Fearless five by four bo.., p.11
Fearless Five by Four Boxed Set, page 11
Why was he lying on a sofa that was stretched out like a bed?
Then, with clarity that was so forceful, that it made his head ache, it came to him.
He looked at his form, stretched out under a heavy blanket; he was wearing only boxers. His clothes were nowhere to be found. Ozioma must have managed to undress him; he remembered the blood.
Had she called anyone to help her?
How had she explained the blood?
What would he tell her?
Just then, an alarm clock went off. Ozioma stood up from another sofa where she was bundled up and looked at him. For a reason he wasn't sure of, he closed his eyes and held his breath. Ozioma came over to him and touched his forehead. She was worried that he seemed to have a slight temperature. There was no way she could leave him like this. Besides, she needed some answers.
She walked back to the sofa where she had slept, to retrieve her mobile phone from the side stool. Then, she went to the kitchen to make some tea. In the kitchen, she turned on a small radio that she kept there, then put some water in a kettle. As she waited for the water to boil, she began to type an SMS to her producer. Before they sent a car for her, she needed to let them know that she would not make it to work, today.
“In Asaba, in the early hours of this morning,” a female voice said, shortly after the radio came to life, “there was a robbery attack on Okpanamu Street. Three suspects were shot. Security officials believe a fourth member of the gang escaped, although he was badly injured. The police requests that members of the public, including hospital staff, be vigilant and notify the nearest police station if such a person is found.”
As soon as she sent the SMS, the water began to boil. She lifted the kettle, then stared at the radio, as words began to sink in. She dropped the kettle. She shook her head, to clear it of the idea that had started to form. She rubbed her face. When she removed her hands from her face, Steve was standing in the doorway. Then, the penny dropped.
“No,” Ozioma said, as she felt her heart breaking.
“Ozi,” Steve began.
“No,” she said again, backing away.
“I can explain,” Steve tried to calm her, walking towards her.
“Oh, my God! You?” she continued to back away.
The kitchen was small and she was now in a corner, with Steve in front of her. “You can explain?! Ah! I'm finished!”
She had her phone in her mind and started to dial a number, but Steve snatched the phone from her.
“Ozioma, please.”
“Please, what? Are you going to kill me?”
No!” Steve exclaimed. “Why would I? I don't …”
“You don't what?” she challenged. “You don't kill, you just rob? Steve, you have finished me! But you go to church! How can you be an armed robber?”
He shrugged.
“Ah, this is why you're able to give so much money without thinking … hey, God!” Ozioma burst into tears, as it hit her fully. Her phone forgotten, she put her hands on her head. “I need to sit down.” She slid to the floor, where she sat down. Silent tears rolled down her face.
“Ozi, I am sorry.”
“Sorry about what? What are you sorry about?” she burst out, looking up at him where he stood.
There were tears in Steve's eyes, but Ozioma was unmoved. “What did I do to deserve this? Jesus! Why do you need to do this even when you make foreign trips always … oh, God! Is this the real business you do? You've been lying to me from day one? Who knows whether Steve is even your real name?”
He didn't answer.
“Oh my God! It's not … what is your real name?”
“My friends call me …”
“Which friends? The friends that I have never seen? Or the ones that the police say died, last night?” she asked. “What did I do to deserve this? I am a good girl, oh! I work, I am not greedy, I go to church, I go to confession and I take Holy Communion. How did I find myself in this?”
“Please, Ozi. Do you want your neighbours to hear?” he asked desperately.
“Ah, let them hear! Let the world hear: my boyfriend is an armed robber!” she shouted.
Steve swooped down and covered her mouth with his hand. Her eyes bulged, as she struggled with him.
“I don't want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I will let you go, if you promise not to scream.”
She nodded and he removed his hand.
Ozioma began to sob. The energy with which she sobbed, broke his heart.
“If you calm down and stop crying, I'll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Ah, I will stop crying,” she said, as she continued to cry. “I will stop crying and you can tell me. Tell me what offence I committed, that you decided to destroy my life.”
Steve was quiet, till the sobbing subsided.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Onukwube. That's what my parents called me.”
“What is your full name and where are you from?” she insisted.
“My name is Onukwube Ejiofor Stephen Ugwuoke. I come from Ukpabi-Nimbo in Uzo-Uwani Local Government of Enugu State.”
