(chapter one)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any actual resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental
One
When Nena Nnaji was brought to St Andrews church in Umuahia to be baptized she wore an old christening robe that had belonged to her mother whose father had been one of the earliest to embrace Christianity when the white men came from continents away to talk about the potency of an unknown God. But this was 1958, the year of Catholic fervor among the heathen tribes around the Niger (soon to be known as Nigeria) everyone would expect fine lace on a baby who is being christened.
She was named Naomi Nnenna Nnaji on the eighth day of her birth and had only been known as Nnenna for six weeks. Then they all started calling her Nena. It had to do with her two year old brother Ebuka, of course. Ebuka who hadn’t been able to pronounce any name properly even one as simple as Nnenna.
On her naming ceremony, the old parish priest did say to someone that this was a baby girl not likely to be lacking in anything considering the life she was born into.
But priests didn’t know everything.
Nena’s father and two older brothers were killed when she was eleven. They died in the civil war fighting on the Biafran side. Life for the Nnaji family as it were, was over. Her mother’s grief was great as weeping Niobe mourning the death of her children and husband.
When Nena was eighteen years old in 1976, there were so many things lacking in her life: such as any plan of what she was going to do; such as any freedom to go away and do it. At eighteen she was one of the teachers in the village’s primary school that was enforcing the free primary education and helping in rehabilitating the nation after thirty months of civil strife. She didn’t move away from home like most of her peers did but stayed on to comfort her bereaved mother. But she often wondered if her remaining peers felt the same despairing emptiness in their lives as she did. At church on Sundays she would glance at the catechist’s son once a strapping young man now a one-legged cripple brooding over his memories in Enugu where Uche and Ebuka Nnaji had fallen. In the market she would joke kindly with Chike, who had been severely shell shocked and permanently deafened in Nsukka. These had been healthy young men that she might have dreamt of marrying before the war but were now damaged survivors of a war in which there had been no victors or vanquished. Now she thought of it, they had been the losers, her and her friends who were doomed to a bleak future with no husbands or children to cater for after years of careful grooming for those roles.
Some of the bereaved families had recovered sufficiently to get on with their lives but not Mrs Mary Nnaji. At thirty-eight she was settling into a premature decline towards old age as if she looked for death even though she still had her monthly inconveniences. Its depressing regularity was a constant reminder of the happy past, the agony and the joy of bearing her two lost sons. She kissed their black and white photographs by her bedside every night, for this was a house of perpetual mourning. And Nena wondered how she would get through the remaining thirty or so years.
She wasn’t left wondering for long however, as her mother got her wish to join her husband and sons when she was run down by a mammy lorry whose driver lost his brakes in the market. Nena would forever recall the sinking feeling of dread that washed over her like ice water on a harmattan morning, when her mother’s lifeless body was brought home. She had left home healthy, promising to return before sun down but….
Once again tragedy struck the Nnaji household and the bubbly baby whose life long happiness had been foretold on her christening ceremony found herself, an orphan.

sad very sad,and to think that after so many years have past loved ones are still lost due to this unnecessary fights. Nice one op

sad very sad,and to think that after so many years have past loved ones are still lost due to these unnecessary fights. Nice one op

(Chapter two)



