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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Coming of Age / Initiation
- Published: 05/08/2021
Surugede—the dance of spirits
Born 1995, M, from Enugu, NigeriaKamsiyochim didn't pause for a moment to think things through before throwing her question at Oriaku, her mother; it didn't occur to her that her mother would shoot her a red-hot glare that would send ripples of fear down her spine and eventually crush the courage that took her so much time and effort to build.
Before she strolled out of her room where she was sorting out the best dress to wear to church the following day, to the backyard of their house, her parents were both bubbling with the kind of laughter that goes on and on, so loud, that it scraped you out of the scene, although you would like to know the reason for it and, perhaps, join in, too.
'Mama, please, do you think a young girl like me can join the Mmanwu group?' she said.
The guffaw came to its abrupt death, now her parents morphed into a graveyard.
Oriaku stopped blowing air over the embers produced from the firewood, rose to her feet, and with both hands wedged on her tiny waist, she stared briefly at her daughter. Kamsi held her stomach as she felt bile rise to her throat, she managed to steady her trembling kneels. Had she known she wouldn't have put herself in the shoes of the supposed young girl because now her parents were getting the wrong idea, she thought. She also managed to tame the urge of divulging too much, especially the dream she had been having for a while. In that dream she always wore Agbala's huge mask and danced to Surugede: the dance of spirits. But, at this point Agbala himself had not started to appear physically to her.
Her father, Mazi Chima, who was tending his orange-colored tricycle—cleaning the body with such thoroughness—stopped, and without turning to look at Kamsi, turned to his wife and she returned her gaze at Kamsi.
Now, both parents started to stare suspiciously at their daughter, who didn't know what to do but to lower her gaze at her feet since she was taught that it was rude to look an elder directly in the eye, whether he was talking or not.
For that moment, Kamsi wished either of her parents would break the stifling silence and at least say something—whether good or bad.
Instead, her father yelled at her to go inside.
***
These days, Papa and Mama talked in hushed tones. Their eyes darted back and forth in Kamsi's direction. They tiptoed around her like she was a shattered glass. Doors were shut with extra care, as if something would snap if they were slammed too hard.
This morning she was dressed in her uniform and about to live with Chikwado, her younger brother, for school, when her parents stalled at the door.
'Mama, Papa, we are already late for school, please leave the way,' Kamsi said. Chikwado plucked the hairs from his nose as he stared at his parents, who stood looking at each other in confusion.
'Ehm... see, Kamsi...' Oriaku's voice trailed off, then, almost immediately, she looked to her husband to bail her out. 'You are just standing here, Papa Kamsi, say something now. Are you just going to let her go out?'
'Bia, nwanyia, what do you want me to say?' Mazi Chima snapped.
Oriaku rolled her eyes. 'Really?' Suddenly, she hissed and stomped towards the kitchen.
'Ehm... Kamsi!' he called out
'Yes, Papa.'
'Starting from today, Chikwado will start going to school on his own. But you, Kamsi, will have to stay at home for this week. Did you hear me?'
'But why, Papa? What did I do?' Kamsi asked.
'Yes, Papa, why?' Chikwado said in a funny way that almost forced laughter from his father's and sister's mouth. Aside being smart and intelligent, Chikwado was also a child imbued with humor which was always served from his words; he didn't always say much, but whatever he said left a lingering humor in you. And because of this, he was adored and loved by all, especially Kamsi.
He patted the fur on his head. 'My boy, Chikwado! Chi, you are a big boy now o.'
'If you say so Papa, at least for this week, Sister will stop dragging my hand as if I'm a small boy, and spoiling my parole in front of those girls,' Chikwado said.
'Come, what is parole? And what girls?'
Chikwado covered his mouth with both palms. 'Oops! Sorry Papa, I'm already late.' He buzzed off.
'But, Papa, what is wrong? Why did you say I have to stay at home for this week?'
He heaved a deep sigh. 'Hmm... Come and sit beside me. I want to tell you something.'
At this time Oriaku tiptoed out of the kitchen and leaned her back against the door post, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Mazi Chima cleared his throat the first time, and again, and then again, in a way worried Kamsi. 'Papa, do I get you water?'
'No. Never mind, thank you. I'm fine now.' But there was nothing clogging his throat, instead he was struggling with the words and how to put them in the right way before her. The moment he collected himself he began.
During those times Mazi Chima and his wife were childless, he narrated, they sort for a child, even a deformed child. They had been to several hospitals and the doctors said nothing was wrong with both of them. Given their desperation, they went to the church—fasted and prayed, at some point, they had to drink and bathe with anointing oil— but nothing happened. Then, based on a friend's advice, they decided to see Agbala. But this decision didn't come handy since it took an extra effort on the part of Oriaku to convince her husband.
That afternoon, their gentle conversation had tilted off the edge of the table, and was nearing a state of chaos.
'Why are you proving difficult, ogini?' Oriaku snapped.
'What will people say about me, about us?' Mazi Chima raised his voice. 'Especially the church. Do you know what you are saying?'
'Oh, stop this! You're always bothered about what people would say. Why?'
