

* * * * *

Amina rushed to Awka to purchase the materials, and prayed all through the journey for Father Akaduchi, for he had virtually pulled her away from the jaws of the lion. She arrived at the shop of Chief Omenka before noon. The old man was sitting on a wooden bench by the entrance and on sighting her he began to lick his lips and beam with smiles. He called on one of his salesmen to get his vehicle ready for movement, and beckoned her to sit next to him on the long bench.

“You’re welcome, my darling. We shall soon leave,” he said. Amina greeted him. She walked past him to the stack of cloths behind. “Please, sir, I have come to pay and collect these cloths,” she said and pointed to the roll of blue and white cloths on display. The message from her stern expression was unmistakable; the old man knew that his amorous appetite had hit the rocks. He stared at her, wondering how she could have mustered the money she so desperately needed.

“OK . . . OK,” he said.

He stood and made for the bale of cloths, and in an hour they had cut out the quantity required by her and got a pickup vehicle to take the load of cloths to Ubo. As she left the shop, the man sat and gritted his teeth in grief, seeing that his much-cherished target had escaped his ambush.

Amina hurriedly mobilized all her staff, including those who were not working on permanent basis with her. They toiled day and night to meet up with the three-day ultimatum issued by the principal. But they could only go as far as was humanly possible. By the afternoon of the third day, the principal came with a group of policemen from Akeh.

“There she is,” the principal said and pointed toward Amina.

Three policemen moved for Amina whilst the remaining two stood guard outside. Various lengths of cloths littered the floor of the shop, so much that the policemen could hardly find their way in.

“You have to come with us,” one of the policemen said as he inched closer to Amina.

She reckoned he was the leader of the team. He had managed to hop over a stretch of cloths and had almost tripped in the process.

Amuebie and the other workers stopped what they were doing, and watched as Amina gaped beside her table. Amina dropped the cloth in her hand and pushed the sewing machine aside.

“What is the matter, Officer?” she asked.

The principal had stomped further into the shop. She froze at the sight before her. Many of the uniforms were on display on the long hangers by the wall. Her eyes flashed across the various tables; the uniforms glittered in their various stages of completion. She noted with grudging admiration that the urgency in which Amina had sewn the uniforms did not detract from the sublime finishing for which she was renowned.

The lead policeman gazed at the principal. He observed that the principal had suddenly turned pensive and was looking seemingly remorseful.

“What? Are we no longer arresting her?” the policeman asked curiously.

“Hold on a minute,” the principal said and turned toward Amina with some measure of calm. “When will they be ready?” she asked.

“Eighty percent of it is ready, as you can see,” Amina said and pointed at the hangers by the wall and the boxes stacked by the corner of the shop. The completed uniforms sparkled in their diverse colors. “I’ve already sent for two Hilux pickups to take the available ones to you today.”

The principal ran another glance across the place. “It’s OK, Officers. You can leave now. I’ll sort it out with her,” she said.

Scarcely had she finished saying so before screeching tires pierced the tension in the shop. The two Hilux pickups were just arriving. They loaded the vehicles with the uniforms and headed for Akeh.

After the principal had left with the consignment of uniforms, Amina went round her staff, patting them on their backs. She asked them not to be demoralized by what had just happened, as every path to enduring success was strewn with obstacles. If anything, they should be spurred to higher heights by the embarrassing experience. For it was only by so doing they would erase all misconceptions about their performance.

A few minutes later, a lady walked into the shop and sought to see Amina. She wore a white scarf and a white gown; she had come with a message from Father Akaduchi. Amina welcomed her in and took the letter she brought from the priest.

She quickly tore the brown envelope open and fished out the note and, for a few seconds after reading the message, she held on to the letter and gazed out of the door. After a while, she began to pace about the room. Then she pulled herself together when it occurred to her that Amuebie and the rest were watching. Yet, she could hardly concentrate to do the job. She stood again, picked up her bag and walked out of the shop.

* * * * *

Amina arrived at the rectory to meet the priest pacing about the empty church hall in his cassock. He was speaking silently, lost in his world. On seeing her, he stopped and fixed a frightful stare on the widow. She gasped and moved in guarded steps toward the Reverend Father, for she had never seen him look so worried and desperate. If there was anyone who had inspired and given her hope with his confident management of crisis, it was Father Akaduchi. But the countenance of the priest on that day stood at stark variance with all she had known about him.

“We have a problem, madam.”

“What is it, Father?”

“They want me to turn in the money this Sunday.”

“I thought you said you could make them hold on till the month end?”

“Yes, I remember I said so, but I just don’t know what happened. The Bishop is insisting I have to render full account this weekend.”

Amina moved toward the left side of the aisle and took a seat. In the heat of the moment, the Father had not remembered to offer her a seat. Amina knew that big trouble was in the offing. She could feel it. The intensity was scorching. It hung in the air as though the sun had fixed its furnace on the church. Blobs of sweat had begun to build on her face. She was yet to supply all the uniforms, but even if she succeeded in supplying the uniforms that day, there was no possibility of getting paid within the remaining two working days.

“What are we going to do?” she muttered.

Arms akimbo, Father Akaduchi moped about the place. He could not understand why the Bishop would want him to urgently turn in the collections in his possession. It was very much unlike the Bishop to pressure him to render account of the ch

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