With her mother’s death came responsibilities that young Nena was not expected to shoulder. Everyone agreed with a sigh that if it were the golden years, someone as old as Nena would be in her husband’s house with one or two children but times had changed and the war had changed everything. Now young ladies like Nena went to school to become teachers, nurses or secretaries, those were the core female occupations. She had her primary education in the community’s primary school and went further till Class 3 in a catholic owned secondary school.
After her mother’s death, her maternal uncle took her to live with him in another village and that was the last that was heard of the Nnaji family in Mbom Ibeku. If she had friends who made her venture back to her father’s community, she probably wouldn’t have been forgotten but she had moved to Isiala-ngwa where her mother was from and was never heard of again.
On the night she arrived, her uncle left her in the care of his wife who elected to show her to her room, a small clean swept room whose only furniture was a short box spring mattress in a low, dark oak bed frame with no headboard, a small night table to its right, and adjacent to that, a wooden wall hanger.
“According to your uncle this room used to belong to your mother until she got married to your father.”
Nena set down her bag on the table and went to the bed without replying. Her mother was the last person she wanted to think of. She sat on the bed and heard the mattress squeak like a family of rats.
“I changed that linen myself today,” Ugochi bragged. “and I expect you to take care of everything in here and keep them in good condition, I huta go?” she asked, and Nena found herself gazing around, wondering what it was she was expected to take good care of: a small lantern and tiny furniture…
“Yes aunty,” she replied meekly.
“Good. Now,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest, “as to the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Of course rules. Everything must be spelled out and followed to the T.
First and foremost, you are to wake up at 5am everyday and sweep the compound. You’re to go to the stream after that and fill the drums, you saw those big drums in the corridor when you were coming in okwa ya?” At Nena’s docile nod she continued. “Good, they must be filled everyday and all these chores you must do before 7am. I wont have you thinking this house is a five star hotel where you’ll be pampered because you’re an orphan.”
Nena felt a stab of anger at Ugochi’s cold remark and despite the fact that she didn’t know her uncle very well, she couldn’t imagine why he would marry such a cold hearted woman. Her eyes had the glint of polished diamond and her mouth looked like a thin line drawn down at the corner in a permanent scowl. She half expected to discover that her caramel face and body had no veins carrying blood around and instead of a heart in her bosom, there was Aso rock.
“Second,” she continued, “I will not have any secret male callers in my house and if you get stupid enough to become pregnant for any man outside marriage, I will toss you out of this house by your ear without a moment’s hesitation. Any man that wants to marry you should do it the proper way and come to your uncle first that’s how we did it during my time. He doesn’t have to meet you or get your consent.”
“I wont marry a man I don’t love aunty,” Nena said, her anger and indignation fueling her courage.
Ugochi let out a shrill peal of laughter and clapped her hand thrice in amusement.
“Eziokwu you young girls of today amuse me. You go to school and read books that fill your head with strange ideas. You think you’ll meet a man and suddenly there’ll be music and you’ll skip off into the sunset together. Adanne get your head out of those books because this is life and in life people don’t get married because they’re in ‘love’” she grimaced with distaste at love as if it were such a disgusting word. “People get married for more practical reasons as having children and an heir.”
“If that is so aunty, my uncle would have gotten himself another wife since marrying you has defeated the sole purpose of marriage.”
