ON THE RUN (EPISODE 12)

Just three years after marrying her husband, her stomach only swelled up of ‘akpu’ and nothing more. Pregnancy? No, not even in her dreams. She cried. The family of her husband tagged her names, but most were fond of calling her, “mara mma ekete,” which means ‘beautiful basket.’ Nobody could tell where the fault was, as she troubled her husband to try even harder every single night.

The fifth year was dropping down its curtain and her womb was still void. She knelt down with a rosary in her hand, about to pray, when a knock hit her door. She paused, held firm the rosary with her two hands and threw her gaze at the door. Now a bang on the door, she jumped up quickly, brushed off the sand-particles that clung to her knees, then rushed to the door. She was welcomed with an elongated hiss, then pushed aside by her mother-in-law. Rays of light flushed into the room, exposing dirty dishes under the wooden bed, peels of banana and seeds of oranges designing the center stool and a broom, relaxing at a corner of the room. Her mother-in-law scanned around and gave another hiss.

“I never supported him in marrying you. I know. I just know you are not just good for my son.” Her mother-in-law said, still shuffling around the room. “Give us a child, mba, you refused. All you do is sit here, eat and sleep. Even to clean and sweep you cannot. Tufiakwa! And you call yourself a woman.”

She stood, silent, with her saturated eyes fixed on the irresistible older woman.

“Bia, let me tell you, I’m bringing another wife for my son to bear me my grandchildren. And if you like keep eating banana and drinking orange,” She pointed to the center stool as she walked to the exit. “Because that’s what you are good at, food. Eat eat and eat every time. Nri mara mma ekete.”

The door slammed shut.

She became cold and the goose bumps that formed on her body were as tall as mountains. She sat on the bed and wept. She flung her rosary to a corner of the room, untied her scarf and cried aloud.

Her husband returned from the farm. He rushed to her, sat beside her, patting her back alongside asking her what happened. Her silence spoke louder than her words, but he needed the details in full. She tried talking but words stuck up her throat. She let out what prompted her tears, and he pulled her up, immediately, from the bed, wiped her face with his ‘okpu agu,’ then summoned her to accompany him to a friend’s place.

She saw the cow-head that dangled at the entrance of the hut and ran behind her husband. More like a red carpet walkway in the absence of paparazzi, they had trod on a red cloth ten meters before approaching the main entrance. Iron bars like javelin pegged to the muddy ground at both side of the hut, with a board having  an inscription leaning on the bars. Inscribed on the boards were, ‘ogrikpakpa shrine’ and ‘weep not’ respectively. She laid aside her christian beliefs and forged on with her husband to meet the chief-priest.

“Ogrikpakpa has heard your pleas.” The chief-priest said after spreading apart the six cowries on a sandy tray.

The husband unto his wife, smiled, as he saw her brightened face.

“Ogrikpakpa has nothing to collect from you, just one of the twins he will offer you.”

Their joy lasted a second. The couple looked at each other, wondering what he meant.

“Ogrikpakpa promised to give you twins. But once they clock ten years of age, you will separate both of them. They must not set their eyes on each other until you both leaves the earth.”

They both didn't think it was a good decision to take.

“Excuse me old one, but can we see both of them when we want to?” She asked, adjusting her sitting position.

“Yes you can, but not together.”

“We agree.” Her husband concluded.

“Di mu?” She looked at him with contempt, and questioned why the rash conclusion.

“Do you both agree?” The chief-priest scrolled his eyes between the two.

She reluctantly gave a nod while her husband did the speaking. Afterwards, the chief-priest dismissed them. And nine months later, her mother-in-law became her closest companion as she was ready to evict the two creatures that rented her womb.

The Reverend tapped her by the shoulder, jolting her to life. “What are you thinking so deeply, that is too heavy for you to tell Jesus. Perhaps, he’s the only one who could save you from this situation you are in.”

She raised her head up and narrated all to the Reverend. “When my children clocked ten, my husband took Dede to the city to stay with his sister while Dike stayed back with us here.”

The Reverend slouched back into his chair, resting his jaw in his palm.

“Two weeks after my husband returned from the city, he died.” She added. “After that time, Dike developed a stealing habit. He steals from everyone.”

“Even from the church?” The Reverend sat upright.

“Even from me, father.” She said. “He sells what he steals and steals what he sells.”

“Now that’s very serious. So all the missing Bible and hymnals were...” The reverend said. “That’s definitely a spell. And it must be broken.”

“Father, that’s the problem I’m in. I don’t want him to go as far as stealing from the wrong person, whereby he will be killed.”

The Reverend glimpsed at his wrist-watch. “It’s late already. Go home now and send Dike to me tomorrow morning.”

“Okay father.” She stood to her feet and walked out of the vestry.

Nine o’clock, her strides were short but quick as she glided past every passing person whilst making extra effort to conceal her visage. The ever quiet path to her hut was busy at this strange hour of the day. She cleaned her sweat with her scarf, paused and stood on her toes to have a clear view, from afar, where the howling chants came from. This just couldn't be her hut, could it?