It
was late December 1902, five years after we returned to Nri, my
native land, five years after we were freed from captivity in the
land of Benin. While the Harmattan breezes swept over the coast of
Lagos, and while most people kept warm by the fireside, I had someone
keeping me warm in bed, though not out of my volition. This had been
my lifestyle since my aunt Adanne brought me here a couple of weeks
earlier. Each night, as I lay on the cold mattresses of my bed, and
as Aunt Adanne’s men thrust me; I shut my eyes and wept. In the
dark recess of my mind, all I could see were images of that cold
night at the Benin slave camp. It was like living my most painful
memory all over again. Every day. One night, after taking my shower,
I sat on the bed, waiting for the man Aunt Adanne had collected money
from. His name was Chukwuma. He was a dark skinned man probably in
his early thirties. As he walked towards me, I was scared, nervous
and angry all at the same time. So I moved away from him towards the
headboard.
“Don’t worry honey, I would be gentle with you,”
the man whispered as he climbed onto the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt
and started crawling towards me. I felt like screaming but I didn’t.
I also felt like slapping him and then pushing him away, but I
didn’t. All I did was just sit there and sob.
“Please, I don’t think I’m ready for this.
I…don’t…I… don’t want to do this anymore,” I said tears
rolling down my cheeks. As those words came out of my mouth, I wasn’t
sure what his reaction was going to be. I closed my eyes right after
speaking, thinking he was going to force himself on me like the other
men did. But as I continued sobbing, he stopped, sat on the bed and
told me he wasn’t going to touch me if that was what I wanted.
“Why
are you doing this?” he asked.
“I
don’t know,” I said, my words muffled by tears. I couldn’t
think of anything else to say. Should I confide in this man who seems
caring? Maybe he would help me get out of aunt Adanne’s house
forever. Maybe he was sent by the gods to save me. Or maybe he would
tell Aunt Adanne all I told him and then continue with his life as if
nothing ever happened. This would only worsen my situation. So, I
don’t know was the best answer I thought of.
“I
have a sister your age,” the man said as he buttoned his shirt. “I,
um…also have a wife whom I love very much and she’s given me two
boys: Ejike and Chijioke.” He smiled mildly. “I love my family
very much, but recently my wife and I have been having problems in
our marriage. I work with you aunt. Yesterday, after work, I told her
I was having problems with my wife and that we were no longer
intimate. That was when she mentioned you. Honestly, I feel guilty
about this,” he continued facing the floor. A couple of seconds
passed before he lifted his head and continued. “Please do all that
you can to get out of this house; I don’t think your aunt has any
good intentions for you. You are a beautiful young lady who should be
doing something meaningful with her life,” he said as he stood and
made for the door. All I did was nod as he spoke. In the silence that
followed, he walked back to the bed, gave me a hug and kissed my head
before leaving the room. I couldn’t believe it. I was surprised-and
pleasantly so-at this sudden turn of events. His display of affection
and concern suddenly brought back memories of life with my mother
back at the slave camp. If only mama were alive, she wouldn’t have
let me leave the village even if I wanted to. I was her only child
and she loved me very much. In that moment, as I sat on the bed,
wiping tears off my eyes, I recalled the story my mama had told me of
how they were captured by Oba Ewuare, the Benin monarch and marched
out of their home town in chains and fetters. It was the story of how
we were forced into a life of slavery by the Benin Empire. I still
remember the expression on mama’s face as she narrated this story.
It was an expression indicative of disgust, hatred, anger and yet
hopes in what the gods could do to save the Nri people.
“It
was the eve of the eke
market day and children were gathered by the fire in the cold of the
evening listening to stories from their parents. It was like any
other peaceful day in old Nri,” mama had said in Igbo. “Traders
sat under the canopy of the odala tree, discussing sales, when
suddenly, Ogidi, the chief warrior ran past our house, screaming at
us to run for our lives. In a matter of minutes, confusion broke out
throughout the village. Parents searched for their children as they
sought for safety in their mud huts; children wailed as they searched
for their parents in the midst of the stampede, confused and
frightened about what was happening. You father jumped to his feet,
and carried me into our hut. One man ran out of the bathroom naked,
and a creeping child who was playing outside was accidentally kicked
into one of the burning firewood. Ogidi was however too late, for
before he could get to the market square, half of the village was
surrounded by the Benin warriors. Our Igwe was ripped of his crown
and throne; the council of elders, the Nze and Ozo title holders was
dissolved and the entire kingdom was abandoned. In a couple of hours,
the raid was over, the entire village was taken captive and we became
part of the ancient Benin Empire. That was a day descendants of Nri
kingdom will never forget. It was a moment of severe pains for
pregnant women, some of which had miscarriages,” mama narrated and
then paused. She heaved a mournful sigh, and then wagged her head
before continuing. “I was pregnant with you at the time, but thanks
to the gods, I managed to escape a miscarriage. I guess the gods had
an important assignment which they wanted you to carry out.”
That
night memories of my late mother’s life came flashing back and I
thought, again, in passing that she would never have let me leave the
village with aunt Adanne in the first place. But then, I wondered:
why would my aunt, my own mother’s sister, my blood, treat me with
such inhumanity? Maybe she wasn’t really my mother’s sister;
perhaps, she was just another family relative from my mother’s
side.
to be continued...
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