Oriaku calmed her nerves, knowing that with two people pissed off, a truce could never be attained. She strolled from the dinning table, where her anger had hurtled her unconsciously to, and sat beside him on the sofa. 'Please, my husband, just see reasons with me. Yes, I know we are Christians, but we've tried all the churches in Amafor, and all the pastors keep saying that God's time is the best. Please, let's try this.'
Mazi Chima agreed.
The meeting with Agbala went well but not without a prize; he does not give anything to anyone without a prize. 'On her fifteenth birthday, she must be brought to the shrine to bear Agbala's mask. And then, she must be married to Agbala,' Eze mmuo warned as Mazi and his wife rose to take their leave. Few months later, Oriaku took in. Kamsi was born. Now, Oriaku could raise her head and walk with gait of a proud mother wherever she went. Kamsi grew up to become an intelligent young girl-child who excelled academically, thereby making her parents so proud.
As soon as Mazi Chima finished his story, he paused, scouring her face with his eyes, maybe for sadness, or fear or tears.
But Kamsi smiled a sated smile, and said, 'Papa, I love you and Mama.' Instantly, Oriaku started towards the living room. 'I thought I had done something terrible. I know all these.'
'You do?' Her mother was stunned. 'Who told you?'
'My daughter, how come?' he said.
'Agbala told me the night of his second visit. He has been appearing to me.'
Both parents stared at each other with mouths half-gaped. Then, slowly, they returned their gaze to Kamsi.
'You mean Agbala has been appearing to you?' her mother asked.
'Yes, mother.'
She turned her face to her husband without uttering a word.
He turned to Kamsi. 'Ehm, my daughter, do you still want to go to school today?'
'No. I don't want to go again. By the way, it's late. Tomorrow.'
The two of them sat there, staring intermittently at each other and at Kamsi as she trudged happily to her room.
***
From the room where she was, Kamsi could hear her mother's voice at the kitchen, where she was shouting and ranting like one possessed by a demon.
Suddenly her heart skipped a beat as she heard footsteps approaching, and the door moaned as it half opened. But the person lingered behind the door. Then Chikwado walked in, scratching his head and hissing.
The corners of his mouth folded and his brows furrowed as he spoke. 'Sister, I am hungry o.'
'This boy, what is your problem? You nearly gave me a heart attack, see your big head. I thought it was Mama sef.'
'What is my business? I say I'm hungry jor.'
'Go and meet her!'
He shook his body, the columns of flesh on his neck, hands and legs dangled vigorously. He gave her a stern look. 'Meet who?'
'See his big stomach like who. Mum, of course.'
She does not want to listen to me. She shouted at me. By the way, why is Mama shouting like this? What did you tell her? She hasn't stopped since we returned from school.'
'Come on, nothing. Oya, leave here, osiso!'
'See, I am hungry o.'
Just as Chikwado was about to leave, Oriaku stormed in. Her chest heaved up and down as she scoured the room and the occupants with her eyes.
Immediately, Chikwado slipped away, while Kamsi sat on the bed with her back pressed against the wall, looking down at her feet, like a child caught stealing from the pot. This was Oriaku's fifth time coming to her daughter's room, and each time, she stood at the door as if a strange energy prevented her from walking in.
'Bia, this girl, you have successfully spoiled my happy mood today, abi? You should have remained in the school o.'
'But, Mama...'
'Please, don't Mama me. What did you mean by that nonsense you said at the kitchen?'
'Oh, because you now see Agbala, you think you can just wake up one morning and take any decision you like, shey?' Kamsi dare not open her mouth.
And almost immediately, Mazi strutted in.
'Ogini? What is happening here? Mama, Kamsi, do you know where I started to hear your voice? From Tobe's salon.'
Oriaku turned to her husband. 'And what do you mean by where you heard my voice? Now you are calling me a mad woman, bah?'
Kamsi stifled the urge to laugh. She knew, definitely, her father was exaggerating. Tobe's salon was like miles away from their house.
Growing up Her parent's quarrels had always amused her. One person, in this case her father, was always saying one thing but the other, especially her mother, was listening and interpreting things differently. So, it was something you didn't take to heart because you knew they would eventually settle, most times in the bedroom.
'Oh, stop this. I never called you a mad woman. Of course you're the one calling yourself that.'
'So, now I'm lying?'
He ignored her. 'What is happening here?' he said, indirectly throwing the question to no one in particular.
'Ask her. Ask your daughter.' Oriaku stomped out.
He dropped the polythene bag on the floor, sat on the bed next to her, and laid his hand on the scruff of her neck. His body was a mesh of odours that had drowned the cologne which he applied on himself ealier today. The smell irritated her. 'Kamsi, what is it? Why is your mother shouting like this?'
She shivered from his touch. He noticed, so he took his hand away. 'I'm sorry, it rained at Nkwo ji. Did it rain here?' And perhaps he sensed the disgust on her face, so he withdrew slightly from her.
'No sir.'
'Why was your mother shouting?'
As soon as she told him what she had told her mother, he drew in deep breaths and said, 'Are you sure that's what you want?' She said yes.
Mazi and his wife had not been on talking terms since he gave his consent for Kamsi to join the Mmanwu—masquerade group. And worst still, he bought her a flute with which she could play and according to Oriaku, disrupt the peace and quiet of the house.