“So, one of your names is actually Steve,” she rationalised. Maybe things weren't as bad as they sounded.
When he didn't answer, she said, “You said you would tell me everything.”
So, he told her. He told her about his parents, his sister and his cousin. He told her about the circumstances leading to his parents' demise. He relayed how he had stolen the image of Diameneke and what the result had been.
He also told her how he had tried to make ends meet, by becoming a barrow-boy. He then told her how he had taken to armed robbery.
“The men who were killed last night,” she wanted to know. “Were they the ones who rescued you from the task-force people?”
“No,” he shook his head.
“I don't understand,” she complained.
“They were members of my own gang,” he replied.
“I don't understand. I don't understand what you are saying,” she complained, looking like she was ready to resume bawling. “One minute, you say they rescued you from those who called you nwa Nsukka. Now, you are telling me that they were members of your own gang.”
“Ozi, the ones who rescued me … there was one operation that I didn't follow them. They got killed. They were shot and killed. I didn't know what else to do; armed robbery was the only thing I knew how to do. So … so, I formed my own gang.”
“Hey, God!” Ozioma exclaimed. “So now that the new ones have been killed and you say armed robbery is all you know how to do, will you go and form another gang? How many times will you do that? Steve! Until someone catches you? Hey, Mary, mother of God!”
“Nobody knows my real identity, not even my gang members. They didn't even know where I come from. They have never been to my house.”
“And you think that makes it better?” she asked. “have I been to your house?”
“But you are different.”
“Okwu!” she snorted. “If they don't know your real name, what do they call you in your gang?”
“See-Money,” he mumbled.
“Come again?” she demanded.
“See-Money,” he repeated.
“Hey! Anwuola m ooo! I'm well and truly dead! You! You are See-Money?!”
Ozioma wept bitterly, as he knelt before her.
“Please, forgive me. I am sorry,” he said.
“Steve, how can you do this to me? Eh, why?” she sobbed.
He crawled to her and tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. He sat beside her on the floor and cried silently. After a while, she stood up.
“Where are you going?” he asked, as she headed for the table where her phone was. She began to dial a number, as she continued to sob. He knew she was calling the police, but he felt powerless to stop her. His gang-members were dead, he would never find his sister, and Ozioma hated him. What else did he have to lose?
“Stanley, did you get my message?” he heard Ozioma ask. He blinked. Stanley was the name of her producer.
“No, Stanley. I'm not OK,” she sobbed. “I am ill and I just wanted to let you know I won't be at work, the whole of this week.”
CHAPTER 11
Three weeks later
The couple drove in silence till they got to St. John Paul Seminary School, Okpuno Awka.
Fr. Chidozie came out from his office to welcome them. Onukwube's face revealed his discomfort, even as his hands quivered. Fr. Chidozie led them into the chapel. Ozioma took a pew, but Fr. Chidozie kept on walking and Onukwube followed him.
Fr. Chidozie sat in a pew and put his stole around his neck, as Onukwube knelt down and crossed himself.
Ozioma could see them, but could not hear anything either of them said.
Fr. Chidozie crossed himself and began, “In the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Onukwube said. “It has been twenty years since my last confession …”
Some metres away, Ozioma fiddled with her engagement ring. She hoped she was doing the right thing. This went against everything she had ever been taught, but there were times when the things that one had learned were insufficient.
Onukwube – or Steve, as she knew him – was not a bad man. He had been a victim of circumstances. And she loved him. He had been kind to her since they met. He had gone through really hard times and was ready to make amends.
There was no truly innocent person on the planet. Everyone did something, at one point or the other, that they ended up regretting. Everyone was striving to be a better version of themselves. Onukwube wanted to be a better person. Because of the things he had been through, he would be a good husband and father; he wouldn’t want to disappoint her. The grace of God would see to that. There was no perfect human being; even she wasn't perfect.
It was true she hadn't engaged in anything like armed robbery, but everyone was a condemned sinner. There was no big sin or small sin; a sin was a sin in the sight of God. But people could be so judgemental and they would not understand.
What if someone reported him to the police?
Ozioma shuddered.
But nobody apart from she and Fr. Chidozie, knew Onukwube's real identity, or what he had done. Ozioma had made sure not to tell anyone, not even her best friend, Obiageli who was a fellow radio presenter at a different station.