It seemed all the blood in Ugochi’ body drained as she looked truly shocked and stricken and Nena regretted pointing out Ugochi’s childless state in such a cruel manner.
“Aunty I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Ugochi raised a hand which effectively silenced her, “Don’t,” she croaked and left the room without another word.
****
Nena found herself adjusting to life in the Agu family fairly easier than she had expected given Ugochi’s penchant for discipline that bordered on cruelty. The Agu family in comparison to other families were both too well off and not too well enough to fit into the pattern of village life. Her uncle was a merchant and by some means had found himself in Ghana at the peak of the conflict. After the war, he came back to rebuild his father’s compound that had been left in a sorry state. He married Ugochi because she had appeared more sophisticated than her peers having been born in the city. But it seemed after close to five years of marriage with no children, Ekene was beginning to regret his decision.
When Nena wasn’t running errands for ‘the witch’ as she called her aunt, she was by herself in the large expense of farmland behind the family house. She didn’t have the job opportunity of teaching like she had in Mbom because the village school was in an even worse state and nobody was keen on repairing the damage. It was fortunate for Nena that she was a young woman who liked her company because she had so little of anyone else’s.
She was slim and willowy like her mother had been, but she had these curious pale hazel eyes and a light skin complexion. Her strange eyes gave her an enigmatic quality and her solitary nature made her seem as if she wasn’t a proper person.
And if anyone in the village had thought much about her, they might have come to a conclusion that she was jinxed especially after being the sole survivor in her family’s tragedy. So Nena found herself living at the edge of the community until Mrs. Oluchi had discovered her or more appropriately stumbled upon her in solitude in one of the dense farmlands her uncle owned.
She had thought it would be nice to belong to somewhere like Mrs. Oluchi did. She was a midwife and one of the most prominent daughters of the community. Anybody who didn’t know Mrs. Oluchi was either an alien or childless. But even childless couples like the Agus knew Mrs. Oluchi well because they hoped to have her deliver their children.
She greeted her respectfully like she had been taught and Mrs. Oluchi had looked at her speculatively.
“I think its time to get an assistant,” she said and at Nena’s stunned silence she added, “well what do you think? Should I talk to your uncle about it?”
Nena began to wonder whether the heat was not affecting Mrs. Oluchi.
“I think he’s a bit old to be an assistant,” she replied kindly.
“I meant you, Nena.”
“Oh. Of course. Yes, well…” Nena said.
It proved how little she had been planning her life. She had no immediate plans. Thankfully Mrs Oluchi had taken note of her and the very next day came to see her uncle concerning her.
Nena found nothing odd about her asking her uncle rather than her. It was still the 70s where women were expected to answer to one man or the other in their lives. Her uncle was her legitimate guardian until she got married and he handed over the reins of her care to another man, her husband. Besides it seemed like the sort of thing, Ekene Agu would have a view on. Perhaps he thought his niece was destined for far greater things than becoming an auxiliary nurse/midwife.
But her uncle thought it would be an excellent idea. He agreed it wasn’t a real career like nursing but still it was something and if Nena managed to learn the tips and tricks of midwifery as good as Mrs Oluchi, she would become as renowned as her too. Her aunt did bring up some objections as becoming Mrs Oluchi’s assistant would entail Nena being away for weeks or even months as she stayed on with Mrs Oluchi. But her husband had silenced her objections because he knew his wife wasn’t talking because she’d miss his niece but because she would lack someone to carry out her frustrations on.