But somehow, today, Oriaku decided to break the silence which hung between her and her husband for days.
'My husband! I want us to talk.'
Mazi Chima, who sat on the plastic chair adjacent to the bed counting a wad of naira notes, turned around. He looked at his wife. Surprised. It had been a long time he heard her refer to him as "my husband." 'Are you talking to me?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Really?'
'You won't come now before you start doing shakara.'
Hurriedly he knotted the money he had counted with a piece of rubber band and together with the uncounted ones, he put them in the black polythene bag on floor and threw the bag into the wardrobe. The springs squealed as he hopped on the bed.
Slowly her fingers meandered through the dark, curly hairs on his chest. She placed her right leg on his hairy legs. 'Honey!' she said with a thin voice but in no way devoid of sensuality. 'Yes,' he said. His blood swayed like a turbulent sea. His manhood gradually rose from its slumber. 'Honey!' she called out again. Beads of sweat broke on his face. She was about to call out and the sound of the flute filtered into the room to douce the sexual air.
'Oh God, at this time of the night?' he grunted.
'You see what I have been saying. When I open my mouth to talk they will say Oriaku has come again. I thought you said that she was old enough to make her decision? Eh, that stopping her is like trying to fight the gods. Ever since you got her that flute, she seemed to have lost it.'
He looked at her briefly, shook his head, and walked away.
After searching the house for the source of the sound, finally he found her outside, under the glare of the full moon, under the mango tree behind their house.
A cold wave embalmed him as the hairs rose on the back of his neck and his mouth ran dry. Somebody that could not be seen was playing the flute and his daughter danced the Surugede steps: the right leg is thrown up and down, followed by the other, the hands flail as the waists, which curves down, wriggles.
Oriaku mustn't see this, he thought. He was going to finally agree with his wife to send her to Aba to stay with his sister. Perhaps, there, she would start another school and probably forget all about joining the masquerade group; that way Agbala would leave her and his family alone, he thought again.
'Kamsi!' he called out. But no reply. Again, he called to her. And she replied, 'Yes, Papa!'
She ran to him.
He stood some distance from her, frightened. 'What were you doing there, alone at this time of the night?'
'I was talking to Agbala. He came to help me rehearse for the forthcoming Mmanwu induction festival,' she said, as though her father was supposed to understand that it was normal for a mortal to talk with spirits.
'Hmm... What festival?'
'Papa, are you serious?'
'Ngwa, let me have that flute.'
'Ehm, Papa!'
She hid it in her blouse. 'No papa.'
'What!' he said. He could not reach for it in her blouse, it would be impolite of him.
'First thing tomorrow morning you are leaving for Aba, to Aunty Ada's! Go inside, quickly!' he barked.
'No! Papa, me I'm not going any where o,' she said as she veered in.
***
After much reluctance, Kamsi finally went to Aba to stay with Aunty Ada. But Agbala who could not be contained by distance and time did not for once let go of his bride. He kept appearing to Kamsi both in dreams and reality, so that each time Aunty Ada saw Kamsi dancing or arguing or talking in hushed tones around the house, with an unseen person, she was always terrified.
Kamsi sat under the Udala tree with her right palm propped against her chin, gazing at the sky when Agbala appeared. He did not come as usual in a whirlwind but he just appeared. He wore a purple robe. His crimson eyes sparkled. His skin was the color of the midday sun, and his bald head gave his visage a fine shape.
He tickled her from behind. 'Why is the daughter of Amafor, my angel and wife sitting all by herself?'
She flinched. 'Let go of me at once. You are the cause of all these. Why did you come into my life?'
Agbala's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened with shock.
'If only you had stayed wherever you were, everything would have been ok. At least I would still be at Amafor with my family and friends. Now people think I'm crazy, talking and dancing with you.'
'Kamsi! Kamsi!' Aunty Ada, who had stopped washing the plates in the sink and stared with fear, called out from the kitchen.
'You see what you're causing? Please, leave me alone. And please, stop calling me your wife, I am not your wife and will never be.' She walked out on him.
'But...' Agbala stood with his mouth gaped. The flute he brought so he would play as she danced crawled from his fist and struck the ground. Suddenly his face turned gold and his eyes the color of fire—this often occured each time he was angry— and he disappeared. Agbala rarely got angry but whenever he did, something terrible always happened, something terrible.
***
The distress call reached Kamsi on a Saturday morning while she was drawing water from a well at the backyard.
'Kamsi!' Aunty Ada called.
'Aunty!' she replied. From the low voice with which she called her, Kamsi sensed something was amiss.
'Your parents just called. They said... eh...
'Aunty, what is it?'
'Chikwado is unwell. But it's nothing. They say they have taken him to the hospital.'
Chikwado! she screamed.
'Hey, calm down! He's fine.'
'I want to go home. Please, Aunty, I want to go and see him.'
'Ok. No problem. But, please put yourself together.' She held Kamsi to herself.
***
Having being taken to different hospitals to see doctors and specialists who didn't really know what was wrong, Chikwado finally gave up the ghost. Kamsiyochim was the first person to notice that Chikwado was dead and gave the call.