In fact, she had sent Obiageli a message to tell her that she had to rush out of town to visit her parents, who had sent for her. But Ozioma had been holed up in Onukwube's new house for the past two weeks. She hadn't taken or returned Obiageli's calls; she had just managed to send an SMS saying they would meet up when she returned from her parents'. She had not spoken to Obiageli. So, even if she wanted to, Obiageli could not tell anyone, including the Police, what she did not know.
That left Fr. Chidozie. But he was bound by his vows; he would never tell anyone. Yet, these didn't make Ozioma relax.
What if Onukwube didn't change?
She shook her head to clear it of the thought. He had sworn to her … promised her that his violent days were behind him. He said he wanted to build a future with her, because he loved her.
Ozioma loved him, too. She couldn't believe she was in this position. She knew what he had done, but she couldn't bring herself to report him. She couldn't even bring herself to stop loving him. She knew she was taking a risk, but wasn't that what faith was all about?
CHAPTER 12
Three days later, accompanied by Ozioma, Onukwube went home to Nimbo. By now, the Igwe and some of the elders were too old to recognise him. And he was no longer the boy who ran away from the village, many years ago. Onukwube was now a man.
The Onukwube they remembered, had been a terror and a ne'er-do-well. The man standing before them, they did not know. Anyone could walk in and make any claims. So, they interrogated him, till they were satisfied that he was a son of the soil.
Then, he knelt before them and begged their forgiveness.
“My son,” the Igwe said after a while. “We have forgiven you. But what you committed … it is sacrilege. And you must make atonement.”
Atonement consisted of certain traditional rites to be performed, so that the gods of the land could be appeased. Onukwube did not object or argue. He paid what he was asked, then went to his homestead to see his own relations.
His uncles were happier to see him because they could tell from the kind of car he drove, that he had made it. They called him their son and patted him on the back.
When he asked after Afoma, he was told that she was so grown up, that he would not recognise her if they met. Even they had a hard time recognising her when she last came to visit with Ifechi.
“Which Ifechi?” he asked.
“Ifechi, your sister!”
Among the Igbo, one did not need to have the same parents to be regarded as a sister or brother; proof a blood relationship was sufficient.
“The last time she came was for Ifechi's igba nkwu,” they told him.
Onukwube blinked. “Ifechi's what?”
“Oh, my son,” laughed one of his uncles. “Ifechi is now a married woman. Ifechi and Afoma came together, when a rich man and his people came to do the traditional marriage rites for Ifechi.”
“Does that mean they live together?” he wanted to know.
“That, we don't know. But we know that Ifechi and Afoma live in Onitsha.”
“Do you have any address for any of them?” he asked, feeling hopeful.
Uncle Ndulue shook his head sadly. “What will we use their address for? We don't travel … do we know where Onitsha is? Since I was born, I have never left this village! I was born here, I married here, had my children here and I will be buried here.”
Onukwube swallowed his disappointment, but some traces showed on his face. “So, nobody has their address?”
“We didn't know you would come back … there was no reason for us to ask for their address.” This was Uncle Nwadinobi.
“OK,” Onukwube said, blinking away tears, as Ozioma touched his arm in silent solidarity.
“But they are doing well,” Uncle Ndulue assured him. “Ifechi and Afoma are university graduates.”
“They are?” Onukwube asked, feeling weak.
“Yes.” This was Mazi Okafor. “Afoma is a lawyer and Ifechi is a teacher.”
Before he could stop it, a tear rolled down Onukwube's right cheek.
His uncles looked as alarmed as Ozioma felt. “O gini?”
He cleaned his face on his shirt sleeve, as he explained to them that Ifechi would hate him for all he had done to her.
“She will not forgive me,” he moaned.
“No, don't say that,” Mazi Okafor encouraged him. “Ifechi … her heart is very kind. Sometimes, we do things out of ignorance.”
“Do you know,” continued Uncle Ndulue, “do you know that when she last came, she and her husband gave me money?”
“She did,” agreed Uncle Nwadinobi. “She gave all of us; her heart is very free. She is a kind person.”
“I just wish I could see her and Afoma again,” Onukwube mumbled.
“You will,” assured Mazi Okafor. “As far as there is life, there is hope. Everything is a matter of time. You don't know how it will happen … did you know when you were leaving Nimbo that you will be this rich?”
