CHAPTER ONE

Ugwunato is a farming community. The native folks enjoys the activities with which a new planting season comes forth with. As a community nestled and naturally fortified on three sides by hills, the first few rain of the season in a magical swing transforms the dry smokey landscape into a lush green splendor. It brings about a refreshing sense of life and vitality.
Outside it's topographical beauty, the hills holds deeper meaning to the natives. native folklores holds it that their progenitors were protected and sustained by the spirits that dwells on top of these hills. At the beginning of every planting season, sacrifices are offered to the spirits of the hills for their continued protection and to Ani (the Earth goddess) for a bountiful harvest for the incoming season. These sacrifices could either be from the blood of a white she-goat or from the blood of a captured young maiden.
It was for this reason that Ugwunato have been in hostility with our neighbour Umuagu. Ugwunato had mistakingly sacrificed a captured Umuagu maiden into their gods. Banking on the natural fortification of her community and on the potency of juju, repeated plea for redress by Umuagu were repeatedly rebuffed by Ugwunato.
Ugwunato is renowned in all of the hilly communities for the fierce and mightiness of her warriors. With fame, comes pride. And pride begets arrogance. it was for this that the destiny of a people will be sniff out from them, and their history erase completely from the earth. A fate that they had no inking was about to befall them. Even the gods themselves stands still in the affairs of men when they have their eyes coated in blood.
O' Ugwunato, how I wish you knew....


"The deeds of idle men in the dry seasons are made manifest on their wives in the raining seasons" said Akunna looking mischievously suggestive at Uloma's protruded stomach
"My sister, you can say that again. Without the farms to wear out their strength, they literally turns their hoes and cutlass on us" Uloma replied, as both women laughed out loud; understanding perfectly each other's drift.
Uloma is obviously heavy with child and needed not to make the daily trek to the stream. She could have the younger children do that for her, but Uloma was such a character who will never allow anything to be an impediment to her when carrying out our domestic chores. "Why bother people over something you can do for yourself?" Was her favourite line of argument whenever she is confronted with the question as to the rationale behind her actions.
Uloma is a sufficiently independent woman and a loving wife to her husband. Being her very first pregnancy, her mother-in-law have been quite overbearing on her. She almost always have her eyes on her; checking out for alarming signs that are always never there. Her daily commute to the stream affords her the much needed fresh air from an overbearing mother-in-law.
The two women with their water pots balanced neatly on their head walked the rest of the way to the stream discussing the various activities of the past harvest season. Unknown to them, this will be the very last time they would ever get to see their beloved ones. For those that will survive, it will be the very last time they will ever be called or addressed as "freeborn". While for those that will escape servitude, it will be the very last time they will see Ugwunato or call it home.

Aniebolam is in his mother's hut eating roasted yam dipped in Palm oil. He was eating from the same bowl with his much younger brother Uzoma. Aniebolam will be twelve by the end of the current planting season while Uzoma clocked five years old two market day ago. Aniebolam was slightly bigger for his age when compared with the other village boys of his age.
Uzoma do not like eating together with his elder brother. Aniebolam has a ferocious appetite. While Uzoma could be on his second or probably third mouthful, Aniebolam will be attempting his fifth or sixth. Uzoma will always complain to their mother that his elder brother do not chew properly on his food before swallowing hereby making the food finish fast.
On many occasions, Uzoma will run off with the bowl of food when it becomes obvious that his elder brother would not take a break to atleast allow him catch up. His acts are always very carefully timed. Watching his elder brother through vexed greedy eyes, Uzoma will run off with their food at the very point Aniebolam is carried away chewing deliciously on a mouthful.
Their mother will always scold Aniebolam for not treating his younger brother with the courtesy of an elder brother.
"as the older one, you should learn to leave the last bit of food for your younger one" scolded mama to Aniebolam who was hellbent in seeing to it that he partakes extensively in the meal even to it's last bite.
Aniebolam stood up from his sitting position on the floor. Though reluctantly, he resigned to licking his fingers as he made his way out of the hut to go have them washed. Pleading facial gestures to Uzoma for a little piece of the action was met by a mocking dance step. Uzoma turned his back on him, bend slightly down and arised his buttocks at him; all these he did mindfully keeping a safe distance between them. The act was able to bring some form of delight to Uzoma's face.
Aniebolam loves his only brother. Their mother has repeatedly emphasized on why they should always be at peace with each other.
"Life is too short for one not to be at peace with his brother" Mama will always say. "when brothers fight, it only creates room for the enemy to come in. You should both learn to love each other and to always speak with one mind. I have only two of you as my children now. Do you both know how many times I put to bed? Nine times.... Nine good times. But how many are with me now? Answer me, Aniebolam answer me.... Just two. Of all the nine issues I had, only the two of you is alive today. So I do not want to use these two ears of mine to ever hear you quarrel among yourselves. Uzoma, Aniebolam is your elder brother, you should love and respect him. Aniebolam, Uzoma is you younger brother, you must love and look after him. I can't afford to loose you both to the ferocity of your own anger. I love you two and will always pray for you"
These chilling words sends down shocking waves across Aniebolam's spine whenever he thinks of them. He loves his mother so very dearly that he would not do anything to deliberately aggravate her.
Aniebolam went to the big water pot stationed behind the hot to wash the palm oil out of his hands. Then he proceeded to the hut he shares with his father to take out his catapult. Ahamefuna, his friend will soon arrive. They had both planned to go hunting for bush rats after breakfast. Outside helping on the family farm, this was his own little way of contributing to the upkeep of his family.
Soon Ahamefuna arrived and with their catapult sitting graciously around their neck, they both set out of the compound for the forest. Unknown to them, this will be the very last time they will ever get to see their loved ones. For those that will survive, it will be the very last time they will ever be called or addressed as "freeborn". While for those that will escape servitude, it will be the very last time they will see Ugwunato or call it home.