They were together in the room. Poor Chikwado lay on the bed almost lifeless. His once robust self had flattened like a leaf, weightless. His eyes were pale and sunken. Kamsi could not look at him for long. Her eyes misted. She turned away to sneeze into her scarf.
'Are you crying, Sister?'
She wiped her face. 'No. I'm not crying.'
'But your eyes are red,' he said. 'Sister, please promise me something.'
'What is that?'
'No body should cry when I die o.' He laughed.
She held his hand. 'Stop that rubbish, you are not going to die. And no body is going to cry for anyone. Everything will be fine.'
'Sister, please tell me a story.'
'Ok. Which one?'
'Anyone you think is best for this moment.'
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a great king...
She was still talking when, suddenly, he shut his eyes and his hand fell from her palms to his side. She panicked. She rose to check him for pulse. Then, she screamed, Chikwado! when she felt no pulse. He lay there cold and lifeless. Her parents came in.
'What is it?' her mother asked.
She pointed at his corpse, crying.
Oriaku rolled on the floor, weeping and beating her breasts. Mazi Chima covered his dead son with the white veil, leaned at the wall behind him, folded his hands, and continued to heave his shoulders in shock.
***
With Chikwado's demise, silence hovered around Mazi Chima's house. Kamsi's life had taken an abrupt pause, as the thought of going to school, of hanging out with friends, of doing anything worthwhile, disenchanted her. These days, she was always by herself in deep soliloquy. Oriaku, her mother, lived more in herself, crying without restraint each time she stumbled upon photographs of her son or his toys or clothes, anything that reminded her of him. Mazi Chima became sad and helpless as he didn't know what do or say to put smiles on the faces of his wife and daughter.
Kamsi sat on one of the stairs by the kitchen singing. The singing stopped and she started to think out loud. Why did it have to be you, Chikwado? It didn't have to be him. He didn't do anything. She wished Agbala would appear to her, so she could ask him why he had to take her brother's life, to empty her anger, pain and anguish on him.
Since the last time she shouted at Agbala and warned him to stay away from her, he had not appeared to her. She paused as she heard voices from the parlour. She rushed to the kitchen door and opened halfway. Her parents were talking with Eze mmuo in slightly hushed tones. In what seemed to be an endless moment of argument between her parents and Eze mmuo, she was heard something. 'Do you want what happened to your son to happen again?' Eze mmuo said, the corners of his mouth shook furiously. Her mother went on her knees. 'Please, wise one!' she pleaded. 'No more deaths!' her father joined in.
She was by the sink washing the few dirty plates when her mother called from the living room.
'Yes, mummy, you called me.'
'Yes. Please, sit down. Your father and I have something to tell you.' She turned to her husband to take the lead.
He cleared his throat. Then continued. 'Kamsi, my child, I know you've been through a lot, we have all been through a lot. And Chikwado's death made it all worse; we are all still trying to cope with this loss. So my child, I, I mean, we would like to plead with you to...'
'Stop! Please, stop! I understand. I know Eze mmuo was here a week ago and I overheard the argument, the threats—that if I don't become Agbala's wife something worse would repeat itself. So, I accept.'
'Just like that?' her mother said. She looked at her husband who also looked back in disbelief.
'Yes, just like that. I don't want anyone else to die in this family because of me. Chikwado's death is enough pain to bear. My fifteenth birthday is just in a fortnight, by then I would be his wife.'
The day for the festival came and the entire village of Amafor gathered at the village square to witness the event and be entertained. There was music and dancing and eating and drinking. Then there was a wrestling contest : the young men of Amafor versus the men from the sister villages. The crowd hailed as the wrestlers from Amafor threw their opponents on the ground.
At the shrine, Kamsi knelt down; she would be the first woman ever to be initiated into the Mmanwu cult group, the only girl in a company of ten boys, who had given her a weird look upon her arrival.
The boys knelt with bare chest and shots, but Kamsi was allowed to wear her blouse and panties. So, finally she was to join the Mmanwu fraternity, she thought. Although she had desired so much to be part of this group, to dance Surugede, to get the opportunity to flog those guys that bullied her at school, now, in place of satisfaction, she felt a deep hollow of resentment and disgust, even for Surugude.
Eze mmuo made some incantations as he drew nearer to her, it was time for him to performe the ritual of cleansing. So, he twisted the neck of a fowl until it squealed to death. Instantly, the neck popped with blood and licked down her face. Kamsi shut her eyes and mouth in order to keep the thick, irritating liquid from crawling in. Eze mmuo performed the same ritual on the rest. Finally, the faces of each one was covered with Agbala's mask, except for the tiny holes around the eyes which aided their sight.
'Today, eleven of you have been dedicated to the deity, Agbala Mmuo. You have now become invisible, untouchable,' Eze mmuo said with a tone which reeked of mirth. And the boys responded accordingly—whistling, chanting, howling, and dancing with glee. Kamsi struggled to bring herself under control as she threw her hands to the sky and jumped and howled like a wolf, too. It was as if the mask was imbued with a strong charm that could control anyone that came under it. All throughout the festival, she remained this way.
After the ceremony, the boys were allowed to go home while Kamsi remained at the shrine as Agbala's wife. She cried, but harder the moment she saw her parents, especially her father, crying. She ran to hug them. At that moment, watching her parents walk away, she knew her life had changed forever.