Onukwube shook his head. He had had no idea. The circumstances in which he had left the village, had been less than ideal. But it dawned on him that if he had not left, he might have been stuck in Nimbo, like his uncles. Yes, Ifechi and Afoma gave them money. But it could not be said that his uncles were rich. They were actually quite poor. They weren't exactly starving, but they had remained in the village.
“Who is this beautiful girl that you came with?” Elder Nduka asked. He had remained quiet till now, but he had a knowing look in his eyes.
“Oh,” smiled Onukwube, as Ozioma knelt down. “Her name is Ozioma Nwankwo. She is the woman I have asked to marry me.”
Sounds of oohs and ahhs went round; Ozioma tried not to preen when they commented on her beauty.
“O maka!” Mazi Okafor said. “Get up, get up. Let your fine skin not spoil!”
The others nodded their agreement.
“My daughter, what do you do? Are you a student?” asked Uncle Ndulue.
“No, sir,” she responded, as Onukwube laughed.
“Ah, is there anything wrong with what I said?” asked Uncle Ndulue.
“No, Papa … there is nothing wrong with what you said,” replied Onukwube. “We own a business together.”
“Ah, let her speak for herself,” Mazi Okafor said, good-naturedly.
“But, Mazi,” responded, “Onukwube is a good boy. He is just protecting his wife-to-be.”
“He is a good boy,” agreed Mazi Okafor. “But if she will be one of our daughters, she should feel free. There is nothing to protect her from; we are not enemies.”
They laughed, as Mazi Okafor turned to Ozioma. “My daughter, he said you own a business together.”
“Yes, Papa. It's a boutique.”
“Ahhhh!” exclaimed Uncle Ndulue, although the real meaning was lost on him.
“Yes, Papa,” she replied. “But I also have a job at a radio station and with a magazine. I help to advertise the boutique in the magazine and on my radio show.”
“Our son has brought home a hard-working journalist,” Uncle Ndulue said.
Then, with clarity that was so forceful, that it made his head ache, it came to him.
He looked at his form, stretched out under a heavy blanket; he was wearing only boxers. His clothes were nowhere to be found. Ozioma must have managed to undress him; he remembered the blood.
Had she called anyone to help her?
How had she explained the blood?
What would he tell her?
Just then, an alarm clock went off. Ozioma stood up from another sofa where she was bundled up and looked at him. For a reason he wasn't sure of, he closed his eyes and held his breath. Ozioma came over to him and touched his forehead. She was worried that he seemed to have a slight temperature. There was no way she could leave him like this. Besides, she needed some answers.
She walked back to the sofa where she had slept, to retrieve her mobile phone from the side stool. Then, she went to the kitchen to make some tea. In the kitchen, she turned on a small radio that she kept there, then put some water in a kettle. As she waited for the water to boil, she began to type an SMS to her producer. Before they sent a car for her, she needed to let them know that she would not make it to work, today.
“In Asaba, in the early hours of this morning,” a female voice said, shortly after the radio came to life, “there was a robbery attack on Okpanamu Street. Three suspects were shot. Security officials believe a fourth member of the gang escaped, although he was badly injured. The police requests that members of the public, including hospital staff, be vigilant and notify the nearest police station if such a person is found.”
As soon as she sent the SMS, the water began to boil. She lifted the kettle, then stared at the radio, as words began to sink in. She dropped the kettle. She shook her head, to clear it of the idea that had started to form. She rubbed her face. When she removed her hands from her face, Steve was standing in the doorway. Then, the penny dropped.
“No,” Ozioma said, as she felt her heart breaking.
“Ozi,” Steve began.
“No,” she said again, backing away.
“I can explain,” Steve tried to calm her, walking towards her.
“Oh, my God! You?” she continued to back away.
The kitchen was small and she was now in a corner, with Steve in front of her. “You can explain?! Ah! I'm finished!”
She had her phone in her mind and started to dial a number, but Steve snatched the phone from her.
“Ozioma, please.”
“Please, what? Are you going to kill me?”
No!” Steve exclaimed. “Why would I? I don't …”
“You don't what?” she challenged. “You don't kill, you just rob? Steve, you have finished me! But you go to church! How can you be an armed robber?”