( chapter three)


She started following Mrs Oluchi for house calls two weeks later and to her surprise, loved the job. She didn’t have the influence or confidence of Mrs Oluchi who was often referred to as the real midwife but she enjoyed being a front seat observer of one of nature’s wonders; childbirth.
Nena got accustomed to people asking for the real midwife when they came to Mrs Oluchi’s birthing home to be delivered and if Mrs Oluchi asked her to go before her and calm the patient down, the gravest doubts were expressed. She learned to say she was only holding fort for the ‘real midwife’.
Delivery in Mrs Oluchi’s maternity ward that was one of the rooms in her house with a mattress covered in mackintosh and a small stool as the only furniture was cheaper than home delivery. Some of the poorer women who couldn’t afford home delivery were delivered in this little room that Mrs Oluchi insisted must be kept clean at all times. So Nena’s duties consisted in cleaning the room and all the utensils used in giving birth with warm water. Her experience of life in domestic service made her a favorite among the patients; she was quietly respectful, quick to fetch and carry for them as required. She soon became a valued sitter among the women in labor when pain followed pain with no apparent progress. She learned to be patient and encouraging especially to those having their first baby, giving them the emotional support they needed to calm their fears. Under Mrs Oluchi’ supervision she got to know the signs of approaching delivery, and when the midwife invariably took over, she remained available to assist with the delivery. Mrs Oluchi, she noted, conducted deliveries with calm efficiency, making sure to always keep up her high spirits even in the most difficult births as this helped the mothers relax. Nena watched her tie and cut the umbilical cord, and had a warm blanket ready for the newborns.
Mrs Oluchi had once had a husband but like her mother had lost him in the war. She had been married to him only two years before he had to join the army and fight for Igbo autonomy like most of the healthy, able-bodied men in their community. He left and never returned. Unlike her mother, Mrs Oluchi didn’t wear her grief on her sleeves and look upon the future through gloomy glasses, she had mourned him for the customary period of six months and when it was over, had gone right back to living.
She had no child from her brief marriage and despite the fact that she was still young, elected to remain unmarried. It wasn’t like there were many men to go round anyway and maidens like Nena were lacking suitors not to talk of a widow like her. So she had faced her child birthing practice and ensured to bring smiles on the faces of lucky women like her patients who were to be envied for having a family of their own.
Sure the pangs of labor were hard but they ceased the moment they became mothers. They had husbands who would be pleased and doting especially if the child was a boy; comfortable homes and a level of financial security. But Nena was convinced women like her and Mrs Oluchi – especially Mrs Oluchi – would almost certainly never experience the natural fulfillment of motherhood, but would live out their lives attending to women more fortunate than themselves.
****
Before she joined Mrs Oluchi, Nena barely noticed the women in the community . Now she knew almost everything about them, the ones who were harridans like her aunt, the ones who were bossy, those whose husbands were wealthy, those whose husbands were not so well to do, those who were anxious to keep their husbands happy by producing sons instead of daughters. There were women who clung to her and confided in her about secrets in their marriage, and there were those who were aloof. In everything, Nena found herself learning a lot about families in her community and she soon began to earn herself admirers both male and female.
One of such male admirer was Mazi Okafor. She returned home one afternoon to see her uncle sitting with him underneath the huge almond tree at the center of the compound.
“Dede mmama nu,” she said greeting and genuflecting before them.
“Mma ma nwanyi oma,” her uncle replied.
She flashed a smile and started for the house.
“Nne please wait for a bit. Mazi Okafor has come to see me concerning you.”
“Me?” She asked startled.
“Yes dear, you, he said he’s impressed with the work you’re doing in the community and you would be a valuable addition to his household indeed. Have I spoken well Mazi?”
Mazi Okafor nodded, his round face beaming as his lips twisted up into a smile that made Nena wince inwardly as his rubber band lips revealed yellow tobacco stained teeth.
“You’ve spoken well Mazi Agu. You see when I saw your niece attending to my third wife in labor three weeks ago, I said to myself, this woman is a jewel and it’s a pity that her virtue is wasted in her uncle’s house. Mba! O ga di very very bad, she’s a beautiful woman and it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I marry her.”
“Marry me?” Nena said backing a few steps away.
“Sure. Why not?” Her uncle asked. “Mazi Okafor is one of the richest men in this community. His wives and children are usually the best dressed during the New Yam Festival. You can have a nice life and Mazi has assured me you will continue to assist Mrs Oluchi until you can stand on your own, he will even help you start up your own practice, too. That’s a good offer, gbo?”
“Mba,” she said quickly. “No.”
“No?”
She saw Mazi Okafor’s smile evaporate quickly. He looked nervously at her uncle.
“I cant marry Mazi Okafor uncle, I don’t love him.”
Her uncle’s eyes grew round like saucers. “Love?” He scoffed. “What has love got to do with anything? Mazi Okafor is a rich man, he’ll take good care of you Nne.”
“No never! I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a man old enough to be my grandfather.”
Her uncle’s fingers were twitching furiously and Nena recognized it as the telltale sign of his anger.
“Look here young lady, it’s my duty to find you a suitable husband whether you agree or not and I have. I already gave Mazi my word and I’m not taking it back. You’re marrying Mazi Okafor and this is the last we’ll hear of the matter.”
“Tufia kwa! Over my dead body!” Nena declared and ran out of the compound.

Nice..keep it coming

Thanks, Next update coming soon

( chapter four )