Ukpala taps the finest palm wine in all of Ugwunato. His palm wine is so sweet that one could easily forget his name drinking on it. The silk white foam that spills
graciously over the palm wine keg is a testament to its fineness.
"Ukpala, if my mother wasn't married to my father, I would have given you her hand in marriage" said Odumodu after taking a refreshing swallow from his drinking horn.
"Taaaa! Go and sit down my friend" Ukpala humorously rebuked as he set down a bowl containing a lobe of kolanut and an alligator pepper. "Who are you trying to deceive? I don't want your mother I prefer Adaugo"
"Ukpala, that is a very nice reply, if he's serious about appreciating you with a wife, then let him give you Adaugo the village beauty for a wife and not his mother. After all we are not in the business of selling dry bones." Nwakibe added.
All three men burst out into a hearty laughter.
Odumodu and Nwakibe are two of Ukpala's favorite customers. they will never allow a day pass without a taste of Upkala's palm wine. In order to beat the demand, these fellows book and even make payment for palm wine that are yet to be tapped. Ukpala not only enjoys doing business with them, he as well enjoys their company; for there can never be a dull moment whenever any of them is around.
Gushing the first gulp against the teeth of his mouth before swallow is Odumodu's accustomed way of starting a drinking session.
Ukpala broke the kolanut after a brief prayer. He placed a piece in his mouth, anchoring it in between his teeth. This he did after throwing the first lode to the earth as a token of sacrifice to the ancestors. The bowl was then passed around for the visitors to help themselves to the kolanut; the traditional symbol of hospitality.
After a brief interval of savouring the taste of the sweet palm wine in perfect compliment to the kolanut, Ukpala spoke first.
"The people of Umuagu seems not to be letting down in their accusations that Ugwunato is responsible for the disappearance of one of their maiden."
"Forget about those people" snapped Odumodu. "What tangible evidence can they present as prove that Ugwunato is responsible."
"They claim that the maiden was last seen in company of men who are believed to be from here" answered Nwakibe
"Then let them come here and point out the men themselves. After all what would a young woman want in the company of men if she is not an harlot?" said Odumodu wide-eyed in anger as Ukpala nods in affirmation.
"the said maiden, from informations or better still gossips circulating the entire place, is said to be from a responsible home. She is in fact the daughter of a titled man" Nwakibe said as he takes a nibble of his kolanut.
"Nwakibe my friend, do not make the mistake of equating titles for responsibility, especially when an Umuaga man is in the equation. titles there are sold to the highest bidder irrespective of one's source of wealth. It is not uncommon to see men prostitute their wives and daughters for money. If it is not so, why then do they place a higher value on their women than they do on their men? Do you think they would have raised dust if it had been a male that had gone missing? This is because women for them are objects of commerce our forefathers we are not stupid to forbid us marrying from them"
"I laughed when I heard that they are threatening war should not Ugwunato fail to meet their demand before 4 market weeks which by my calculations has elapsed four market days ago" said Ukpala in a feat of mocking laughter. Odumodu laughed too. Only Nwakibe didn't find it funny.
"Can you please remind me of what those their demands are once again? Though I usually don't like bothering myself with trivial issues such as this." Odumodu asked in a careless show of indifference; a question raised just for the fun of it.
" They are demanding three virgins, four hundred bags of cowries and two female cows." Ukpala replied in-between suppressed laughter.
"Tufia!" Shouted Odumodu as he spat out the half swallowed palm wine still in his mouth. "That is outrageous. You mean they are demanding for three virgins from Ugwunato?"
"Yes Odumodu. Probably to further boost their stock of harlots. Do they think that Ugwunato maidens have itching clitoris like their women?"
"My brothers, I do not think the elders and people of Ugwunato are handling this issue with the required attention necessary. I think we are underrating these people too soon" said Nwakibe
"How else do you want us to handle the issue?" Asked Odumodu in a stern voice.
"Ugwunato is handling the issue with a lot of levity. We all appear not to be bothered." Nwakibe replied with a hint of frustration in his voice.
"So you mean you want us to lose sleep over such a womanly clan as Umuagu? Umuagu has never ever challenged not to talk of measuring up to Ugwunato in battle right from the days of our fathers. Ugwunato holds Umuagu nothing. Absolutely nothing. For there are no evidence to prove that their daughter got missing courtesy of our men. Marketplace gossip should not take away the pleasure of this beautiful morning." Odumodu said with every hint of finality.
And silence fell on them all. Each man occupied himself with the thought of his own heart. unknown to them, this will be the very last time they will ever get to see their loved ones. For those that will survive, it will be the very last time they will ever be called or addressed as "freeborn". While for those who will escape servitude, it will be the very last time they will ever see Ugwunato or call it home.


...TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.

PLEASE DO GOOD TO DROP YOUR LIKES, COMMENTS AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISMS. THEY WILL MOST CERTAINLY BE APPRECIATED. YOUR ENCOURAGEMENTS WILL DEFINITELY FUEL ME UP. THANK YOU.
OBI AMARACHI DANIEL

CHAPTER TWO


Ugwunato is bordered on three sides by hills. They perfectly complements the landscape with their greenery. On cloudy days, the submit of the hills disappears into the cloud. The natives believes it to be a divine spectacle; a moment when the gods of the heavens are in communion with the ancestral spirits that dwells on the hill.

In time past, great medicine men, brave warriors and holders of the Ozo title were buried up in the hills. As men who have distinguished themselves in the land of mortals, they earn their place to be among the spirits of the land. For folks, this further straighten their conviction that their clan which is naturally fortified is continually under the protection of the gods.

Attacking Ugwunato was therefore considered an unthinkable act to attempt; for it is believed that such will not be spared by the gods who watches over the clan from their abode high up in the hills. But when there is a will, even the gods themselves stands aside in awe, marveling at the accomplishments of mankind.

Aniebolam and Ahamefuna have hunted three sizeable games between themselves. The hunt had gone quite well, even though the majority of the hunted games have been very elusive. The three grasshoppers was fair game; at least a soothing compensation for all their troubles.

“Ahamefuna, come let's go and rest at the root of that cashew tree” said Aniebolam.
“Okay” answered Ahamefuna “but we have to hurry up and return back home. It’s like it's going to rain. The clouds are already out and they're all over the sky”
“I can even perceive that earthy smell that comes along with the wind. But I don't trust the weather, it could as well clear out in one breath just as it has gathered”

Sniffing in more of the earthy smell in the atmosphere brings fond memories for Aniebolam. A smell he had come to love growing up as a child. For him, the smell was the harbinger of rain; under which he loves to play.

The boys rested on the exposed root of the cashew tree until their attention was drawn to it. With Ahamefuna up on the tree, they were able to pluck and gather enough for themselves and more for home.

“Please let me go and ease myself further down the bush. I am having a bug in my stomach. it seems the cashew are having a reaction on me. I will be back in no time. Please don't leave without me.” Ahamefuna said to Aniebolam with a face that was evidently distressed.
Aniebolam find his expression comical. He laughed out hysterically as Ahamefuna, with both hands placed against his buttock as if to hold back the poo from dropping, ran off into the bushes in search of a convenient place to pass excreta.
“Greed will not allow that boy take what his stomach can carry.” Muttered Aniebolam to himself as he sat back down to do justice to some of Ahamefuna's share of the cashew.



The art of palm wine tapping is a very risky and delicate work. It requires experience and feet as sure as that of a mountain goat to get one ‘self to the top of the palm tree. At the top of the palm tree, the Palm wine tapper is essentially just required to switch an empty keg for the one containing tapped sap. This is so for most of the days except for periods when the overgrown palm fronds becomes an obstruction. During this period, the Palm wine tapper, is expected by aid of his machete to trim or totally cut off such frond. Knowing how best to place the kegs as well as understanding the best periods for tapping are parts of the job that only experience can help modify.

Ukpala had just descended from tapping one of his palm trees in the forest. The palm tree is one of his favorite. The tree never disappoints. It gives so bountifully. His heart is always gladden by this act of generosity from nature. A feeling in testament to the joyous sounds of his whistling as they fill the atmosphere. As a member of Ugwunato's dance troupe, the sanctity of the forest offers him the best environment to practice on new tunes. He was even more amused when the thought of the mild drama that took place between him and his wife Adanma hit his heart. He laughed out loud and wondered why women were such a pathetically fearful characters.

Ukpala had only announced to Adanma to help him get his tapping implements ready, for he is to go tapping immediately after seeing off his early morning customers and friends Mazi Odumodu and Mazi Nwakibe. To his greatest bewilderment, Ukpala had returned from seeing off his friend without finding any of his implements in the proper place Adanma would normally have left them.

In suppressed anger, he called out his wife repeatedly, and repeatedly his calls were ignored. Further enraged, he dashed into her hut. Ukpala was shocked to find all of his implements sitting at the feet of his wife. Adanma was sitting on the elevated portion of the hut which serves as bed. She had her folded left palms under her jaw as if to support the weight of her head, while her right arm formed a brace underneath her breast. With both legs crossed; one against the other. Adanma in her shrank posture had her body vibrate in rhythm to the sorrow of her heart.

At the sight of his wife, Ukpala's anger give way to a fleet of astonishment. He was shocked and confused all at the same time. When Adanma looked up to meet his eyes, Ukpala saw in those wet teary eyes love, affection and concern.
“Adanma, what’s the problem?” enquired Ukpala from his beloved wife.
Adanma with eyes deadlocked on her Ukpala’s, met her husband’s inquiry with silence. Ukpala advanced a few pace towards her and affectionately extended the back of his palms to touch her neck and forehead. The natives do this to determine one’s body temperature. She temperature was obviously normal.

