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THE reality of Ekemma’s pregnancy haunted me for many days, like a ghost after its killer. I sat outside, on my reclining wooden chair, looking into an empty space and traversing the terrains of many thoughts that were popping up in my head.

Pregnancy was supposed to be a blessing, something that should be celebrated and thankful for, but, in my own case, my daughter’s pregnancy was a curse — a curse inflicted by no other person but me! How could I explain the unbearable fact that my daughter was pregnant for my son? Yes, marriage by consanguinity had been institutionalized in our land and legalized, too, but its natural absurdity still made it abominable. It is like a pig that was bathed. No matter how much you try to make it look clean, it would still soil its body. A pig is a pig.

Ekwe assumed an amazing composure in her daughter’s case. Instead of cursing Ekemma and snapping her fingers in disapprobation, she took on her motherly role and stayed by her daughter’s side. Ekemma, yet, had not recovered from the death of Ofo, and Ekwe couldn’t bear neglecting her now and losing yet another child of hers — and probably the last, too.

I blame myself for all that had befallen my family. But I did those with the firm belief that that was the best option for the sustenance of my town. At the time when consanguineous marriage was institutionalized in our land, we were in dire need of solutions to protect our land and increase her numerical strength. Only a few families, whose conscience refused to accept this practice, did not indulge in this type of marriage arrangement.

Then, Ógù came to my mind. Where could he be? Has he joined our enemy forces? And, Ofo’s head… Why did Ógù cut off his head? Where did he keep the head?

No answer came to mind, only the orchestral chirping of nocturnal insects that announced the celestial change of guard.
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