Surugede—the dance of spirits(Ewa Gerald Onyebuchi)
Kamsiyochim didn't pause for a moment to think things through before throwing her question at Oriaku, her mother; it didn't occur to her that her mother would shoot her a red-hot glare that would send ripples of fear down her spine and eventually crush the courage that took her so much time and effort to build.
Before she strolled out of her room where she was sorting out the best dress to wear to church the following day, to the backyard of their house, her parents were both bubbling with the kind of laughter that goes on and on, so loud, that it scraped you out of the scene, although you would like to know the reason for it and, perhaps, join in, too.
'Mama, please, do you think a young girl like me can join the Mmanwu group?' she said.
The guffaw came to its abrupt death, now her parents morphed into a graveyard.
Oriaku stopped blowing air over the embers produced from the firewood, rose to her feet, and with both hands wedged on her tiny waist, she stared briefly at her daughter. Kamsi held her stomach as she felt bile rise to her throat, she managed to steady her trembling kneels. Had she known she wouldn't have put herself in the shoes of the supposed young girl because now her parents were getting the wrong idea, she thought. She also managed to tame the urge of divulging too much, especially the dream she had been having for a while. In that dream she always wore Agbala's huge mask and danced to Surugede: the dance of spirits. But, at this point Agbala himself had not started to appear physically to her.
Her father, Mazi Chima, who was tending his orange-colored tricycle—cleaning the body with such thoroughness—stopped, and without turning to look at Kamsi, turned to his wife and she returned her gaze at Kamsi.
Now, both parents started to stare suspiciously at their daughter, who didn't know what to do but to lower her gaze at her feet since she was taught that it was rude to look an elder directly in the eye, whether he was talking or not.
For that moment, Kamsi wished either of her parents would break the stifling silence and at least say something—whether good or bad.
Instead, her father yelled at her to go inside.
***
These days, Papa and Mama talked in hushed tones. Their eyes darted back and forth in Kamsi's direction. They tiptoed around her like she was a shattered glass. Doors were shut with extra care, as if something would snap if they were slammed too hard.
This morning she was dressed in her uniform and about to live with Chikwado, her younger brother, for school, when her parents stalled at the door.
'Mama, Papa, we are already late for school, please leave the way,' Kamsi said. Chikwado plucked the hairs from his nose as he stared at his parents, who stood looking at each other in confusion.
'Ehm... see, Kamsi...' Oriaku's voice trailed off, then, almost immediately, she looked to her husband to bail her out. 'You are just standing here, Papa Kamsi, say something now. Are you just going to let her go out?'
'Bia, nwanyia, what do you want me to say?' Mazi Chima snapped.
Oriaku rolled her eyes. 'Really?' Suddenly, she hissed and stomped towards the kitchen.
'Ehm... Kamsi!' he called out
'Yes, Papa.'
'Starting from today, Chikwado will start going to school on his own. But you, Kamsi, will have to stay at home for this week. Did you hear me?'
'But why, Papa? What did I do?' Kamsi asked.
'Yes, Papa, why?' Chikwado said in a funny way that almost forced laughter from his father's and sister's mouth. Aside being smart and intelligent, Chikwado was also a child imbued with humor which was always served from his words; he didn't always say much, but whatever he said left a lingering humor in you. And because of this, he was adored and loved by all, especially Kamsi.
He patted the fur on his head. 'My boy, Chikwado! Chi, you are a big boy now o.'
'If you say so Papa, at least for this week, Sister will stop dragging my hand as if I'm a small boy, and spoiling my parole in front of those girls,' Chikwado said.
'Come, what is parole? And what girls?'
Chikwado covered his mouth with both palms. 'Oops! Sorry Papa, I'm already late.' He buzzed off.
'But, Papa, what is wrong? Why did you say I have to stay at home for this week?'
He heaved a deep sigh. 'Hmm... Come and sit beside me. I want to tell you something.'
At this time Oriaku tiptoed out of the kitchen and leaned her back against the door post, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Mazi Chima cleared his throat the first time, and again, and then again, in a way worried Kamsi. 'Papa, do I get you water?'
'No. Never mind, thank you. I'm fine now.' But there was nothing clogging his throat, instead he was struggling with the words and how to put them in the right way before her. The moment he collected himself he began.
During those times Mazi Chima and his wife were childless, he narrated, they sort for a child, even a deformed child. They had been to several hospitals and the doctors said nothing was wrong with both of them. Given their desperation, they went to the church—fasted and prayed, at some point, they had to drink and bathe with anointing oil— but nothing happened. Then, based on a friend's advice, they decided to see Agbala. But this decision didn't come handy since it took an extra effort on the part of Oriaku to convince her husband.
That afternoon, their gentle conversation had tilted off the edge of the table, and was nearing a state of chaos.
'Why are you proving difficult, ogini?' Oriaku snapped.
'What will people say about me, about us?' Mazi Chima raised his voice. 'Especially the church. Do you know what you are saying?'
'Oh, stop this! You're always bothered about what people would say. Why?'