“What is the problem? Why are you crying?” Upkala asked again. This time in a gentle but firm voice.
Falling on her knees to the side of her husband’s feet, Adanma pleaded “Please my husband, don’t go to the forest today. I do not feel well about it. Please don’t go.”
“Why?” asked Ukpala as his throat suddenly went dry.
“It is not safe. My husband, nowhere is safe. I heard your conversation with Mazi Odumodu and Mazi Nwakibe….Umuagu can never be trusted. I have for a couple of nights been having nightmares. Nightmare that are so bloody. Please my husband, don’t go to the forest today. I don’t like what my body is telling me” Adanma pleaded as tears freely rolled down her eyes.

Ukpala gave a sigh of relief; happy to know that the cause of Adanma's drama wasn’t something more fatal like the lose of a life or even the ill-health of their children. He in fact was fighting the urge of bursting into a laughter. Patting his wife on her shoulder, Ukpala wondered “why on earth will women be so interested for information and yet, does not know how to manage one when they get it?”. “This will indeed make a good issue of discuss over my evening Palm wine”. Ukpala murmured to himself.

Not wanting to ask her why she eavdropped on their conversation, Ukpala simply just consoled her by down playing the severity of the Ugwunato/Umuagu issue. He assured her that the elders are taking a very critical look into the matter and it will definitely not lead to bloodshed.
It took Ukpala a whole lot of consoling and sweet talking and reassuring to make Adanma change her mind; something she did with labored conviction.

“The ancestors were definitely wise for insisting that women should not be allowed admission into the Egwugwu (Masquerade) cult” Ukpala said aloud to himself as he untie the sap filled keg from his waist. “When you sit idle with them at home, they will complain that you’re lazy. But when you go out to toil for the upkeep of the family, they still look for something else to complain about. These creatures don’t just seems to know what they want. Imagine a whole me Ukpala sitting at home in fear of those women from Umuagu because my wife asked me to do so? How does it sounds to the ear? What will the men of Ugwunato say of me when they come to hear this? May the gods forbid!”

The clouds were gathering; a telltale sign of imminent rain. Soon the leaves of the forest trees began to rassle with themselves as cool wind flew in through the forest. The forest canopy dangled from side to side. With the wind came dusty earthy small; smell that could possibly foretells the magnitude of the imminent rain. The clouds were still forming. Giving off a grayish blue illuminance. Looking up in the heavens, Ukpala noticed the struggle between the clouds and the sun. The sun refusing to leave as the clouds tries to bully it out of the sky.

With his machete anchored under his left armpit and legs safely on the ground, Ukpala proceeded to place the sap containing keg a few metres off the tree as much as his restricted reach could possibly permit. Then he maneuvered himself out of his raffia made harness.
“The rain is almost here” Ukpala muttered to himself. This awareness seems to heightened his sense of urgency. He took out his machete from underneath his armpits and stabbed it to the earth; the manly way of placing an idle machete. This way, it could be called upon without having to overstretch in order to reach it. With every sense of purpose, he untied his raffia harness away from the tree trunk. With his back bent over a few pace from where his machete stands erect, anchored to the earth, he poured away the silk white sap. Transferring it into the much bigger Palm wine keg which contains products form other tapped trees prior to this one.

Arms akimbo, neck bend, face up and eyes to the sky as they carefully study the cloud formation once again. The weather means a lot to Palm wine tappers. There is virtually no tapping done on tall palm trees whenever it rains. Outside the possible risk of getting struck by lightning, the rains usually leaves the trees very wet and slippery. It requires days of heavy sunshine for the trees to be dry enough to be safe for climbing. During this period, Palm wine tappers keeps themselves busy by tapping dwarf Palm trees.
Lost in his own thoughts as he pondered on what will be of the rain this planting season.
'Too much rain is bad for Palm wine tappers, yet to little rain is equally bad for farmers. How does Osebuluwa (The Supreme Being) possibly reconciles these opposing interests?” muttered Ukpala to himself as he shrugged his shoulders as well as snapped his fingers against each other in awe to the awesomeness of God.

“Well…let me start going home now before it begins to rain proper”

Barrrrrrrrrrrkkk!!! Came the rumbling sound of thunder and lighting.

“Amadioha, Bikó ché rè nú Ó” Ukpala pleaded in apprehension.

Ukpala seize hold of his Palmwine keg by the neck and his raffia harness almost simultaneously with both hands and made for his machete. To his greatest surprise, his machete was no longer standing there…. or even anywhere around. Almost instinctively, he let go of his palm wine keg, which was already a few inches off the ground and his raffia harness, which fell effortlessly to the ground.

Ukpala was alert. He was now as wide-eyed alert as a cornered snake. His survival instinct were carefully scanning the surrounding bush, looking for where his adversary will come forth from. He definitely knew he was not alone there, but it confused him even more not knowing who his company is; a friend playing a prank on him or an enemy seeking out his life. He continued to gently move backwards as his head steadily moved from side to side in a desperate search for an escape route.

Soon, his worst fears were confirmed. The sound of footsteps crushing against the forest undergrowth draw his attention behind him. Standing behind him were two ghost-like figures covered with intricate white markings from their head to their feet. Sealing their lips were palm fronds. They weren’t saying anything; not even a word, only zombie-like head gestures. Strangely enough, they were alert too; very alert. Ukpala could sense that from the intense focus of their blazing eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he could see that they weren’t just two, and they had him surrounded. One of them was having his machete in his hand.

Ukpala silently cursed himself for not knowing when his only weapon of defense was taken away from his side. He remembered Adanma, and his four children. He knows it will only be a miracle if he ever leaves here alive. He cursed himself for not listening to the counsel of his wife. Now he is going to leave them without having one last chance of telling them how much he loves and cares about them.

A nice piece. More ink to your pen. More updates please

tahir01:
A nice piece. More ink to your pen. More updates please

Thank you very much for the encouragement. God bless you.

Wow! This is going to be great! More and more please!

AryEmber:
Wow! This is going to be great! More and more please!

Thank you so much for the encouragement. God bless you.

OP hope all Is well? Still waiting for update

The village stream is sectionalized. There are parts of it that are restricted to the women alone, parts for the men and as well parts for children below fourteen to dive in. There are parts reserved for soaking/washing Abacha (Cassava flakes) as well as parts considered to be better when seeking out drinkable water.

The stream is most often the lifeline of native communities. It provides them the much-needed supply of fresh water both for drinking and for other domestic uses. Just like the community marketplaces and the village squares, the streams in precolonial times were as much a Centre for socialization as much as the two formerly stated.

Militarily speaking, a security conscious society which cannot be conquered on her market day or through the common village square, can be easily taken apart through her stream; the principal source of her water need.

The way to Ugwunato's stream is quite stoney. One had to descend down what obviously is a gorge, worn deeper over years of running waters, to access the very source of the stream.

“Akunna, please help fetch my water pot too. My condition will not permit me to carry the water pot back up this stony hills” pleaded Uloma to Akunna as they came to the very edge of the slope that goes downwards into the stream.

The edge of the slope is usually Uloma’s last bus stop. There she will stand, patiently waiting for someone going down the gorge or coming up out of it, to help her fetch the water and bring it up the slope from where she will take it home.

“When next you people are coming to the stream, make sure you come along with a servant who will help you down and up this slope. After all, you people have been asked to stay back home but you would not listen”. Akunna replied with a mocking look to her face.