He shrugged.
“Ah, this is why you're able to give so much money without thinking … hey, God!” Ozioma burst into tears, as it hit her fully. Her phone forgotten, she put her hands on her head. “I need to sit down.” She slid to the floor, where she sat down. Silent tears rolled down her face.
“Ozi, I am sorry.”
“Sorry about what? What are you sorry about?” she burst out, looking up at him where he stood.
There were tears in Steve's eyes, but Ozioma was unmoved. “What did I do to deserve this? Jesus! Why do you need to do this even when you make foreign trips always … oh, God! Is this the real business you do? You've been lying to me from day one? Who knows whether Steve is even your real name?”
He didn't answer.
“Oh my God! It's not … what is your real name?”
“My friends call me …”
“Which friends? The friends that I have never seen? Or the ones that the police say died, last night?” she asked. “What did I do to deserve this? I am a good girl, oh! I work, I am not greedy, I go to church, I go to confession and I take Holy Communion. How did I find myself in this?”
“Please, Ozi. Do you want your neighbours to hear?” he asked desperately.
“Ah, let them hear! Let the world hear: my boyfriend is an armed robber!” she shouted.
Steve swooped down and covered her mouth with his hand. Her eyes bulged, as she struggled with him.
“I don't want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I will let you go, if you promise not to scream.”
She nodded and he removed his hand.
Ozioma began to sob. The energy with which she sobbed, broke his heart.
“If you calm down and stop crying, I'll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Ah, I will stop crying,” she said, as she continued to cry. “I will stop crying and you can tell me. Tell me what offence I committed, that you decided to destroy my life.”
Steve was quiet, till the sobbing subsided.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Onukwube. That's what my parents called me.”
“What is your full name and where are you from?” she insisted.
“My name is Onukwube Ejiofor Stephen Ugwuoke. I come from Ukpabi-Nimbo in Uzo-Uwani Local Government of Enugu State.”
“So, one of your names is actually Steve,” she rationalised. Maybe things weren't as bad as they sounded.
When he didn't answer, she said, “You said you would tell me everything.”
So, he told her. He told her about his parents, his sister and his cousin. He told her about the circumstances leading to his parents' demise. He relayed how he had stolen the image of Diameneke and what the result had been.
He also told her how he had tried to make ends meet, by becoming a barrow-boy. He then told her how he had taken to armed robbery.
“The men who were killed last night,” she wanted to know. “Were they the ones who rescued you from the task-force people?”
“No,” he shook his head.
“I don't understand,” she complained.
“They were members of my own gang,” he replied.
“I don't understand. I don't understand what you are saying,” she complained, looking like she was ready to resume bawling. “One minute, you say they rescued you from those who called you nwa Nsukka. Now, you are telling me that they were members of your own gang.”
“Ozi, the ones who rescued me … there was one operation that I didn't follow them. They got killed. They were shot and killed. I didn't know what else to do; armed robbery was the only thing I knew how to do. So … so, I formed my own gang.”
“Hey, God!” Ozioma exclaimed. “So now that the new ones have been killed and you say armed robbery is all you know how to do, will you go and form another gang? How many times will you do that? Steve! Until someone catches you? Hey, Mary, mother of God!”
“Nobody knows my real identity, not even my gang members. They didn't even know where I come from. They have never been to my house.”
“And you think that makes it better?” she asked. “have I been to your house?”
“But you are different.”
“Okwu!” she snorted. “If they don't know your real name, what do they call you in your gang?”
“See-Money,” he mumbled.
“Come again?” she demanded.
“See-Money,” he repeated.
“Hey! Anwuola m ooo! I'm well and truly dead! You! You are See-Money?!”
Ozioma wept bitterly, as he knelt before her.
“Please, forgive me. I am sorry,” he said.
“Steve, how can you do this to me? Eh, why?” she sobbed.
He crawled to her and tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. He sat beside her on the floor and cried silently. After a while, she stood up.
“Where are you going?” he asked, as she headed for the table where her phone was. She began to dial a number, as she continued to sob. He knew she was calling the police, but he felt powerless to stop her. His gang-members were dead, he would never find his sister, and Ozioma hated him. What else did he have to lose?
“Stanley, did you get my message?” he heard Ozioma ask. He blinked. Stanley was the name of her producer.