Oriaku calmed her nerves, knowing that with two people pissed off, a truce could never be attained. She strolled from the dinning table, where her anger had hurtled her unconsciously to, and sat beside him on the sofa. 'Please, my husband, just see reasons with me. Yes, I know we are Christians, but we've tried all the churches in Amafor, and all the pastors keep saying that God's time is the best. Please, let's try this.'
Mazi Chima agreed.
The meeting with Agbala went well but not without a prize; he does not give anything to anyone without a prize. 'On her fifteenth birthday, she must be brought to the shrine to bear Agbala's mask. And then, she must be married to Agbala,' Eze mmuo warned as Mazi and his wife rose to take their leave. Few months later, Oriaku took in. Kamsi was born. Now, Oriaku could raise her head and walk with gait of a proud mother wherever she went. Kamsi grew up to become an intelligent young girl-child who excelled academically, thereby making her parents so proud.
As soon as Mazi Chima finished his story, he paused, scouring her face with his eyes, maybe for sadness, or fear or tears.
But Kamsi smiled a sated smile, and said, 'Papa, I love you and Mama.' Instantly, Oriaku started towards the living room. 'I thought I had done something terrible. I know all these.'
'You do?' Her mother was stunned. 'Who told you?'
'My daughter, how come?' he said.
'Agbala told me the night of his second visit. He has been appearing to me.'
Both parents stared at each other with mouths half-gaped. Then, slowly, they returned their gaze to Kamsi.
'You mean Agbala has been appearing to you?' her mother asked.
'Yes, mother.'
She turned her face to her husband without uttering a word.
He turned to Kamsi. 'Ehm, my daughter, do you still want to go to school today?'
'No. I don't want to go again. By the way, it's late. Tomorrow.'
The two of them sat there, staring intermittently at each other and at Kamsi as she trudged happily to her room.
***
From the room where she was, Kamsi could hear her mother's voice at the kitchen, where she was shouting and ranting like one possessed by a demon.
Suddenly her heart skipped a beat as she heard footsteps approaching, and the door moaned as it half opened. But the person lingered behind the door. Then Chikwado walked in, scratching his head and hissing.
The corners of his mouth folded and his brows furrowed as he spoke. 'Sister, I am hungry o.'
'This boy, what is your problem? You nearly gave me a heart attack, see your big head. I thought it was Mama sef.'
'What is my business? I say I'm hungry jor.'
'Go and meet her!'
He shook his body, the columns of flesh on his neck, hands and legs dangled vigorously. He gave her a stern look. 'Meet who?'
'See his big stomach like who. Mum, of course.'
She does not want to listen to me. She shouted at me. By the way, why is Mama shouting like this? What did you tell her? She hasn't stopped since we returned from school.'
'Come on, nothing. Oya, leave here, osiso!'
'See, I am hungry o.'
Just as Chikwado was about to leave, Oriaku stormed in. Her chest heaved up and down as she scoured the room and the occupants with her eyes.
Immediately, Chikwado slipped away, while Kamsi sat on the bed with her back pressed against the wall, looking down at her feet, like a child caught stealing from the pot. This was Oriaku's fifth time coming to her daughter's room, and each time, she stood at the door as if a strange energy prevented her from walking in.
'Bia, this girl, you have successfully spoiled my happy mood today, abi? You should have remained in the school o.'
'But, Mama...'
'Please, don't Mama me. What did you mean by that nonsense you said at the kitchen?'
'Oh, because you now see Agbala, you think you can just wake up one morning and take any decision you like, shey?' Kamsi dare not open her mouth.
And almost immediately, Mazi strutted in.
'Ogini? What is happening here? Mama, Kamsi, do you know where I started to hear your voice? From Tobe's salon.'
Oriaku turned to her husband. 'And what do you mean by where you heard my voice? Now you are calling me a mad woman, bah?'
Kamsi stifled the urge to laugh. She knew, definitely, her father was exaggerating. Tobe's salon was like miles away from their house.
Growing up Her parent's quarrels had always amused her. One person, in this case her father, was always saying one thing but the other, especially her mother, was listening and interpreting things differently. So, it was something you didn't take to heart because you knew they would eventually settle, most times in the bedroom.
'Oh, stop this. I never called you a mad woman. Of course you're the one calling yourself that.'
'So, now I'm lying?'
He ignored her. 'What is happening here?' he said, indirectly throwing the question to no one in particular.
'Ask her. Ask your daughter.' Oriaku stomped out.
He dropped the polythene bag on the floor, sat on the bed next to her, and laid his hand on the scruff of her neck. His body was a mesh of odours that had drowned the cologne which he applied on himself ealier today. The smell irritated her. 'Kamsi, what is it? Why is your mother shouting like this?'
She shivered from his touch. He noticed, so he took his hand away. 'I'm sorry, it rained at Nkwo ji. Did it rain here?' And perhaps he sensed the disgust on her face, so he withdrew slightly from her.
'No sir.'
'Why was your mother shouting?'
As soon as she told him what she had told her mother, he drew in deep breaths and said, 'Are you sure that's what you want?' She said yes.
Mazi and his wife had not been on talking terms since he gave his consent for Kamsi to join the Mmanwu—masquerade group. And worst still, he bought her a flute with which she could play and according to Oriaku, disrupt the peace and quiet of the house.
But somehow, today, Oriaku decided to break the silence which hung between her and her husband for days.