Akunna just like some of the villagers hilariously refers to Uloma in the plural. “are you guys back? Are you people not feeling hungry? When will you people go to the market? You people should try and take some rest”. These are the many ways Uloma is most often addressed. Even the little ones entertain themselves by mimicking her steps with an imaginary water pot on their heads.
With big protruded stomach, water pots balanced on her head; secured in place with both hands, one couldn't help but laugh at the comical gestures of her movement. Uloma laughs at herself too.

“Okay ma!” replied Uloma in hilarious resignation as she made her way to the fallen tree trunk that lays just slightly off the bush path. There she sat as she await Akunna's arrival.

It was exactly 20 minutes when two younger girls passed by the bush path. They threw salutations at Uloma and then disappeared down the gorge with their water pots. Uloma asked them to “please tell Akunna to hurry up”

Uloma stood up and attempted to go down the gorge after about another 20 minutes of not seeing neither Akunna nor the other two girls. She had thought that they could possibly be taking their bath and gotten carried away in an ensuring discussions to have keep cognizance of time.

Standing on the edge of the slope, one can only see the flowing stream as it snakes out of its source and continues on its course. The heavy stones and dense vegetation blocks the rest of the view.

Uloma carefully negotiated her way down the slope. Most of the time supporting herself with both hands, while at some point dragged herself literarily on her buttocks.

When back on level ground down the slope, she proceeded to the female section of the stream in search of her friend.
As she went further and deeper down the course of the river, she noticed the water pots of the last two girls; empty and lying carelessly on the vegetation that sits on the stream bank. Her eyes as well picked up what seems like signs of struggle on the sandy part of the stream bank, but she waved them away attributing it to have been a playful giggly struggle between two growing adolescent girls who have obviously started gaining the attention of the opposite sex.

“Akunna” shouted Uloma as she advanced further.
“Akunna! Akunna!! Akunna!!!” she shouted three times in quick successions; on the last of which she heard footsteps. Satisfied that at least Akunna was the owner of the footsteps coming further down the stream, Uloma lunched into a fusillade.

“Do you think I have all day to spend at the stream? Don’t you know that mama will be worried by now? Have you forgotten since when we left for the stream? You should have at least told me you wouldn’t be able to bring up my water pot instead of just keeping me waiting all this while for nothing. My husband will soon be back from the farm and I’m yet to prepare his meal…” said Uloma in a voice that obviously seems to betray the annoyance she felt.

And then, as if out of nowhere emerged two zombielike figures covered with intricate white markings from their head to their feet. As soon as we Uloma set eyes on them, she almost unconsciously gave out an hysterical scream in horror. Without time to have her eyes properly interpret what she had saw, she turn her back and in one fluidly movement took to her heels.
And zombielike figures chased after her.



Aniebolam was carried away munching on Ahamefuna’s share of cashew; his mouth moving from side to side like a cud chewing goat when the rumbling sound of thunder brought him back to consciousness.

“Chineke!” shouted Aniebolam as he jumped to his feet with tremendous alacrity. Every sense of time heightened in him.

It’s being quite a long while since Ahamefuna excused himself to go ease himself. It was already far beyond the normal time necessary. Aniebolam is himself a notorious time spender when passing excreta in the bushes. The zoar of the forest is for him as a relieving environment for one to daydream and fantasize in the world of his own thoughts. His preferred line of fantasy is imagining himself as king of the ants; venerated by them, with a large yam barn, many wives and all the titles in the land to compliment his power.

Aniebolam is as well of the habit of catching ants, termites, and other small crawling insects and literally dropping them directly on his feces. He finds amusement watching them struggle out of his excrement. Soliloquizing and christening the ants after villagers according to their perceived trait. Those who survives the poo are picked up by hand and dropped back in to begin their struggle anew. Stubborn ones he will call Mazi Odumodu, while lazy ones he will say are from Umuagu.

Legs slightly apart in an agile posture, waist slightly leaning aback, arms stretched overhead, Aniebolam gave off a throaty groan in a perfect show of exhaustion. With the hunted games left leaning against the exposed roots of the cashew tree, Aniebolam resolved to go see what it is that is keeping Ahamefuna.

“This stupid boy, even pregnant women don’t take this much time to give birth” muttered Aniebolam to himself as he repeatedly stroke his buttock with both hands, one after the other, in an effort to dust off silts of sand that have attached themselves to the robust muscles of his childish bum bum.

Buttock dusted clean, body reenergized, Aniebolam strode off; away in the direction Ahamefuna had took.
“Ahame! Ahame!! Ahame!!!” Aniebolam called as he went further and further into the bushes. With each step further inward, he wondered why Ahamefuna will want to go such far off to take a dump. Though he is very much aware that Ahamefuna’s poo could smell really foul but he just couldn’t find it as enough justification as to why his friend went this much far.

“Could Ahamefuna have cheated in the cashew sharing by not surrendering all of the plucked fruit? After all, he is the person up on the tree…. Could it possibly be cashews that he had hidden in-between his buttock, pretending it to be poo that was about to drop off? He could most likely be eating on the stolen cashews as he passes out excreta.” All of these were playing in Aniebolam’s head as he scouts out his friend.

“I shall no longer shout out his name” Aniebolam muttered to himself. “I shall caught him red-handed. So he will not be able to deny it. That boy is just too greedy”.
Unknown to Aniebolam, it was this very decision to keep mute in order to catch his perceived dubious friend that will ultimately save his life. It was a simple case of the right thing happening for the wrong reasons.


Aniebolam is perfectly concealed within the tall elephant grasses. Directly in front of him appears to be a hunting party of three men. These men had obviously had a successful hunt. From his position in the bushes, he could see that they were all squatted, busy field dressing their game. Disemboweling and taking out the entrails.

Strangely, the men weren’t saying anything to each other nor were they making the usual bantering and backslapping that normally comes after a big hunt. On their face were intricate white markings and their lips sealed tight with palm fronds. Their eyes blaze like fire in the cold concentration with which they went about their business.

Aniebolam at once, intuitively decided against making his presence known. He was going to carefully monitor them as well as try to understand what it is they want here. It is not out of place meeting strangers in the forest, but certainly not with such fierce, combative appearance and almost not this close to a village one is not a native of.
When the men finally began to walk away, one after the other, Aniebolam could see that they were all armed with bloodstained machetes. The white markings he had thought were on their faces was as well covering every part of their body down to their feet. Even more surprising, was the fact that the strangers were leaving behind the more pristine part of the game. Aniebolam had initially thought that they probably wanted to seek a better means to carry their game, but the way the men went away headlong without even stealing a knowing stare at the game clearly suggested abandonment.

He smiled at himself mischievously as the thought of how he was going to steal the game hit his heart. Almost instantaneously, he convinced himself that he was going to keep this one all for himself alone. This was going to be his way of getting one back at Ahamefuna. He was going to wait here. He was going to allow a considerable distance between the men and their game before making out for it.

After a suitable interval, Aniebolam left the concealment of the tall grasses as he monkeyed in, into the shorter undergrowth towards the game. As he crawled closer, his perception of the size of the hunt and what it really is began to change. At first, it was a big antelope, then it became a baby antelope, and later a primate, and finally a….

Confronting Aniebolam was a sight that even his head was finding difficult to interpret. His legs were shaking vigorously as if they will break under the weight of his body. His heartbeats were now louder, faster and as irregular as the Ikoro of his village. His face went grey as his stomach turned. It was as if it’s the very moment the eaten cashews choose to stage an uprising. His hands went straight to his neck in an effort to prevent a jailbreak but it was a little too late as the cashews and palm oiled yam and other stomached matters came pouring out of his mouth. His nose was not spared either.

