THE LAST SLAVE

EPISODE ONE

Umukafor had fallen into silence following his return from OBIGWE, the king’s palace.

‘The sun is risen at dusk and fruits now spring forth from the fronds of the palms.’ He thought as he returned through the uzo ani; a lonely bush-path that wandered through a little desolate forest, leading to his hut.

“The day eyelashes begin to mettle with the eyeballs without considerations, the fingers learn to pluck them without mercy”. He stopped abruptly, as he tamed his wandering thoughts. As if he was taking shelter from a blazing sun, he fell under a great Iroko tree that seemed to shade the entire arsenal of the forest with its sky-sprayed leaves. Although Umukafor was being beaten by something and desperately sought for shelter from its arms, Iroko tree, in its mightiness, had not the cover with which a man was sheltered from the storms of fear. No! Not the type that now hunted Umukafor.

’ He, who would watch a man pluck his eyes to prove his loyalty, must also be prepared to bathe in a pool of blood’. He encouraged himself as he sprang up from the foot of the tree and walked on, somehow bolder as if the burden of fears had be lifted off his shoulders. But underneath his composure, he was decorated by his worries.

“The calabash of Mmani has fallen over your house” he replayed the words of Ezemmuo, the chief priest, as he handed him a little calabash that contained a knife with a knob of feathers and some dried palm fronds in it. It was a symbol of authorization from the gods to any household on whom the sceptre of sacrifice fell every season.

The elders said that the pathways a great warrior trots on his way to the wrestling ground, first feel his punches before his opponent. Umukafor was a man whose bravery was usually spelt in his footsteps. People often greeted him from their huts before they even sighted him coming because of the shiver of the earth when he walked by. He was an Elephant whose presence would never be hidden by the forest. But now he was being dragged on in a chain of fears, quite submissively that even the dried leaves on his pathway could not make a sound.


He had completely lost in thought again but recovered as he dashed his foot against an outburst of a fallen tree that half crossed the pathway, which left him bent in pains. Recovering his height, he then shook in agony as if he was preparing to wrestle against the forest; turning about slowly, with his hands girded as if he was certain the bad omen was standing right behind him and would strangle it without a drop of time.

‘’this is not a good omen...” he tilted his head in disbelieve.

“... Umukafor isi gi aje eko anwuru oku, maka ijie nwa dibia atule nsi . mkh mmkh! Ala naso ya nso!.” Umukafor your head shall not boil in a pot of a feast, for the son of a native doctor shall never be the sacrificial lamb. No! It is a taboo.’’ He said aloud as if he barked at someone, trying to comport himself against the beaming fears that was beginning to overlay his manly outlook.

“If it’s a great honour to be loved by the gods, it is a greater honour to be chosen for a task by the gods. Ezeoha your son is a great child; that is why he has been chosen by the gods to dine with his ancestors this festival. It shall be the greatest harvest of events Umu Uburu has ever seen” his mind wandered through the series of the words of Ezemmuo as he headed home.

“I am not a coward...Harvest is no blessing when the crop is the death and in its season, I shall not be found the farmer! Never!” he echoed, bouncing back home.





EPISODE TWO

The dusk had risen in a great darkness and umu uburu was folded in silence pierced only by the snorting of frogs and the mimicry of insects that ambushed the shrubs surrounding the huts in the village. The bodies of men had stretched on their bamboo beds in their huts waiting to be awoken by the arms of the chores awaiting their awakening; expect Umukafor who was keeping watch with his worry. He had made himself a personal dungeon in his OBI with the chain of anger bounding him to his fears.

“I just want to be left alone” he had said to Ugonkwo yesterday as he stormed into his compound from a maze of gum trees that were planted into a fence round his compound. That was the only word he had uttered to anyone since he returned from the palace. Ugonkwo who sat under the ukwa tree that morning, outside the obi picking palm fruits sprayed before her, only stared at him and did not make a sound as he disappeared into his hut. To her, Umukafor was just the red embers of coal; he got cold when he burnt himself out.

“A man can save a fellow who is drowning and another save yet another who is dying of thirst but who can deliver a man from the bars of his thought especially when such thought seems to be foiled in certainty?” he said as he slid down the door of his Obi against which, he had been resting, settling finally to the mud floor made smooth by smeared cow dung.

He had been awake all through the night and seemed to be engrossed in his thought now, which ran from one dreaded picture to another. The news of yesterday seemed to hang on the air over him as if it’s beginning to unfold. Suddenly, his thought was taken over by a distant cry that sounded like a distressed call. Umukafor listened but could not make out the content of the voice; for it was a spoken cry that seemed to say series of things in haste; a sort of lamentations he could barely piece together to gain understand.