“I’m sorry, aunty. I cant marry Mazi Okafor.” “Then lets not talk anymore about it.” Mrs Oluchi declared and went to her room. Nena’s uncle had come by her house earlier to see her concerning his niece after she left him embarrassed before Mazi Okafor. He had been furious that his niece was being foolish but Mrs Oluchi knew better. Nena could be timid and docile but she was anything but foolish. Her uncle would obviously get a lot of money out of marrying her off that was why he was being forceful about the whole thing. Word on the grapevine was that his business was not doing very well and he was keen on getting a second wife himself which would cost him a lot of money. Of course nobody felt bad for Ugochi, men had taken other wives for issues less trivial than barrenness. She would become like any other childless first wife in the village; ignored, scorned and cast away like sour palm wine. If she wasn’t such an unpleasant woman, the friendship of one or two women would have made her life a little bearable. Ekene Agu could marry his second wife for all she cared but he wasn’t going to trade Nena like a tuber of yam. She had issues with Nena putting so much stock in love as an important requirement for marriage because she knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak later when she found out love existed only on the pages of her books. But she knew there was nothing her or Ekene could do about it. Some things were better understood when experienced besides the girl was right, Mazi Okafor was old enough to be her grandfather, with three wives and twenty-one children, five of which he had lost in the war, he could barely make a suitable husband for her. ****** The days went by easily each one very much like that which had gone before. Nena didn’t return to her uncle’s house but stayed on at Mrs Oluchi’s even after her uncle conceded to Mrs Oluchi’s wish that his niece should not be pushed into marriage. She found refuge in her work and the church as she became a regular at St Peters Catholic Church. Salvation was high on Father John’s list of priorities so he took interest in Nena’s welfare especially after news of how she botched Mazi Okafor’s plans to make her his fourth wife infiltrated the village. Father John was a very nice curate and she found him an interesting person to talk to. According to other parishioners, Father John had only been in St Peters for six years but he was quickly becoming an important member of the community. His kind eyes, stocky frame and beards that were almost completely grey made him seem like the perfect African father Christmas and his parishioners warmed up to him even though he wasn’t from these parts. He came from the other side of the Niger, a place called Agbor which he had left as a young boy to answer his call. Sometimes she found herself wondering how old Father John was because with priests and nuns it was hard to tell even though Father John looked like a wizened old man. One day he unexpectedly told her how old he was. He said he was born in the year the three regions were amalgamated by Lord Lugard, 1914. “I’m as old as Nigeria,” he said proudly. “I hope we’ll both live forever.” “Its good to hear you saying that, Father.” Nena was seated with him in his veranda at the parish residence. “It shows you enjoy life. My mother was always saying that she cant get her wings soon enough.” “Wings!” The priest was puzzled. “It was her way of saying she’d like to be in heaven with God and my brothers. She talked about it quite a lot and finally had her prayers answered.” Father John touched her hand reassuringly. “She’s in a better place if she was that devout about the things of God.” “But you’re going on sixty-two now father and you don’t wish for death half as much as she did. She was just thirty-eight!” “She probably felt her life mission was accomplished, trust me I will start feeling that way if I don’t have so much to do. I have so much to do, I don’t feel old.” “You should have someone to help you.” Nena said what everyone else in the village said. Before he became too doddery, they needed a new curate. And it wasn’t as if the priest’s housekeeper was any help. Mrs Obianuju had the face of agwoturumbe the village’s most dreadful mmuo (masquerade). She was dressed in black most of the time, mourning a husband who had died so long ago nobody seemed to remember him. A good priest’s housekeeper was supposed to be someone who was kind and supportive. But Mrs Obianuju was none of these. She seemed to smolder in resentment that she herself had not been given charge of the parish. She snorted derisively when anyone offered to help out in the parish work. It was a tribute to Father John’s own niceness that people stepped in to help with parish work especially the construction of the new village school. Then news came that there was indeed a new priest on his way to the village. Someone knew someone in Umuahia who had been told definitely. He was meant to be a very nice man altogether.

(Chapter 5)