Lying lifeless on the ground is a boy his age. His throat spilt. His head were still attached to the body by about one inch of neck tissue; clearly suggesting a machete blow from obviously an inexperienced hand. The corpse was gruesomely dissected from the superior mediastinum down to the base of the abdominal cavity. His entrails were scattered at random even though they were still very much attached. His heart were missing together with his kidneys. Blood, most of which were already congealed, compete for space with other physiological matters. His stomach and other gastrointestinal organs were spared, they were only amateurishly shifted out of place for easy access to the kidneys. His exposed immature penis sat like a scared retreated house rat on his testicles.

Flies were exactly the kind of creatures that will just not refuse to stay away out of this kind of party. They were everywhere. Joyfully perching on whatever catches their fancy; no thanks to the fact that the corpse was lying on what is clearly the excrement of his own body. The sight was simply just too horrible.

Even more horrifying for Aniebolam was that the corpse he was helplessly staring at is the corpse of his very best friend. A friend with whom he had set out for the forest. A friend with whom he had hunted games with. A friend with whom he had plucked, shared and eating cashew with. A friend who had only excuse himself to go relieve himself. A friend who a while ago had made him laugh. A friend who had pleaded not to be left behind, and yet, who without warning had left him behind….. Here is that friend lying lifeless, humorless, not talking and without feelings.
Aniebolam let out a loud cry in agony.

Thanks for the update

Ann2012

LightQueen:
Thanks for the update

Ann2012

I dey with you Sis

cool. really enjoying this story. More updates

update o

Thrilling piece...following

Chai, im no suppose shout ooo, but e no easy sha.



Nice wan OP
Following

CHAPTER THREE
Uloma is drifting in and out of consciousness. Lying exhausted on the lush green grasses -the very first blooming in vitality, thanks to the early rains of the season. She cannot sufficiently tell what it is she was doing there neither could she tell how she got herself there. The events of the moments were fleeting away like distant memories.
She had only managed to tail off her zombielike adversaries. Her miraculous yet momentary escape was more of an issue of divine preservation than it is to a better woodcraftmanship; after all, how else can one explain a gravida out running two able-bodied men on a mission
Uloma cannot sufficiently tell who her adversaries really are, neither could she tell what is it they want. All that mattered was that she perceived danger and decided that the best way to react to it was to keep a distance between each other.
Lying on the grasses exhausted, she desperately gasped for breath. Her chest raising and falling in labored respite. Uloma relapsed into unconsciousness again. This time into a very deep sleep.

Somewhere in the bushes bordering Ugwunato were a congregation of men. Warriors they are. Veterans and novices alike. One would be surprised at how such a sizable crowd of men could be maintained under disciplined silence. They all have palm fronds (Omu) to their lips, sealing it shot. Outside the occasional hand gestures, head movements and knowing stares, no one was saying virtually anything to the other.
The Palm frond (Omu) in the Igbo traditional ontology is a symbol of caution, purity, peace and of course, a heightened sense of mission/purpose. It’s interpretation is, however, most often circumstantial. These fronds are always gotten from the juvenile ferns of the palm tree. Juveniles guarantees better flexibility and gives off a more brilliant green color.
For some of the men, this will be their first shot at the savage experience of warfare. While for some others, it will be just another moment to relive their youth. The novices just had their sheathed machetes and a few talisman tied up around their waist or arms. For the veterans, they wear their glory on the leather armor. On it, various fetish ornaments dangles like medals on the uniform of an aristocratic British officer. Some had on them, seeming heavy headgears made out from human skulls.
Strangely but true was the fact that there were absolutely no ranks or an organized form of a military hierarchical system. All man was representing his own household, while the younger boys were simply learning the ropes of becoming like men. It was not necessarily a rite of passage but it was certainly a thing of pride to be counted among the defenders of the clan.
Further out back, is located the makeshift command post or shrine. Here the mighty men who have distinguished themselves in war commune with themselves as well as consults with the gods. And yet, when it is time to do battle proper, these men will always lead from the front. It is not out of place to see much younger men among this esteemed clique; necessitating the adage that says “when a child washes his hands clean, he eats with elders”.
In this primitive society, respect is earned. Honor is earned. Even wealth is better when earned. No one regards a man who wallows in inherited wealth. For such it is that a man with a single corncob gotten from the sweat of his own toil is far greater than the man with a big inherited yam barn. One has to essentially earn everything including his peace. Today, these men are out to earn their peace from Ugwunato and ultimately their respect from the entire hilly clans.

The staccato of rumbling thunder had Uloma’s eyes open. The visible world appeared to be rotating too fast. She close them again. The world was steady when she reopened them after a suitable interval. With her vision adjusting to the grayish luminescence of the forest, she was able to make out the green grasshopper set majestically in between her parted bosom. The nipples of her full breast faced the opposite directions like two quarrelling housewives as she lay face-up, giving the grasshopper ample hopping space.
With a poorly motivated right hand, she brushed aside the grasshopper. Picking along the way a few other crawling insects on her body as her hand returns back to it’s initial resting place. Uloma was so very exhausted. Even the very basic task of lifting a hand became tedious. Though her body was weak, her mind was beginning to properly interpret events within her immediate surroundings. The thoughts of how she got herself here was so far proving abortive.
Uloma was very much aware of the forming clouds and the rassling of the vegetative canopy by the wind and of course the imminency of rain. But she was just too powerless to move. She just lie there, taking in everything happening around her but literally not moving. She simply could not sit up or even look down her leg; the view of which is blocked out by her protruded stomach.
Soon after, Uloma began to have uterine contractions. A condition she had been experiencing for the last couple of days. It comes but goes away after a little while. Her mother-in-law have been particularly watchful for these signs. She had once told her “You are getting close but not yet due” after observing her closely through experienced eyes.
“Ohhhh Mama!” Uloma had grumbled in feign annoyance. “Every time your eyes will be on my body as if I am the only pregnant woman in Ugwunato”
“My daughter, you should be happy that you are getting this much attention from your mother-in-law. Not all of us were this privileged.” Mama had replied in gentle softness. Mama was trying so hard to suppress the laughter Uloma’s comical show of feigned annoyance had brought up in her. But Uloma could tell by looking into Mama’s eyes.
“Ohhhhhhh Mama, the attentions is just too suffocating. It is seeming as if I am carrying the whole of Ugwunato in my belly”
“My dear, when Ani (the earth goddess) blesses you with the fruit of the womb, it is not just you or your family that she bless, but the entire clan. Without children to carry on our legacies, the clan becomes desolate and useless. No one will pour libations to our memories or will there be anyone to offer sacrifices to the gods. Strangers will take over our land and our cultural heritage will be completing wiped off.”
Uloma remembers that it was at this point that her husband Obike returned from the farm bearing his hoe to his left shoulder. Uloma as well remembers how she had joyfully welcomed him in an embrace. She did not catch her husband winked at his mother, but she remembered how Mama had heartily laughed out as both husband and wife in a side embrace comically marched into their hut.
Uloma loves her husband so dearly, but she seems to love her mother-in-law even more. Mama had literally took her right from her younger years as a teenage girl like a daughter; vehemently insisting that one of her sons must take her for a wife. Obike was her last child. The favorite of all her five sons, and it was him that Mama betrothed her to
Soon, Uloma felt a fluid-like sensation on her inner thighs. She struggled to bring her right hands to her vagina region as she slightly moved her legs further apart. With a fluid drenched palm close to her face in careful observation, Uloma knew that her time was up.
She wondered how she was going to go through it all… all alone. Her very first pregnancy, in the middle of nowhere, under an imminent rain, without sufficient strength and finally with human predators still searching for her.
Hot tears rolled down the sides of her eyes; disappearing into the hair directly behind her earlobes. She closed her eyes and prayed a silent prayer to the gods to please forgive her for underplaying the privilege of having a caring mother-in-law. Now, she sincerely wish she could have her by her side. She is must certainly give anything just to make this wish come true.
The next pain that came was so tremendous that Uloma lost consciousness of herself and she let out a loud cry in labor pains.