Like a flash, his attention was picked up by the faint sound of Ogene, ‘gong’ that was succeeded by the voice of the town crier. The sound of the gong and the voice of the crier seemed to fall in from the distance as one could barely hear let alone understand what the message was about. although Umukafor could not decipher the contents, he knew something terrible had befallen whom, he was yet to discover as he began to walk to his bamboo window to get the glimpse of the message.

“The Ogene that rose up as soon as the cry rented the air could not be anything other than a living nightmare” he thought as he awaited th e crier to get closer so he could gain the message.

“gom gom gom! Umu Uburu genu nti o!, ‘people of umu uburu listen o!’” the crier stopped as he passed his message, delivering his lines with a poise dotted by a conscious pause at intervals as if to gather his words.

“This land is bleeding with sacrilege! Alu! Taboo has befalling the people of Umu Uburu as abominable children are brought to this great land of peace...” he paused and picked up his lines again

“...and this filthiness shall be cleansed by nightfall tomorrow...As our tradition demands, no man, woman or child is to be seen in Onwuegbu , ‘A rolling stream that surrounded Ofia Ajo Mmuo’ until Umu Uburu is delivered of this evil. Onuru kara nwa ne ya o!” he hits the gong again as he moved on, passing the same message and continued until he faded into the distance.

While Umukafor returned to his bamboo bed after the voice of the crier had melted into the distance, he pondered over the crier’s sermon which was a peg of other sacred events that had hung on his mind throughout the night and to which he had no explanations but had been part of them as they sprang up. He seemed to be hunted by the pictures of the great sons of Umu Uburu who had bled season after season to the shrine of Mmani deity.

As if he would make a seat out of the edge of his bed, he sprang up again as he remembered Onuma who despite six wives was childless for twenty three seasons before his last wife, uzoma, became heavy with a child. Nine moons later, she came forth with two male children only to have them taken away and dumped into Afia Aju Mmuo. Two days after his twins were cast into the evil forest, Onuma drowned himself in Onuegbu.

“..And now, another prepares to trot the same eye-bleeding pathway...” he suddenly said as if he had been speaking and not thinking. “...that leaves its travellers walking corpses for the rest of...” he eased and froze as he regained consciousness. And then said;

“Until the goat learns how to stick his neck off the tether, he keeps bleeding to the knives of his butchers” his thought seemed returned.

Although Umukafor detested some aspects of Umu uburu culture, his hands had seemed tied by the strings of tradition and the servile spirit of obedience. But not anymore! For a man of a single eye must learn to fetch his fire woods away from a thorn vested forest lest he go blind. His mind rolled back to Ezeoha.

As he repainted the events surrounding Ezeoha’s young life, he seemed to be captured by the aftermath of losing him. The fact that he had lost his only brother, his sole relative apart from his in-laws, to a strange death in the forest of Ugwuele in Uturu where he had gone for a group hunt some seasons ago; The fact that he had grown up in the arms of neighbours after the walls fell in and killed their parents at night of a heavy rainfall; and the fact that he had no child to take his sceptre of existence into the chamber of posterity when he had joined his ancestors, so set their weights on him that he finally took a seat off the edge of his bed.

“Man is a messenger of the gods and in his arms is a sceptre of existence he must deliver to the future before he returns. Ezeoha is my other part that go into the future when I am gone and on his carriage of life, I have placed that sceptre of existence and shall protect him, though I perish by the gods” he cleared his throat as he sprang up, pacing the floor.

“But the gods are wise for they do not send a man an errand with a pot full of salt and at the same time, accompany him with a rainfall...no! I think I sense some hands of monkey in this...I must make my inquiries” he thought indecisively as he paused, staring into the darkness that seemed to envelop his Obi.





EPISODE THREE

If the bird could see the stone from the slingshot of the hunter, he would learn to perch with caution. Ezeoha had jumped into Onwuegbu, a strange shallow river that separated umu uburu from Ofia Ajo Mmuo, 'the forest of the evil spirit', before Onuchi shouted from the bank of the river;


“Umunna ga nu nka’a!; the elders must hear this!”. Turning around as if she had been sent to deliver a message, she disappeared into a muddy route that meandered through a hood of bamboo trees, which shaded the low hill that descended to the river. Before Ezeoha would climb out of the river, Onuchi was already devouring the hill with her heels; blazing through the dried leaves that dotted.
Ezeoha who was now on the elevated side of the shore, flew after her like an hunter’s dog would sprint after an antelope.


“The elders must not hear this” he struggled with his thought as he breezed after her.
Ezeoha was not scared as he ran; even as his mind recounted his experience few moons ago, when he was held by four men in the village square, before the UMUNNA, the elders while he was being disciplined by Enyi, the warrior. Umukafor was there too, urging Enyi to discipline him very well as Enyi loaded his buttocks with whip after whip. Even though Umukafor was uneasy seeing him whipped, for he loved him purposely, he wanted him disciplined; especially, after such a sacrilege. He had gone into Ofia Ajo Mmuo and plucked mango when a farmer who was bathing in Onwuegbu saw him and reported him to Umunna. And now it seemed the same whip awaited him as Onuchi had vanished from his sight.