'My husband! I want us to talk.'
Mazi Chima, who sat on the plastic chair adjacent to the bed counting a wad of naira notes, turned around. He looked at his wife. Surprised. It had been a long time he heard her refer to him as "my husband." 'Are you talking to me?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Really?'
'You won't come now before you start doing shakara.'
Hurriedly he knotted the money he had counted with a piece of rubber band and together with the uncounted ones, he put them in the black polythene bag on floor and threw the bag into the wardrobe. The springs squealed as he hopped on the bed.
Slowly her fingers meandered through the dark, curly hairs on his chest. She placed her right leg on his hairy legs. 'Honey!' she said with a thin voice but in no way devoid of sensuality. 'Yes,' he said. His blood swayed like a turbulent sea. His manhood gradually rose from its slumber. 'Honey!' she called out again. Beads of sweat broke on his face. She was about to call out and the sound of the flute filtered into the room to douce the sexual air.
'Oh God, at this time of the night?' he grunted.
'You see what I have been saying. When I open my mouth to talk they will say Oriaku has come again. I thought you said that she was old enough to make her decision? Eh, that stopping her is like trying to fight the gods. Ever since you got her that flute, she seemed to have lost it.'
He looked at her briefly, shook his head, and walked away.
After searching the house for the source of the sound, finally he found her outside, under the glare of the full moon, under the mango tree behind their house.
A cold wave embalmed him as the hairs rose on the back of his neck and his mouth ran dry. Somebody that could not be seen was playing the flute and his daughter danced the Surugede steps: the right leg is thrown up and down, followed by the other, the hands flail as the waists, which curves down, wriggles.
Oriaku mustn't see this, he thought. He was going to finally agree with his wife to send her to Aba to stay with his sister. Perhaps, there, she would start another school and probably forget all about joining the masquerade group; that way Agbala would leave her and his family alone, he thought again.
'Kamsi!' he called out. But no reply. Again, he called to her. And she replied, 'Yes, Papa!'
She ran to him.
He stood some distance from her, frightened. 'What were you doing there, alone at this time of the night?'
'I was talking to Agbala. He came to help me rehearse for the forthcoming Mmanwu induction festival,' she said, as though her father was supposed to understand that it was normal for a mortal to talk with spirits.
'Hmm... What festival?'
'Papa, are you serious?'
'Ngwa, let me have that flute.'
'Ehm, Papa!'
She hid it in her blouse. 'No papa.'
'What!' he said. He could not reach for it in her blouse, it would be impolite of him.
'First thing tomorrow morning you are leaving for Aba, to Aunty Ada's! Go inside, quickly!' he barked.
'No! Papa, me I'm not going any where o,' she said as she veered in.
***
After much reluctance, Kamsi finally went to Aba to stay with Aunty Ada. But Agbala who could not be contained by distance and time did not for once let go of his bride. He kept appearing to Kamsi both in dreams and reality, so that each time Aunty Ada saw Kamsi dancing or arguing or talking in hushed tones around the house, with an unseen person, she was always terrified.
Kamsi sat under the Udala tree with her right palm propped against her chin, gazing at the sky when Agbala appeared. He did not come as usual in a whirlwind but he just appeared. He wore a purple robe. His crimson eyes sparkled. His skin was the color of the midday sun, and his bald head gave his visage a fine shape.
He tickled her from behind. 'Why is the daughter of Amafor, my angel and wife sitting all by herself?'
She flinched. 'Let go of me at once. You are the cause of all these. Why did you come into my life?'
Agbala's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened with shock.
'If only you had stayed wherever you were, everything would have been ok. At least I would still be at Amafor with my family and friends. Now people think I'm crazy, talking and dancing with you.'
'Kamsi! Kamsi!' Aunty Ada, who had stopped washing the plates in the sink and stared with fear, called out from the kitchen.
'You see what you're causing? Please, leave me alone. And please, stop calling me your wife, I am not your wife and will never be.' She walked out on him.
'But...' Agbala stood with his mouth gaped. The flute he brought so he would play as she danced crawled from his fist and struck the ground. Suddenly his face turned gold and his eyes the color of fire—this often occured each time he was angry— and he disappeared. Agbala rarely got angry but whenever he did, something terrible always happened, something terrible.
***
The distress call reached Kamsi on a Saturday morning while she was drawing water from a well at the backyard.
'Kamsi!' Aunty Ada called.
'Aunty!' she replied. From the low voice with which she called her, Kamsi sensed something was amiss.
'Your parents just called. They said... eh...
'Aunty, what is it?'
'Chikwado is unwell. But it's nothing. They say they have taken him to the hospital.'
Chikwado! she screamed.
'Hey, calm down! He's fine.'
'I want to go home. Please, Aunty, I want to go and see him.'
'Ok. No problem. But, please put yourself together.' She held Kamsi to herself.
***
Having being taken to different hospitals to see doctors and specialists who didn't really know what was wrong, Chikwado finally gave up the ghost. Kamsiyochim was the first person to notice that Chikwado was dead and gave the call.
They were together in the room. Poor Chikwado lay on the bed almost lifeless. His once robust self had flattened like a leaf, weightless. His eyes were pale and sunken. Kamsi could not look at him for long. Her eyes misted. She turned away to sneeze into her scarf.