About six months later, during the dry harmattan season of 1977, a year that would go down in the annals as when FESTAC was hosted in Lagos, Nigeria, the new curate arrived. He was a dark young man called Father Patrick. He had deep brown eyes that seemed to bore people’s souls and unearth their deepest secrets. He moved gracefully around the village his soutane swishing gently from side to side. He looked tall and angular unlike Father John who was round and small. When Father Patrick said Mass the shaft of sunlight seemed to come and touch his swarthy skin, making him appear more exotic than ever. Like Father John, he was a stranger to these parts as he had been born in Kenya and had also had to leave his people to go on missions. Everyone seemed to love and accept him and in her heart Nena often felt a little sorry for Father John, who had somehow been overshadowed. It wasn’t his fault he looked burly and solid unlike father John’s pudgy frame. He was just as good and attentive to the old and the feeble, just as understanding in the Confession, just as involved in the building of the school. And yet she had to admit that Father Patrick brought with him a new sense of exhilaration that the first priest didn’t have. When she visited the parish residence, Father Patrick often spoke to her about the missions and places in the world that there were thousands of lost souls. As she sat with him in the veranda she was transported miles away to another country. His deep melodious voice adding soulful symphony to her fantasies of those countries that were impoverished both physically and spiritually. One of such places he mentioned so often was the slum he’d been born in, Mathare Kenya. When he gave the Sunday sermon Father Patrick often closed his eyes and spoke of how fortunate his congregation were to live in the green fertile land around Umuoma village. The church might be full of people with badly torn clothes as their Sunday’s best, who had only had leftover foo-foo for dinner, their village undergoing reconstruction after a devastating war but Father Patrick made their place look like paradise compared to Mathere. **** Nena and Mrs Oluchi often talked about Father Patrick and his saintliness. It was something they both agreed on, which meant they talked about him often. There were other subjects that divided them like the second suitor that came or more precisely, wrote for her hand in marriage. One afternoon, her uncle had summoned her to his obi. “Mazi Ifeanyi’s nephew has written for a wife,” Ekenne Agu said looking up from a sheet of paper. The summons to see her uncle in his private parlor almost immediately after she had served him dinner had fallen on Nena like a blow; such summoning usually meant a lecture for transgression. Ever since she returned home, he and his wife treated her with a certain amount of frostiness although there had been no open show of hostility. So she had been waiting with bated breath for the other shoe to drop. Hands behind her back Nena stood in front of the shabby armchair, her mouth dropped open at her uncle’s news. He waved the sheet of paper before him and transferred his gaze to her. “You’re like any other girl in this village so it will have to be you.” “Me?” “Are you deaf, girl? Of course its you. Who else am I talking to?” “But I don’t know him and I’ve never met him before.” “But you know Mazi Ifeanyi don’t you? His sister who married a man from the Ikwerre tribe had a son, his name is Kelechi. He wrote to his uncle asking for a wife from his mother’s village.” “But uncle, if he asks for any girl, he’ll not want me.” “Well, his uncle wants you because he feels you’re the most educated of the lot we have here. Besides, he’ll be satisfied with any respectable, decently brought-up young lady judging by the state of affairs in the place he writes from.” “Where does he write from?” she asked, knowing that she wouldn’t be allowed to read the letter. “Port Harcourt.” Her uncle grunted a satisfied sound. “It seems he has done well for himself in business.” Her first shock was dissipating to be replaced by dismay. “Wouldn’t it be simpler for him to find a wife there, uncle?” “In Port Harcourt? Its nothing but harlots and gold diggers when it comes to women, he says. He remembered his mother’s people and how homely their women could be so he decided to ask his uncle get him a wife from here. He’ll be coming to meet the woman his uncle chooses for him so they can get married and go back to his base immediately after.” Ekenne Agu tossed the letter aside and opened the dish she set before him a few minutes earlier. “Be prepared, you’re the one he’s coming to see.” He said and with a wave, dismissed her. **** That night, she tossed and turned in bed till the break of dawn. I am going to a place called Port Harcourt married to a man I don’t know, she thought. A man who I may or may not like and who, when he arrives may not like me either. How would I feel then, rejected, surely because he has got eyes to see I’m not the most beautiful around. I am caught in a web of my uncle’s making. Mrs Oluchi didn’t seem to see anything wrong with the marriage arrangement. “Stop analyzing and over analyzing possible dreadful outcomes Nne and just think of it as an adventure. There’s no young woman in Umuoma who doesn’t envy you, believe me.” “But its not about them envying me,” Nena whined as they hung out linen to dry in Mrs Oluchi’s backyard. “I wish it were any one of them that were in my place because I don’t love him.” “Nonsense! Love gba bo oku, you hear me, love catch fire! Look Nena, if you choose to defy your uncle’s wishes this time around you’re on your own because I won’t support your misguided ideas of love and romance.” This time, Mrs Oluchi was adamant and in the days that went by, Nena found herself getting increasingly restless, nervous and edgy. Her uncle had formally been approached for her hand in marriage because Kelechi had given his uncle the go ahead for the iku aka (literally knocking or introduction ceremony). He said he trusted his uncle’s judgement so Nena’s uncle was approached and her bride price set at 8 naira. She wasn’t supposed to know this but Ugochi informed her. Hers was one of the most expensive dowry in Umuoma. Nena thought she felt how Jesus had felt when he was betrayed for 30 pieces of silver.