Springing up into the bed of the hill, Ezeoha froze up, almost colliding with the body of Onuchi, who now littered the ground breathless, with a sizeable scorpion beside her, resting its head on her leg. The snake was dead too. Ezeoha stood after he regained his balance, staring at the body of Onuchi as if he had met Ikpokpo, ‘A great Afikpo Masquerade, who often froze strangers when he came in contact with them’. Or perhaps he had entered a space of death that consumed whatever came into it.
But then, in a mixture of shock and confusion, he melted away, back to the river. Although what he had seen could frighten a lion and him being an actor in it too, Ezeoha was not scared. He was never scared. He had his mind welded to his back and could stare death in the eye and walk by him. Like his uncle, Umukafor, he was always alone. He would either wander in the bush with his slingshot or in the evil forest to gather mangoes when he felt hungry. People called him a strange child.
He almost slipped into the river from the bank but caught a bamboo stem which left his hand bleeding. He seemed not to notice the wound as he struggled to stand. And with a swing of hand, he picked up his OGODO, ‘A skirt made of skin’ and dove into a bush-path that led to Uzo-ani; jumping one blade of grass after the other as he headed home breathless. Scurrile said instead of his head would boil in the hunter’s post, let the earth tell the tale of his race with the hunter. It was a longer route back home but he had chosen safety over distance.


In a swift of an antelope, he tore through a fence of shrubs that covered the footpath through which he headed home. And from the look on his face and a heart that bounced as if it would break forth, he was exhausted and began to walk leisurely as if nothing had happened; chewing off a mango fruit he had plucked as he flew back from the river. He had another seed in his other hand. But he suddenly stopped, staring at his right side as if he had spotted a grass-cutter. He was almost at home as he could see Ugonkwo from where he stood.


“Nnenne amam ihe ime ga ni’lo nanwu ocha’a ‘Mother, I don’t know what has brought you outside under this heavy sun’” he grumbled, peeking through the built-up grasses that covered his view. He seemed troubled by the site of Ugonkwo who sat in the compound as if she was waiting for him to return.


“Perhaps she had been told” he thought, drawing lines on the sand playfully with his left leg while he chewed his mango.


“But no one was there. I don’t think anyone saw me.” He seemed to shrug it off his mind, though he was still concerned about Ugonkwo finding out. Although Ugonkwo never laid her hands on him, not even over a serious issue, Ezeoha hated her questioning; always trying to understand everything as if she was the gods. Turning about, He then walked to Ugbaka tree and collapsed under it, throwing stones at the scarp that descended opposite him as he ate off the last seed of the mango.


He started licking his fingers as soon as he finished eating the last seed. He seemed to have rested a while now as the sweat that had soaked his bare body before had been dried up by the breeze that wept consistently through the sheet of the Ugbaka tree and other trees in the forest. He then sprang up and began to walk home again. As he dangled out from the gum trees into the compound, Ugonkwo spotted him from the shade of Ukwa tree, her usual spot, where she sat, peeling the cassavas she had harvested from the farm. She regarded him curiously, though she whistled and appeared to be engrossed in her chore. She stared at his face and then his body, curiously trying to figure out whatever was wrong with him, despite Ezeoha’s seemingly comported posture to conceal his troubled mind.


“Dim! Bia kene ri, my husband come!” she paused, holding the knife together with the half-peeled cassava in her left hand as she beckoned Ezeoha to come. Turning toward her direction, for he had wanted to walk straight into the hut, he then made his way to her, dragging his feet along like a goat that was being taken to a stake.


“Who gave you the necklace on your neck?” asked Ugonkwo, staring directly to his seemingly innocent face, while Ezeoha stood, ignoring the question as he gazed at Uchichi, their unruly goat eating off the cassava; as if the question was for the goat and not for himself.


Ugonkwu seemed interested in the necklace as she stared deep into his face, expecting a response to her question. Ezeoha had spotted the necklace underneath Onwuegbu River as he dove into it. It’s a little knife of a finger length with a knob that had designs of vulture all over it and a string of elastic wood passed through a narrow hole at the end of the knob. He had worn it round his neck, after he found it appealing.


“You did not hear the question?” she persisted, dropping the cassava and the knife in her hand as if she would hit him. But she had no such intentions. She was a soft hearten woman, even to the point of disciplining a stubborn child like Ezeoha. She shared a common habit of minimal words with Umukafor but never his anger.


“From the river” Ezeoha, satisfied with his silence, now responded.


“Mmiri Ole? Which river?” she asked curiously and seemed much serious now. “Ibidona Aka ntutu Ezeoha, ‘you have begun the habit of picking things along the way Ezeoha’” as she questioned him, she could hear a faint sound of gong beaten three times with an announcement that seemed to fade with it. Though she could barely make out anything from it, she knew that any announcement in a hot afternoon like this would be about something serious and urgent.