The men left in wide-eyed satisfaction. Leaving in their wake the dismembered body of the stupid Palmwine tapper. The Palmwine tapper on the realization of who they are and where they had come from, had mocked and ridiculed them. He had confronted them with that which they dispersed most.
“You cowardly sons of harlots! You men of Umuagu. Lazy swine that cannot even impregnate their own wives. You are all men without honor who shamelessly prostitutes your female folks for money. I Ukpala Nnanna, son of the great Nwafor Nnanna of Ugwunato, the greatest Palmwine tapper in all of the hilly clans do not fear you”. The Stupid Palmwine tapper had boasted, reassuringly beating his chest repeatedly.
Though he fought gallantly and had embraced his death with a straight face, the men considered him stupid for even attempting to put up a fight when the odds are obviously stacked against him. With the loudmouthed Palmwine tapper, they send out a very strong message to anyone who will dare dishonor them or make a ridicule of their way of life.
They had the loudmouthed Palmwine tapper’s penis stoking out of the agape mouth of his dismembered head, leaving them properly resting on the dead man's chest. They had his machete stocked to the earth in the very place that once housed his testicles; in a mockery of the bluntness of his manhood. It was such a savage sight to behold.
The men left without touching anything of the stupid dead man. Not even the temptation of the freshly tapped Palmwine could dissuade them from their mission. They were of course the forward detachment of the attacking Umuagu warriors. With a smoke signal, they shall call the main party into action. But first, they must rid the surrounding bushes of undesirable elements that can possibly blow open their cover, taking away with them the element of surprise that is so far working in their favor. A task they are carrying out with a very heightened sense of duty.

The loud cry caught Aniebolam in the ear as he sat on the ground a few meters away from the remains of what used to be his best friend. He had his jaw rest on his knees. Both arms were locked on each other around the shin of his leg, bringing both thighs and chest in a tight embrace. He did not mind the flies neither did he take notice of the foul smell in the air. He just sat there crying and sobbing for his friend. Tears came in an endless stream down his face. Memories of the beautiful times they shared together came flooding into his head.
Aniebolam and Ahamefuna were like brothers. They go to the stream together, they go hunting together, they even fight off the bullies on the playground together. Aniebolam knows his friend loves him and will do anything to make him happy. But now at death, Aniebolam feels like he did not do well enough to reciprocate his friend's selfless gestures towards him. His heart picked him on times he had literally hid his food behind the big water pot and hurriedly washed off his hands to the sound of Ahamefuna’s arrival.
He had selfishly done this many times to his best friend yet, his friend always don’t seems to care about it all. On some occasions, Uzoma when not selling him out, would go behind his back and finish up the food. Ahamefuna do not in any way pay Aniebolam bad for bad. Whenever he meets Ahamefuna eating, his friend will always invite him to come and partake in the food. Aniebolam now wish he could right those wrongs. He wish he had never suspected him. These thoughts just continue to let the tears flow so freely.
The loud cry came again. This time with an even greater determination. Aniebolam had ignored the first one which was clearly labored but seemed distant. The second cry came even more labored but it came very clear; no thanks to the wind which obviously was manipulating the direction of the sound waves.
Aniebolam stood up at once. He wasn’t going to sit here crying over his dead friend while those savages get at another person. He was going to do something after all, he is a bonafide son of the soil. His heart was heavy with grief and hate. With his catapult retrieved from his neck, he set out to find out who it is that needs help. Following in the direction the sound came from, he went off.

Hands on their sheathed machetes in readiness to draw it at the slightest instance. Eyes alert, lips sealed, heads moving side to side as they scanned the forest. These are warriors of Umuagu. They are part of the forward detachment assigned to the stream. Between them, they have neutralized three elements from the other side. But they still don’t understand how a heavily pregnant woman had slipped passed them. In reckless desperation of not wanting to compromise the entire operation, they resolved to searching out the pregnant woman.
For these men, they are fighting to avenge the spilled blood of Umuagu maiden, but even more importantly, they are trying to preserve their dignity and respect as a people. For so long have Ugwunato regarded them with disdain, almost to the level of sub-humans; a favor they as well return in like manner. Ugwunato will never marry from them neither will they marry from Ugwunato.
According to native legends, the people of Umuagu migrated to their present location having been driven out of their land by famine. They were welcomed with open arms by Mbanta-the original owners of the land. They were given land and assisted with yam seeds to enable them start a farm. But overtime, Umuagu grew in population and power that they eventually disposed Mbanta out of their land.
This tale have been retold from fathers to their sons and from one generation to the next generation. With garnished variations of the story flying around the hilly clans, came heart filled with hate and a more heightened sense of self-preservation. Everyone sees and regarded Umuagu as a people that is never to be trusted or welcomed for any reason. They were, after all, an ungrateful people.
For honor sake, men fights. For glory sake, men fights. No matter the price to be paid. No matter the quantity of blood to be spilled. Many were not even born to see a living indigenous Mbantian yet, they shall fight in her memories. Yet they shall fight and die in the pain of an unverifiable past.
The men had just finished combing the entire region of the big iroko, when the wind brought to their ears the very faint sound of what is clearly a labored cry of a female. They immediately looked at each other as if to confirm if truly the other had heard the sound too. Their eyes obviously answered in the affirmative. One of them, bigger and more muscular, nodded in the direction from where the sound had come. With hands firmly on their machetes, off they went jogging in that direction.

Nice the story is getting tensed

Hmmmmmmm



OP Tanks for the update

Goodness me! Poor Uloma! Please adekunle, don't take too long to update! This is too wonderful.

This is interesting. More updates please.

Waoo.gr8 diction and plot.more ink to your pen and of course regular updates too.

OP Ur fan base is on the increase. What we need now is consistent updates and then front page.

tahir01:
OP Ur fan base is on the increase. What we need it now is consistent updates and then front page.

I do other jobs apart from writing. Please bear with me. Your updates will definitely come. I promise you that on my honor. Thanks for the concern.

adekunle0000:

I do other jobs apart from writing. Please bear with me. Your updates will definitely come. I promise you that on my honor. Thanks for the concern.