'Are you crying, Sister?'
She wiped her face. 'No. I'm not crying.'
'But your eyes are red,' he said. 'Sister, please promise me something.'
'What is that?'
'No body should cry when I die o.' He laughed.
She held his hand. 'Stop that rubbish, you are not going to die. And no body is going to cry for anyone. Everything will be fine.'
'Sister, please tell me a story.'
'Ok. Which one?'
'Anyone you think is best for this moment.'
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a great king...
She was still talking when, suddenly, he shut his eyes and his hand fell from her palms to his side. She panicked. She rose to check him for pulse. Then, she screamed, Chikwado! when she felt no pulse. He lay there cold and lifeless. Her parents came in.
'What is it?' her mother asked.
She pointed at his corpse, crying.
Oriaku rolled on the floor, weeping and beating her breasts. Mazi Chima covered his dead son with the white veil, leaned at the wall behind him, folded his hands, and continued to heave his shoulders in shock.
***
With Chikwado's demise, silence hovered around Mazi Chima's house. Kamsi's life had taken an abrupt pause, as the thought of going to school, of hanging out with friends, of doing anything worthwhile, disenchanted her. These days, she was always by herself in deep soliloquy. Oriaku, her mother, lived more in herself, crying without restraint each time she stumbled upon photographs of her son or his toys or clothes, anything that reminded her of him. Mazi Chima became sad and helpless as he didn't know what do or say to put smiles on the faces of his wife and daughter.
Kamsi sat on one of the stairs by the kitchen singing. The singing stopped and she started to think out loud. Why did it have to be you, Chikwado? It didn't have to be him. He didn't do anything. She wished Agbala would appear to her, so she could ask him why he had to take her brother's life, to empty her anger, pain and anguish on him.
Since the last time she shouted at Agbala and warned him to stay away from her, he had not appeared to her. She paused as she heard voices from the parlour. She rushed to the kitchen door and opened halfway. Her parents were talking with Eze mmuo in slightly hushed tones. In what seemed to be an endless moment of argument between her parents and Eze mmuo, she was heard something. 'Do you want what happened to your son to happen again?' Eze mmuo said, the corners of his mouth shook furiously. Her mother went on her knees. 'Please, wise one!' she pleaded. 'No more deaths!' her father joined in.
She was by the sink washing the few dirty plates when her mother called from the living room.
'Yes, mummy, you called me.'
'Yes. Please, sit down. Your father and I have something to tell you.' She turned to her husband to take the lead.
He cleared his throat. Then continued. 'Kamsi, my child, I know you've been through a lot, we have all been through a lot. And Chikwado's death made it all worse; we are all still trying to cope with this loss. So my child, I, I mean, we would like to plead with you to...'
'Stop! Please, stop! I understand. I know Eze mmuo was here a week ago and I overheard the argument, the threats—that if I don't become Agbala's wife something worse would repeat itself. So, I accept.'
'Just like that?' her mother said. She looked at her husband who also looked back in disbelief.
'Yes, just like that. I don't want anyone else to die in this family because of me. Chikwado's death is enough pain to bear. My fifteenth birthday is just in a fortnight, by then I would be his wife.'
The day for the festival came and the entire village of Amafor gathered at the village square to witness the event and be entertained. There was music and dancing and eating and drinking. Then there was a wrestling contest : the young men of Amafor versus the men from the sister villages. The crowd hailed as the wrestlers from Amafor threw their opponents on the ground.
At the shrine, Kamsi knelt down; she would be the first woman ever to be initiated into the Mmanwu cult group, the only girl in a company of ten boys, who had given her a weird look upon her arrival.
The boys knelt with bare chest and shots, but Kamsi was allowed to wear her blouse and panties. So, finally she was to join the Mmanwu fraternity, she thought. Although she had desired so much to be part of this group, to dance Surugede, to get the opportunity to flog those guys that bullied her at school, now, in place of satisfaction, she felt a deep hollow of resentment and disgust, even for Surugude.
Eze mmuo made some incantations as he drew nearer to her, it was time for him to performe the ritual of cleansing. So, he twisted the neck of a fowl until it squealed to death. Instantly, the neck popped with blood and licked down her face. Kamsi shut her eyes and mouth in order to keep the thick, irritating liquid from crawling in. Eze mmuo performed the same ritual on the rest. Finally, the faces of each one was covered with Agbala's mask, except for the tiny holes around the eyes which aided their sight.
'Today, eleven of you have been dedicated to the deity, Agbala Mmuo. You have now become invisible, untouchable,' Eze mmuo said with a tone which reeked of mirth. And the boys responded accordingly—whistling, chanting, howling, and dancing with glee. Kamsi struggled to bring herself under control as she threw her hands to the sky and jumped and howled like a wolf, too. It was as if the mask was imbued with a strong charm that could control anyone that came under it. All throughout the festival, she remained this way.
After the ceremony, the boys were allowed to go home while Kamsi remained at the shrine as Agbala's wife. She cried, but harder the moment she saw her parents, especially her father, crying. She ran to hug them. At that moment, watching her parents walk away, she knew her life had changed forever.
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