“But what could it be?” she thought as she commenced her chore while Ezeoha, sensing her mind had been taken over by something else, started to walk away into the hut. Although umu uburu festival was around the corner and town crying and announcements would grace the village from time to time, Ugonkwo knew it would not be in the sun led afternoon like this.


“Could it be a repetition of the message last night...No? The announcement of the incident of such nature is never repeated” Ugonkwo suddenly stopped peeling her cassava and seemed to give in to the voice of the town crier which now appeared clearer and the gong resounding enough that anybody within her range could make sense of what he was saying. She walked to the entrance of the compound and stood by the side of the gum trees.


“Umu Uburu Osisi eto la nu nelu mmiri; onye meru la ala gba oso? The people of Umu Uburu Listen o! Tree has taken root on the surface of the river. Who has taken to his heels after such an abominable sacrilege?” he paused and then continued.


“Umu uburu Akwu acha la nu no’omu. The people of umu uburu, palm fruit had sprung forth from the frond. The king has summoned everybody to the village square, both young and old. Onuru kara nwanne ya o! ” he struck the gong three times again and passed the message fading into distance. Ugonkwo then hurried to her cassava and found uchichi leisurely enjoying herself from the defenseless cassava. She sprinted after her and then covered the cassava with palm fronds she had cut from the farm. Turning about, she picked a calabash of oranges she had placed amidst sprayed branches of the Ukwa tree and disappeared into her hut.

Nice on Blackpen #following

wow! I feel great hearing such remarks...sincerely, it's uplifting i must say. thanx very much. i appreciate your time here. God bless you

ur pen is really black. dis is amazing; following#

Yes Dahz It Boss... Keep It Coming...

words are strong weapon with which the spirit of man can be deterred or encouraged.... i must sincerely say i keep finding tools of encouragement from your bowl of comments and remarks. I am much much grateful to you all who have not only come but also have left the evidence of your presence on my staircases.....so you are invariably the staircases through which my inspiration ascends on to the future. thanks and God bless you.

KINGZPEN you know very much that I'm your hand made....i am just a street furniture displaying a great work you have done within me. so i am grateful and happy to have you visit my page. Thanks and God bless you.

BLACKPEN:
words are strong weapon with which the spirit of man can be deterred or encouraged.... i must sincerely say i keep finding tools of encouragement from your bowl of comments and remarks. I am much much grateful to you all who have not only come but also have left the evidence of your presence on my staircases.....so you are invariably the staircases through which my inspiration ascends on to the future. thanks and God bless you.

Not surprised at you poetic words at all... Dahz one of your strengths which I deeply admire... Bring it on Boss...

Waiting for episode 2...

[color=#006600][/color]magnificent and articulate write up...

wow! thanks for that future promising remarks.... i cant find the words that can fit into the kind of THANKS i want say but i am grateful...i invite you to read the second EPISODE which i am posting right away. i pray you enjoy it too and please let me know how you feel about it.....God bless you

thanks

ok boss! what's next

EPISODE FOUR

The village square was alive with the presence of the villagers; both young and old. The elders in council created the semicircle that sprang from the both arms of the Igwe, who formed the epicentre with two fierce looking armed guards standing behind him with their spades stretched out as if they were expecting assailants against the Igwe. In the second row were the elders of the village, both women and men seated on the bench made of bamboo trees and arranged in a fashion after the sitting of the council of elders while the rest of the crowed stood behind them. Umukafor was not there; he was still in the feast with his worry and would not stir.

Apart from the faint sound of the Ekwe, the square was as quiet as a moonless night. Even Ugonkwo and Enekata, her friend counted their feet as they stole into the crowd from the adjoining path. Everybody kept to him or herself and from the look on their faces, the day was not merry. Suddenly Mazi Mbakara stood up and cleared his throat as he stared around beholding the faces the people as if to ensure an expected measure of villagers before he would begin his address.

“Ndi ba yi eke m unu! ‘My people I greet you!’ he bellowed and paused as people responded indifferently. The colour of their faces was angry as nobody was speaking, not even to his or her neighbour. Some only shook their shoulders from time to time, especially, when their eyes occasionally caught the body of Onuchi and the snake placed at the centre of the square. Mazi Mbakara continued;

“Our elders said that when the frog runs in the daytime, it’s certainly not in vain; it’s either it goes after something or something is coming after him” he paused again as if he ran out of words. Mazi Mbakara was a great orator and seemed to punctuate his sentences with pauses. People could have been nodding their heads and chattering at his ingenious way of speaking; if not that the day had been stung by the venom of sadness.

“An elder does not watch a pregnant goat give birth while tied to a stake” people nodded unconsciously as he continued.
“The land of Umu Uburu is bleeding with sacrilege”.

