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Childlessness is a curse, so I thought. You were born into your family and your parents lifted you up in the air and thanked the sky for blessing them with a child. Then, you were raised with your siblings, and you saw how gregarious it was to live in a complete family, for what makes up a complete family are father, mother and children. And then, you became a full-fledged man capable of siring your own children. But then, fate looked you in the face and ridiculed your wish.

How would you feel? Despondent, right? My people say that when the corpse of a member of another family is being carried to the grave, it looks like a plantain stump to another. Only those who were or are, one time, victims of childlessness will know it feels to be labelled ‘barren.’

As a great warrior in my town, it was expected that my calibre of person would sire an heir that would inherit my strength and panache. When that didn’t happen as at the time it was expected, tongues wagged that it was either I was impotent or that my wife was sterile. And to confirm their gossip, I refused to heed to their advice to marry a second wife and sire children that would survive me. It was also rumoured that my wife had cast her spell on me to dance to her tunes, for what a man would ignore the young voluptuous women with glistening skins and gyrating gait for wives.

Our house had become used to two voices speaking in whispers every night after daily hustles — my wife’s and mine — and the bleating of goats and clucking of fowls.

Everyday, my wife and I passed young children either going to the stream or returning from it, on our way to the farm. Those daily encounters always ended in sobs every night, as Ekwe, my wife, stayed awake late in the night, clutching her propped-up knees in lamentation.

‘‘What wrong had I committed?’’ She would say lament whenever I came to reassure her that all would be well, that when the time of the breadfruit came, it would definitely fall. ‘‘Where did we go wrong? Look at my fellow women bragging with their dozens of children, but I can’t even boast of one.’’ She would then throw her face on my chest and sob until the heavy hands of sleep overshadowed her.

As we aged, Ekwe accepted her fate, and carried on with her life without further fuss. She took solace in my unfettered love for her. A woman lives long if she is cherished by her husband, and vice versa, for a home harbours either death or life. If your enemy lives outside your home, don’t worry, he’s easy to be conquered. Now, imagine this enemy living in your house, robbing you your peace!

We consulted Ori the following morning after Ekwe had a dream that both of us could not interpret. In that dream, Ekwe said that an old sheep gave birth to a lambs. One day, the lambs went our in search of pasture. On their way, the gaunt one transformed into a wolf and ate its like.

Ori, throwing some eggs into the Okirikiri River, looked up in the sky and shook his head.

I and my wife exchanged quizzical glances.

Then, Ori turned and faced us. ‘‘The cannibal.’’ He shook his head again. Then, he cleared his throat. ‘‘Time of laughter has finally come to your family.’’

I and my wife exchanged glances again.

‘‘Nine months from now, ’’ he announced, grinning, ‘‘your wife will give birth to twin boys.’’

Then, he contorted his face into worry, and that countenance nipped our happiness in the bud and troubled our spirits.

We waited for Ori to bare his message, but he only coated the words with aphorism. ‘‘But, be careful with them. Watch them closely. Some twins can behave strangely.’’
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