We are waiting oo

CHAPTER FOUR
The entire compound is made up of four thatched huts. It is protected by a bamboo and raffia fence. The hut closest to the main entrance is the biggest and of necessity, the abode of the man of the house. It was here that he receives his visitors and entertains them. Its position in the compound is considered to be in harmonious context with his masculine dignity and pride. The position gives him a vantage point to see what comes into his compound and as well what is it that is leaving his compound. he is indeed without choice the first line of defense.
As customary with the Igbos, the concept of a one-man sovereign is absolutely alien to the people. There are no Kings to lord it over the people. Every man is a king in his own compound. As a republican minded people, men who have distinguished themselves in their various endeavor of choice are held in esteem but they could as well lose their respect if they do not manage it well enough.
The other three huts formed a half moon behind the master’s hut. The hut directly to his left belong to Uloma. A wife does not share a hut with her husband. In as much as she may have unrestricted access to her husband’s hut, she is not expected to sleep there without his invitation or expressed approval. Traditionally, this provides for the much needed privacy between a man and his wives. It is more or less a traditionally instituted system by which couples are meant to respect each other’s space.
Even more so, the woman is considered unclean during her menstrual periods. For traditionalist most especially titled men and great men whose hands are strong in juju, women under this condition do not cook their food, visit their hut or even touch anything that directly belongs to them. This is why wives of such men have eating bowls specially designated to the man of the house. It is imperative to state herein that it is not an expressed law overseen and enforced by the male folks but it is rather an expression of the feminine acknowledgment of the superiority of a man and even more importantly, her disciplined respect for her own sense of feminine decency.
The hut to the right of the master’s hut is being occupied by his mother. It is her right of place. For Mama, there is absolutely no shortage of places to stay. Five sons literally translates to five different places to stay. Even though her rights of place is in the first son’s compound who legitimately inherited her husband’s compound, it is not out of place for her to rover around her five sons compound if she so desires. Each of her sons, out of courtesy, reserves a hut for Mama as they spread out wide; each taking charge of his own inheritance.
The last hut is a few pace behind the master’s hut. It is a crude structure of four wooden post holding up a thatched roof. It is quite the smallest when compared with the other three huts. It is this hut that houses the family shrine. Spooky looking, carved wooden masks adorns the entire place. Blackened sprinkled blood and palm oil droplets littered the altar. Chicken feathers and broken lobes of half chewed kolanut could be seen every which way. This is where Obike prays and offer sacrifices to the spirit of his fathers. Here, he calls for their continued protection of his family and their unrestrained blessings for his endeavors. But even more importantly, this is where he houses his “Ofor”
The Ofor is the traditional symbol of masculine authority. It is usually passed from fathers to their sons. The Ofor is likened to a spiritual torch that carries with it the flame of legacies of the ancestral fathers, in order to illuminate the cultural pathway of the sons still living. The Ofor staff could be the definitive factor between an ordinary man and an extra ordinary man.
Obike is lying on the elevated portion of his hut that serves as bed. He had returned early from the farm. Though he had had very little work to do there, the impending rain had made him return earlier than he had planned. He had hope to take time out to check up on traps he had set beyond his farm, further out into the bushes, the previous evening. But his spirit seems not to affirm in the positive; no thanks to the impending rain which presented itself as a perfect excuse not to.
Obike had barely closed his eyes to a nap when Mama’s voice came calling from outside. It is considered uncultured for a mother to enter the hut of her married son unannounced. Decency dictates that she either comes in on invitation or she announces her presence as she approach the hut. Mama was calling from a few meters off the main entrance.
“Obike! Obike!! Obike!!!” Mama called again. This time standing akimbo by the entrance of her hut. She had a worried look to her face.
Obike reluctantly stood up from his bed, but not without grumbling about women and their ceaseless disturbances. Grumbling about women and almost literally blaming them for almost everything in the world was a very manly thing to do. It shows sophistication and positively adds to one's panache. Even though one will most definitely come to their aid, a little of rubbing it on their face will do a great deal to one's manly ego.
He came out of his hut. Without looking at his mother, he yawned and muttered a few complaints about the weather. Scratching the side of his neck, he reluctantly asked his mother.
“Where is Uloma? Since I came back, I haven’t set my eyes on her”
“that is exactly the very same reason I am calling you for. It’s been quite a long while since she left with Akunna for the stream. The weather has changed. It will soon rain and yet, they are still not back. She hardly ever stays this long.” answered Mama.
“since when did they leave for the stream?” Obike asked with an air of indifference; as if not to be really interested. But deep in his heart, he was greatly concerned. Masculine pride requires of him to maintain stoic calmness even when in distress especially with a woman around.
“Since when the sun was still well below the tree-lines” Mama replied. she was obviously panicked.
Obike ruminated on the answer for a little while. Then without much ado he quietly went back inside his hut, picked up his machete and quietly came out again. He admonished his mother to go and mind the other business she may have or “better still go and sleep if there are none, instead of creating undue panic”.
Then, just like going to the farm, he walked out of the compound as Mama continued to watch with both arms akimbo. Obike broke into a run when he was well off the compound fence. not throwing salutations or receiving any from those he came across on the bush path, he ran. A part of him was fearing for the worst, while the other part kept on reassuring him on the need to take it easy. Obike fear for his woman and the baby she carries, but even more importantly, he fears for the love he has for her. The fear of losing the love of his life tormented him greatly that he ran so hard, wishing his legs could carry him even faster. Unknown to Obike was the fact that his chi (personal spirit) was manipulating his destiny.

What Aniebolam saw as he approached the screaming woman left him feeling as if his heads were about to explode. His face went grey in overwhelming disgust that he had to cover his eyes with his hands. He did not know when his catapult fell off his hands.

As a boy of 11 years, he is very much aware that there exist visible anatomical differences between him and the female folks. While swimming at the village stream with the other children, he had intuitively come to discover that while boys like him had a rat shaped penis sticking out over a dangling testicles, the girls had a folded patch of skin that seems to vanish inwardly into nothingness.

Staring at him in the face is the discomforting sight of a matured woman’s vagina. Only this time, there were no tolerable sight of folded skin but rather, a gapping eight centimeters hole showcasing all of the pinkish interior of the vaginal passage. The hole was wide enough to sufficiently accommodate a large sized bush rat.

Encircling the entrance like palm fronds circling the entrance to a shrine, are thick black curly hairs. They covered the entire region. Starting sparingly from the base of the abdomen, increasing in concentration slightly above the clitoris and then, thinning out downwards into the anus. The entire region was wet as some of the hairs still had the droplets of water attached to them. Her inner thighs had in the obvious green veins crisscrossing all over; a quiet evidence of strain.

In all of the hilly communities, it is considered to be bad manners for growing girls to sit with their legs open. But it is ironically not the same for the older woman. It is believed that the grown woman should already be in the know. This therefore necessitated the adage which states that “one does not tell an old woman to close her legs because you never can tell if she takes in fresh air through it.”

The screaming continue to grow in ferocity. It greatly scared Aniebolam. His legs and shoulders were shivering quite violently to the high pitched voice. Out of curiosity, Aniebolam slightly parted his palms sideways in order to take a peep at the screaming woman. What met his sights scared him even further.

The eight centimeters dilation was now a few centimeters more than that. Sticking out from the vaginal passage is the head of a baby. The head was slightly out of shape and the face was drenched in a liquid mixture of blood and mucus. The woman had her leg legs spread upwardly apart, with her knees pointedly skywards.

In spite of the cold forest climate, the woman was sweating profusely. Sweat drops formed stylised beads on her forehead and chest. some of those on her chest rolled over down her shoulder blade to wet the earth beneath. Her neck were equally shiny with sweat, some of which collected themselves in the dimple at the base of the neck.

As she screams, the upper part of her body rises and falls in rhythm. Her eyes were shot tight. Her fist were clenched hard. Her back arched, neck strained and her stomach stiffened as she screams and groans in sever pains. In pains, she desperately applies the necessary pressure to make a delivery. After each applied pressure, comes a slight release, a grubbing intake of breath and then, another push.

Aniebolam rooted to his position, helplessly watch as the screaming woman brings forth life. Immobilized by fright, Aniebolam watch as the life inches ever closer to the waiting world; the waiting evil world. The head, and then the neck. Soon the shoulders became visible, and then the chest. After the hands left the restraining compartment of the virginal passage, it did not take too long a time for the new life to drop to the ground.

It was indeed quite a reassuring fall; such a rosy welcome for the newest visitor to the world. The landing made a sloppy sound similar to sound made when the entrails of a disemboweled goat is dropped into a metal pot for cleaning. The soft green grass obviously cushioned the fall.

Lying on the lush green grass still attached to the mother is a new life. Covered in blood and mucus. Eyes closed and body clutched together almost to a ball. Not moving and obviously indifference to the world. No sounds whatsoever.

It took quite a while for Aniebolam to regain consciousness; enough to notice that the entire forest has descended into a total silence. No wind, no rassling leaves, and of course, no more screams. When he finally looked up at the woman, tracing his sight from the life on the ground through the umbilical cord to the vagina, up through to her still bulged stomach, then to her bosom and finally to her face. He at once knew the face. It was a face almost every child in Ugwunato can tell. It was a familiar face.