“Alu, ‘Taboo!’ said an elder from the crowed.

“Onuchi, the last daughter of Mbu, Ukenu’s last wife, was found dead beside a strange equally dead snake, as you can see here...” he pointed to the body of Onuchi and continued. “...near Onuegbu not quite long, by the guards who had gone to appease the river and prepare the passage of the abominable twins Onwuka’s second wife, Udene brought to this land in the cover of the night...” he paused as a man shouted from the crowed;

“Mmiri juru awo onu, ‘the frog’s mouth is flooded with water!’” he spat as he sprang up and sat down again. Mazi Mbakara continued.

“The secret deeds of the night are brought to the light only by the gods...the mortal man can only wait and listen. And that is why we have come to seek the understanding of this strange dead from the gods...” he pointed to the body of Onuchi and the snake on the ground as Mbu wailed in pains from the back.

“...and we shall wait patiently for until the rotten tooth is pulled out, the mouth must chew with caution” he concluded. And the elders began to stand up as they sighted Ezemmuo, the great dibia of Umu Uburu come from a distance. He was closely accompanied by a boy, dressed in a gown of skin with a crown of feathers round his head and his face painted in white substance. He bore a half-shared calabash in his hands as he walked behind Ezemmuo.

Ezemmuo paused and slowly turned about as he got to the square; and began to enter with his back to the crowed as his pot bearer swept the ground behind him with a palm frond. He then stood as his pot bearer sprayed a tiger skin on the ground. Then the elders began to retake their seats after he sat down on the tiger skin. He then scooped white powder with his palm from the goatskin bag he had placed beside him and blew it into the air and then began to remove his sacred items from the bag as he placed them before himself one after the other.

He then picked up a gong and began to hum as he beat the gong, hovering it over the sacred items. Placing down the gong, he picked up a lob of kola nut from the goatskin bag and raised it up to the sky, making muffled incantations. He seemed to command the attention of everybody in the square as the villagers all stared at him, somewhat anxious of Ezemmuo’s discoveries. The villagers were already getting scared of the twin strange events that had befallen them just in a blink of an eye. First it was the abominable twins. And now Onuchi, who died mysteriously this afternoon. And being also aware that no roof is left unbeaten after the rainfall, they held on to Ezemmuo for the revelation of whatever had happened to Onuchi. He seemed to have made an end to his incantations now and began to split the kola nut, throwing them one after the other before him as he counted the four market days;

“Eke! Orie! Afor!...” he hesitated shaking his head as if what he sensed in the spirit was not pleasant. Of course they couldn’t have been pleasant when there was a body of a child lying before him.

“...Nkwo!” he finally said. Igwe was already restless, moving his feet from his seat as if he was going to pluck the words from the mouth of Ezemmuo. But he relaxed again, turning his hand fan of ostrich feathers in the direction of the wind. Conversation with the gods is often a hot meal eaten in the cold of patience. And Igwe knew it. The impatience of the Igwe was not alone; the faces of the elders also shared it.

“Ezemmuo let us know the mind of the gods; we are getting hanged by our worries and your delay seems to be the rope” said Uneke the drunk, who was immediately hushed down by an elderly man beside him. Although people grumbled at his comment, Uneke had spoken their minds. The elders said that what the tamed hides under caution, the drunk speaks in the spirit of alcohol.
And as if the words of Uneke had touched Ezemmuo, he cleared his throat after he blew over the wind, the remains of palm wine he had sipped from a keg his pot bearer had fetched him from his waist.

“The answers we seek are hidden in the dark...” Ezemmuo finally said, tilting his head and shrugging his shoulders in horror.

“Ezemmuo ikpu kwa la ni si! pai ya oku, na ighi choro aziza, ‘Ezemmuo! blindness is risen upon you. Fetch him a firebrand; we want answers’ said Uneke while the guards approached him in a rage. He seemed to be distracting the channel of the answers they sought and the Igwe could not bear it anymore.

“Obodo anya gbara nwa Dibia Ochichiri, Isii juru ya nu o! ‘The land whose chief priest is blind is full of darkness’” he said as the guards bore him away on their shoulders while Ezemmuo who seemed to be interrupted by Uneke’s remarks, now continued;

“...the flame of light with which I seek my way to the ancestors, has been lifted off my grip” he said gathering his items back into his goatskin bag, shaking his head along.

“Ewwu! Ala Umu Uburu Alu Eme nu Anyi o! ‘Umu Uburu taboo has befallen us’” bellowed a woman sitting beside Mbu who now rolled herself on the sand in silent agony. Ezemmuo was now on his feet while his pot bearer rolled the skin on which he had sat. He turned to face the Igwe and then began to slide away backwards.