You are really doing an interesting job here.keep the updates coming.

nice one. keep the updates coming.

The only person who understood her was Father Patrick. He was thirty and equally restless. He felt betrayed because he had been called to order for preaching too much about Mathere by none other than the Bishop. He burned with the injustice of it. Father John must have gone behind his back and complained about him. Father John was only a fellow curate and didn’t have any authority over him. Father Patrick roamed the vast farmland that seemed deserted, brooding. What right had common men, the pettiest and most callous men to try to halt God’s work for dying people, for brothers and sisters who desperately needed them. If Father Patrick had any control over where he was stationed to as a missionary priest, he wouldn’t have been taken out of his homeland. He would have been amongst his own people, he would have been assisting Father Joseph the parish priest in Mathere. It was Father Joseph who wrote and told him first hand of all the things to be done. In St Peters there was a monument dedicated to all the sons of Umuoma village who had gone to their eternal reward. On the monument was written the words ‘The Harvest Is Great But The Laborers Are Few.’ There it was written on stone but Father John was so blind with jealousy, he couldn’t see it. On one of those angry walks, Father Patrick came across Nena, sitting on a tree trunk and puzzling over a letter. He calmed himself for a minute before he spoke, he didn’t want her to know the depth of his rage and his resentment at the man-made obstacles that was put in the way of his battle to save lost souls. She looked startled when she saw him but made room on the big tree stump for him to sit down. This was the same place Mrs Oluchi had come upon her months ago. “Isn’t it beautiful here? You can often find a solution to your problems here, I think.” He grunted his reply and sat. This was the first time they were sitting alone outside the parish residence without a chaperone. Somehow she seemed to understand the need for silence. She sat peering intently at the piece of paper in her hand and curiosity got the better of him. “What’s that you’re holding?” “A letter from my betrothed,” she said with a wan smile. “Someone I don’t know and have never met.” Like everyone else he’d heard of her intending marriage to a man that did not belong to these parts. Father John had been sympathetic towards her when he talked about it in the parish residence but like everyone else had resigned himself to Ekene Agu’s decision to ship off his niece. A squirrel came and stopped before them, fearlessly looking from one to the other before he hopped away. They laughed despite themselves, breaking the silence in the tense atmosphere. “When I was young and I had never seen a live squirrel,” Father Patrick said. “Only in picture charts in school, there was a lion on the same page so I thought they were the same size. I was scared of ever seeing one.” “You’re saying that to make me feel good father,” she teased him smiling coyly. “Is it working?” he asked a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nena burst into a peal of laughter that rang out like sweet music to his ears. The sun rays that glinted on her flawless skin left him breathless as he stared at her admiringly. God knows, she was truly beautiful and priests were still human. **** They were very much changed when they met in church the next Sunday. They knew this just from the briefest meeting in the church porch after ten o’clock mass. Father Patrick was rearranging the pamphlets that the Catholic Truth Society published, which were on the racks for sale, but were always mixed up whenever he passed them by. He saw Nena come out with Mrs Oluchi who spent a great time chattering away with a friend. Their gazes locked and held, her hazel eyes sending shivers down his spine. Father Patrick tore away his eyes to look at Mrs Oluchi who was still far away not to hear and talking with her friend animatedly. “Same place,” he said, his eyes dark and huge. “Four o’clock,” Nena said.

nice one

moseph:
nice one

Thanks

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