Woman was looking dead straight into his eyes as they both locked eyes. Her sharp gaze greatly threw him off balance with fear but he could strangely not move his legs. His palms were still covering his face but he was totally oblivious that they were even there. Somehow she had found her way behind his palms to look into his eyes. Her eyes were alert, regaining its initial intensity of gaze prior to the labor pains. The worst had happened and her fears overcome.

Even though her eyes were alert, her face still had that weak countenance of a woman who had just passed through the valley of the shadow of labor pains. Her sharp gaze were desperately probing to Aniebolam. She was making effort to know the person behind the covered face. Was it real or just the fiddle imaginations of her own head?

“Who are you?” Uloma asked in a voice that was barely audible.

Aniebolam still to shocked to answer, merely began to bring down his hands gradually. First, his forehead became visible as his hands slowly slide down his face. Then his eyes came into full view, followed by his chin and then the entire face as his hands fell effortlessly downwards.
Uloma on seeing who it was, closed her eyes and relapsed into a sleep. She was indeed very exhausted.


The wind was playing a trick on the men. Back and forth they have been moving around the forest in their desperate search for the screaming woman. Growing increasingly frustrated over their inability to locate the woman through the sound wave of her voice, their initial ice-cold calmness was now giving way to paranoia. With their machetes, they recklessly slashed through anything that stands in their way. Shrubs and foliage, significance and negligible, were all not spared.

Abruptly, the wind stopped. As if it was a carefully planned deal, the screaming stopped too. The sharpness of the stoppage had the two men looking at each other in contemplative stare. Their eyes seems to ask questions like “What indeed could have befallen her?” “Has it succeeded in finally taking her life?” “Why did the screaming stop?”

The smaller of the two men, by his countenance believes the worst must have happened to her judging by the abruptness by which the screaming stopped. For him, there was absolutely no point in continuing the search for her. She must be dead, probably eaten by a wild animal which, of course, are plentiful in this part. His reluctant eyes clearly told the second man that it is about time they abort the fruitless search and return back to their assigned duty post.

But the bigger and more muscular man was not one to fall for such a lazy insinuation, until he can confirm with his two eyes what indeed had befallen the woman. He most certainly do not care any less about her or whatever befalls her, but his strict sense of duty compels him to see everything to it’s conclusive end. He will not make the mistake of assuming. Assumption could put the entire operation at risk; not to talk of the possible human cost on their own side.

His ferocious gaze clearly got the message across to his partner who reluctantly adjusted himself and fall back in line as they continued their search. Transferring their aggression on the shrubs and foliage around. With the aid of their machetes, they cut them down. Such was the attitude of men itching for a fight but still not getting any.


Obike with firm agility descended down the gorge into the flowing stream. The stream holds a lot of memories for Obike. It was here that he said his first word to Uloma. It was here that they shared their very first kiss and it was here that they usually hang out.

Obike is the last of five boys in an all boys family. Their mother is the only female in the family. If their mother could have her way, she would have converted them all into girls especially Obike, She will assigned them chores that they themselves considers to be feminine. They wanted chores that are male-oriented like chopping of firewood, cutting of palm fruit and mending of the compound fence. But mama do not see anything wrong in sending them to go wash the dishes, slice vegetables, peal yams and stir the soup pot.

For them boys, their saving grace came in the form of Uloma. Uloma was like Mama's adopted daughter. They do almost everything together that people even tend to forget that Mama wasn't her biological mother. Uloma helped Mama with those feminine chores, giving the boys ample chance to invest their muscles on other things like wrestling among themselves. For the bigger boys, chasing after the village girls occupied those times.

The other boys seems not to take notice of Uloma or had probably thought that she wasn't playing within their league. Only Obike had kind of find her attractive. He was a very shy guy and could hardly complete two sentences to a woman: meeting their eyes was considered a totally unthinkable thing to do.

Outside Mama’s knowledge or probably owing to her very matured discretion, the two soon clicked and started seeing each other. Their preferred location was the village stream. The other brothers watched in awesome wonder how their little brother transformed from being a reluctant stream goer to an highly devoted Water boy. These good old days really brings laughter to his mouth whenever he recalls them.

But today there are absolutely no room for a laugh. Obike had quite strangely, find the stream completely deserted. He probed further inward in the direction of the male section and equally found no one there. He was about leaving when his mind told him to take a little peep at the female section of the stream. It was of course a very dishonorable thing to do, especially when one is caught in the act. But quite unfortunately, all manner of decency will definitely fly off the window when the life and safety of a mother and the unborn child she carries is in the equation.

Without giving it much of a thought, Obike simply went the other way in the direction of the female section; threading softly in order not to attract attention to his presence. Further and further, he went and very strangely, not meeting or seeing anyone. His sense of caution was now greatly heightened. His eyes were in details picking everything around him as his head make haste to interpret them.

Soon, his eyes picked out, on the sands of the stream bank, what evidently is a sign of struggle. But he continued to probe even further inward; fearing for what he is about to discover. Branching off into the corner, the very place that sheds off the women section from the view of the rest of the stream. Here, Obike's fears were confirmed.

Lying dead, facedown with their bodies half submerged in the stream, is the body of three females. One was obviously a matured woman, while the other two were adolescent girls. Obike instinctively draw out machete and proceeded to flip over the matured body. Staring him in the face was the dead yet unclosed eyes of Akunna, his wife’s best friend.


It’s been about ten minutes since Uloma made her delivery. And yet the placenta is still not out. She open her eyes to find a friendly faced boy sitting cross-legged on the ground to her side. Her eyes seems to pick what evidently was a smile from his young, innocent face. Lying directly on her bosom was what had initially seemed to her to be a light rock. But on further examination, she came to identify it as her newly born baby. Almost subconsciously, her right hand went around the fragile frame of her baby in a motherly curdle.

While she was asleep, Aniebolam had shaky-handedly brought the infant to rest on her bosom with the cord still attached between them. Strangely, the baby wasn’t crying or moving, but Uloma was still too weak to take note. Her consciousness were still fleeting; coming and going like the waves that assaults the seashore.

Aniebolam is sitting cross-legged on the grasses. He was lost in his curious study of the child's facial features when the words from Uloma hit him.

“Cut….it….” she said weakly, in a voice slightly above a whisper. Her eyes were dull and her gaze looked distant.

Aniebolam at once understood what she had said and the request she had made. He had regained some level of composure not to be frightened by the awkward sight of seeing one human biologically attached by means of a cord to another human. Quite ironically, the onus of severing that physiological bond now falls on him.

He closed his eyes and silently promised not to let himself down. He was going to maintain his composure and go about it in the very same fashion in which he had disemboweled him many hunted games. He stood up, dusted his buttocks and palms clean and then went off, towards the tall grasses.

There are no sharp-edged metal around. So he had to improvise. Aniebolam came back, bringing with him two sizable stones and a few strands of palm fronds which he had plucked from a dwarf Palm tree. He then proceeded to tie the umbilical cord on two different potions. Leaving a gap of about seven inches between the two tied potions. With the baby and mother still in their position, Aniebolam then balanced the cord on top of the much bigger stone.

With the other stone in his hand, Aniebolam repeatedly hit on the cord; pounding it hard until it breaks. Neither the mother nor child seems to have taken any notice.

Hmmmmm,



OP tanks for the update

Gr8 work.

Thanks for the update.

tahir01:
Thanks for the update.

Thanks for staying put.

crossfm:
Gr8 work.

thank you so much. I appreciate.

skubido:
Hmmmmm,


OP tanks for the update

the pleasure is mine.