“Some things are left unquestioned...bury your dead and mourn your loss; for that is the portion of mortals and let the gods do as they please. We meet again by nightfall”. He concluded as he got to the mouth of the square and then turned and began to walk away while the pot bearer followed him.

helo great NL readers, this is the Episode four of the story 'THE LAST SLAVE' please if you have been following the story, let me know what you think so far about the story at this point...it could be of help thanks[color=#990000][/color]

This is really mind blowing... Just finished episode 3 and 4!

Wooooooooow... Love ur lines...

Keep It Coming Boss...

nyc story line. give more insight, OMENKWU has six wives, hw many children. his nephew EZENHO, is of wat age.




ur proverb strong oo.

Timcy2:
nyc story line. give more insight, OMENKWU has six wives, hw many children. his nephew EZENHO, is of wat age.




ur proverb strong oo.

thanx bro! i appreciate your presence here and thanks for not only following the story but also letting me know what you think....your points are noted, i will work on them. God bless you.

KingzPen:
This is really mind blowing... Just finished episode 3 and 4!

Wooooooooow... Love ur lines...

Keep It Coming Boss...

thanks great mentor....i feel inspired each time i am opportuned to have you on my thread. thanx for being here and Remain blessed

You must be a proverbial man......ride on

Wooow! Thanks very much. Happy to have you here and thnx for going through the story...keep following! I will post the fifth Episode soonest God bless you

charijee:
You must be a proverbial man......ride on

.


Wow thanks i appreciate you presence here and thanks for going thrugh the story..keep following...I will soon post the fifth Episode God bless you

BLACKPEN:
.


Wow thanks i appreciate you presence here and thanks for going thrugh the story..keep following...I will soon post the fifth Episode God bless you

Alright dear.....Following all the way.....nice work

EPISODE FIVE


“Aga eme uwa ole? “How do we handle this life?
Onye ma echi? Who knows tomorrow?
Gbata karu m! Come and let me know!
Na uwa m’biara! My world
Ahola m ahia! Has gone worthless
Echi di ime, amuo la m mpu! The pregnant tomorrow has
Begotten sacrilege!
Umu uburu, n je akolo onye! umu Uburu, who do I tell?
Echi di ime, gbata karu m! let the Pregnant tomorrow come
Let me know"


Onwuka sang from the shade of plantain leaves, just by the side of a narrow path that led to the back of his Obi, where his yam barn stood. He had sat there on the ridge of cassava for what now seemed like the whole day with his walking stick and in a heart blazing songs, agonizing over the sacred children the gods had brought to household, while he waited the presence of the elders who would be carting them away to the evil forest.

He had been on various songs since he first came out of his hut and sat on that ridge, before this one he now sang, which he seemed to have dwelt on for most of the evening. He had stopped as he heard the stamps of feet coming his way but continued as soon as the stamps faded into the distance. He had mistaken the maidens who were going to the stream for the elders who would be coming to cart away the abominable children. The maidens who were moved by his songs, had tilted their heads as they passed but could only share his agony from the distance; as it was a taboo to visit the home of such one who faced the wroth of the gods. But as if the lyrics of the songs were no longer effective in their touch to his pain-filled soul, Onwuka began to speak sorrowfully;


“Today the seeds of the field spring forth and blossom into beauties of greenery trees and velds and tomorrow they find the blade of the sun hacking them into wood and dry leaves; so time and season journey on into eternity. Yet on the head of man’s misery, grey hairs are never found” Onwuka said, knocking the edge of his walking stick against a pillar of mud that formed the edge of his hut round about. He looked up at the hay scaffold of his hut, where the skulls of wild animals he had killed while he hunted, hung as if he could see them.

He was a brave hunter who lost his sight to a sharp shred of trees during a night hunt at Ofia Agu Na Asato, a dense forest in Isiagu while he was escaping from the sight of a beast he had believed to be a buffalo. And ever since then had been confined to his hut as he could barely find his way around. But sound being the sight ears doth render, Onwuka relied on his ears to sense the presence people around him. He had been sitting here all day, listening, trying to read the sounds of the footsteps of by passers as he waited the nightfall. As he sat there now brooding over his misery in a stir of silence, he could hear the faint cry of Udene, his wife from her hut.

She had been crying all day through the night and had shared her ordeal alone as no condolence was forbidden around. Even the midwives, who attended to her while she laboured, had disappeared as soon as she brought forth the evil children. And now she wailed in agony, waiting for the time when her babies would be sent back to the world of shadows from whence they had come.

“Life is not worth living, if the air that sustains it seems to be the breath of misery....” she said as she wiped her running nose with her palm and rubbed it on her kneel. An anguished spirit seldom speaks but when it does, it doth render her words in a strange tongue.

“...Death! My tears are not for you; for I have known you from the time my legs first spread apart in labour...My tears are not for you; for you have become a visitor, who comes knocking each time a cry of a child is heard in my hut....So my tears are not for you...neither are they for the cursed children whom you have brought to season my grief with the pearl of agony while I await the day I shall ware your robe and face up as I walk down the aisle of my ancestors; for that is the destiny of mortals”. Udene counted her loss as she shook her legs uncontrollably. She had seen the breadth of death. Twelve moons ago, Okafor became the tenth child she had lost to death. And now, death seemed not far away, walking down her corridor again. And in her heart, she could hear the footsteps coming closer as the night became darker.


But as she made an end to her lamentations, she suddenly stopped and began to wipe her eyes with the edge of her palms from the ground where she had knelt all day alone, accompanied only by her sorrow. She then took the babies and began to bath them in the half-broken earthenware just by the side of the doorway as if to prepare them for their journey back home. She wrapped them in a sheet of hairy skin after she had made an end with the bath and placed them on her bamboo bed. Turning about, she picked up a firebrand by her bedside and held it forth after she had lit it as she began to walk out into the compound; for darkness had already fallen to the face of the sky.


As soon as she was outside, she went over to the foot of her hut and sat quietly with her hands folded into fists and placed under her jaw. She appeared a little composed now. Though her heart was still heavy, she seemed to have accepted her fate. She fell back and rested her back on the brick wall of her hut. But as she sat there, she seemed entirely given to her thought, interrupted only by the barking of Ozo’s hounds just a stone throw behind their hut and the humming of Udene who was still under the shade of the plantain leaves. Suddenly, her mind was stormed by fears as she began to hear the sound of Oja, ‘A whistle made of a harrowed wood’ and the stamps of feet from the bush path that led to their hut.


But she held herself as they walked into the compound in an organized row; they formed the straight line led by two young men who bore firebrands in their hands and another two young men at the rear of the line, who also bore sticks of firebrands. The entire members of Ogbako Ukwu were there except Umukafor who had not stirred since the meeting of the council. They looked dreadful on their costume of skins and white substance that was rubbed into their faces. The firebrands the two young men in the front bore as well as the ones bore behind by the other two young men so lit up the compound that Onwuka could have sensed their presence even if they had entered in silence. Onwuka, just like Udene his wife, sat there like the walls.


“Anyuku! Arusi!” called Ezemmuo as he stepped forward while the rest of the men hummed on the queue. He looked dreadful too. His goatskin bag, dangling across his shoulder, the crown of feathers round his head and the anklets on his arms and legs as well as human skulls drew on his bare chest; all gave him the appearance of the death itself.


“Go in and fetch the evil children!” he barked in orders while his pot bearer bore forth a sizeable earthenware that had fronds tied round the mouth and placed it on the foreground as Anyuku and Arusi bounced pass Udene into her hut and returned almost immediately bearing the bare bodied twins in their arms; for they had taken them off the skin in which their mother had wrapped them as they picked them from the bamboo bed. And with a wing of hand, Ezemmuo ordered them to place the twins in the earthenware as he began to walk away with a shred of fronds in his hands while his pot bearer followed him with the earthenware placed on a knot of fronds on his head.


Ezemmuo, who was now at the entrance of the compound, began to place a pair of frond across the mouth of each person as they walked by one after the other into the adjoining bush path, humming with the flame of the firebrand illuminating their path as they walked on while Udene wailed in anguish.

As expected... Kudos Boss...

thanx mentor. the post got delayed somehow; i ought to have posted it before now but my schedule was somehow crowded but thank God i finally got it posted....i appreciate your time here God bless you

You didn't translate the song o
Thanks all the same

charijee:
You didn't translate the song o
Thanks all the same

sorryyyyy!!! i did think it was necessary when i was editing it but at your observation, i will modify it tomorrow and have it translated. happy to have you here and I'm grateful for your observation.....happy sunday

EPISODE SIX

As the festival of Umu Uburu drew closer, Umukafor seemed to be slipping further into confusion. Though he had made up his mind to make enquires and seek alternative to the decisions of the gods, he still found his heart clinging to the fact that the decisions of the gods had always been absolute and had never been uttered before; and against which, one not only faced grave consequences but could incur the wroth of the gods against the entire community; a land he had long followed her tradition on the foot of obedience and sacrifice. And had cherished her norms and values such as her festival in which he was not only an elder but also a great wrestler.

Umu uburu festival was a ceremony of great sacred events and attracted people from other neighbouring villages; both witnesses and the contending warriors, who would be participating in Ngbadike, ‘the wrestling of the great’. Umukafor had thrown Ikuku to become the defending champion. With well spread shoulders and enormous height that even the tall men looked up to behold his face, Umukafor could break a man’s skull with his bare hands that seemed to spread wide like a cocoyam leaf. His victory on the wrestling ground last season was so honourable that the fame was made into folktale and told to the children by Okuno, the great oral poet, during the moonlights.


It was a great wrestling as the spectators filed themselves in the arena; the elders took the front rows while the young and women flanked them round from behind. They cheered and roared at every move of the wrestlers while the drummers sustained the air after each wrestler was thrown and melted the beat as the next group was introduced.

The young amateurs first took the arena entertaining the crowd as they defeated one warrior after the other. Umukafor had not appeared, though his rival, Ikuku, was already jumping here and there from the section of the square boxing the air to the cheers and admiration of the crowd. He occasionally caused uproar and set people, especially women on their heels as he caused heavy breeze to sweep across the arena with a considerable pillar of dust.

Ngbadike was not just a contest of warriors; it was also a display of powers. The warriors, to prepare, travelled to distant villages and thick forests to acquire powers and from which many never returned. Umukafor had just returned from Ofia Abani that season, where he had gone and usually go every season to commune with his ancestors and acquire powers in preparation, not just for Ngbadike but against other sacred events that accompanied umu uburu festival.

“ Ihu dike na nwu mma nko; ‘the face of the brave often makes dull the blade of his opponent’ ” the elderly man, who had followed the company of Ikuku to the arena concluded as he watched the magical display of Ikuku, while the two other men next to him nodded in agreement.

Those who did not know umukafor had believed he was afraid and would not show up as Ikuku had never been defeated before and had more experience in the game. But the cloud that brings a heavy down pour does not begin with thunder; it gathers in silence. Umukafor was never afraid and had taken the habit of retreating from the crowd into a nearby bush to remain in touch with the spirits of his ancestors till Akupe, the moderator, announced his name.

But suddenly, the crowd began to roar and cheer. Children sprinted and jumped around as Akupe announced Ikuku and Umukafor as the final contesters. Ikuku had taken the arena immediately, to the high rise of the drumbeat and cheers of the crowd. The moment everybody had waited for finally arrived and it could be felt in the mood of the gallery as people were chattering and the children screaming, clapping and cheering. The air seemed suspended by the yelling. Suddenly, silence whirled the atmosphere as if everyone had fallen asleep.

Then from the bush behind the crowd, a pillar of windy dust slowly walked into the arena and began to circulate the air. The women scampered in terror while the children jumped on each other as the drumbeat seemed on the top of the scream. And gradually, it began to disappear and people started screaming and cheering as the figure of Umukafor began to appear from the midst of the vanishing dust. Then came a heavy wind and finally umukafor stood like a germane mango tree, dressed in a skin skirt with bare chest that had white mud fingers pressed into it. His face too was decorated in white mud with his nose wide open like OJA DIKE, the whistle of the priests. He was fierce to behold.

Unlike Ikuku who jumped and jostled the air, Umukafor had remained at a spot ever since he evolved from the windy dust, staring into the space as if he was just the statue of Ajakuno; a great Umu uburu ancient warrior, carved in the arena just behind the spectators’ gallery.

“What the brave does, lives within him” whispered to himself by a man who knew Umukafor. But another next to him who had picked it up his assertion and responded; ‘Otua’ he nodded in agreement. And suddenly, they were asked to begin.

Ikuku who had gone round the arena now built up before him. He touched him severally and Umukafor remained unmoved. He held him to his chest and his chest began to shake as if it danced to the faint rhythm of the drummers as spectators began to cheer and scream and with a swing of hand, Akupe brought them to calm while Ikuku retreated.

Staring at him twelve feet away, Ikuku then launched back at him and thrust his left leg across him to bring him down, to which Umukafor began to shake and the ground too quaked and the crowd started screaming. Ikuku then retreated to face him again and Umukafor, using his left hand he held him to the neck and lifted him off the ground into his arms and raised him over his head. He then circled severally to the cheers of the spectators. As the drums and screams rented the air, he suddenly stopped as if he was satisfied and then threw him off the arena, behind the spectators and the crowd rose up in cheers, chanting the poetic war lines they had sang while they drove away the slave masters and abolished slave trade in Umu Uburu as Umukafor moved heroically before them, panting heavily.

“Our eyes are in the future!

Our deeds are in the mind!

Our skins are dark!

But we are not beasts!

We are blacks!

We are blacks!

We are blacks!”


That was a season ago. Things had fallen apart since Umukafor returned from the king’s palace. As umu uburu prepared for the festival, umukafor wrestled with his worries. He was not in a festive mood and dreaded each day as the dusk braced the sky.

BLACKPEN:




sorryyyyy!!! i did think it was necessary when i was editing it but at your observation, i will modify it tomorrow and have it translated. happy to have you here and I'm grateful for your observation.....happy sunday

Thanks for having the interest of your readers at heart....happy sunday to you too

Keep It Flowing Boss... #Waiting

[quote author=BLACKPEN post=28659595][/quote]




To everyone who has been following this story !!!THE LAST SLAVE!!! I just returned from camp....and would not be posting the next Episode until sunday cos i will be sitting for my exams this week....my apology for not notifying you before now....thanks for your understanding....season's greetings!!!!