“No, Stanley. I'm not OK,” she sobbed. “I am ill and I just wanted to let you know I won't be at work, the whole of this week.”
CHAPTER 11
Three weeks later
The couple drove in silence till they got to St. John Paul Seminary School, Okpuno Awka.
Fr. Chidozie came out from his office to welcome them. Onukwube's face revealed his discomfort, even as his hands quivered. Fr. Chidozie led them into the chapel. Ozioma took a pew, but Fr. Chidozie kept on walking and Onukwube followed him.
Fr. Chidozie sat in a pew and put his stole around his neck, as Onukwube knelt down and crossed himself.
Ozioma could see them, but could not hear anything either of them said.
Fr. Chidozie crossed himself and began, “In the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Onukwube said. “It has been twenty years since my last confession …”
Some metres away, Ozioma fiddled with her engagement ring. She hoped she was doing the right thing. This went against everything she had ever been taught, but there were times when the things that one had learned were insufficient.
Onukwube – or Steve, as she knew him – was not a bad man. He had been a victim of circumstances. And she loved him. He had been kind to her since they met. He had gone through really hard times and was ready to make amends.
There was no truly innocent person on the planet. Everyone did something, at one point or the other, that they ended up regretting. Everyone was striving to be a better version of themselves. Onukwube wanted to be a better person. Because of the things he had been through, he would be a good husband and father; he wouldn’t want to disappoint her. The grace of God would see to that. There was no perfect human being; even she wasn't perfect.
It was true she hadn't engaged in anything like armed robbery, but everyone was a condemned sinner. There was no big sin or small sin; a sin was a sin in the sight of God. But people could be so judgemental and they would not understand.
What if someone reported him to the police?
Ozioma shuddered.
But nobody apart from she and Fr. Chidozie, knew Onukwube's real identity, or what he had done. Ozioma had made sure not to tell anyone, not even her best friend, Obiageli who was a fellow radio presenter at a different station.
In fact, she had sent Obiageli a message to tell her that she had to rush out of town to visit her parents, who had sent for her. But Ozioma had been holed up in Onukwube's new house for the past two weeks. She hadn't taken or returned Obiageli's calls; she had just managed to send an SMS saying they would meet up when she returned from her parents'. She had not spoken to Obiageli. So, even if she wanted to, Obiageli could not tell anyone, including the Police, what she did not know.
That left Fr. Chidozie. But he was bound by his vows; he would never tell anyone. Yet, these didn't make Ozioma relax.
What if Onukwube didn't change?
She shook her head to clear it of the thought. He had sworn to her … promised her that his violent days were behind him. He said he wanted to build a future with her, because he loved her.
Ozioma loved him, too. She couldn't believe she was in this position. She knew what he had done, but she couldn't bring herself to report him. She couldn't even bring herself to stop loving him. She knew she was taking a risk, but wasn't that what faith was all about?
CHAPTER 12
Three days later, accompanied by Ozioma, Onukwube went home to Nimbo. By now, the Igwe and some of the elders were too old to recognise him. And he was no longer the boy who ran away from the village, many years ago. Onukwube was now a man.
The Onukwube they remembered, had been a terror and a ne'er-do-well. The man standing before them, they did not know. Anyone could walk in and make any claims. So, they interrogated him, till they were satisfied that he was a son of the soil.
Then, he knelt before them and begged their forgiveness.
“My son,” the Igwe said after a while. “We have forgiven you. But what you committed … it is sacrilege. And you must make atonement.”
Atonement consisted of certain traditional rites to be performed, so that the gods of the land could be appeased. Onukwube did not object or argue. He paid what he was asked, then went to his homestead to see his own relations.
His uncles were happier to see him because they could tell from the kind of car he drove, that he had made it. They called him their son and patted him on the back.
When he asked after Afoma, he was told that she was so grown up, that he would not recognise her if they met. Even they had a hard time recognising her when she last came to visit with Ifechi.
“Which Ifechi?” he asked.
“Ifechi, your sister!”
Among the Igbo, one did not need to have the same parents to be regarded as a sister or brother; proof a blood relationship was sufficient.
“The last time she came was for Ifechi's igba nkwu,” they told him.
Onukwube blinked. “Ifechi's what?”
“Oh, my son,” laughed one of his uncles. “Ifechi is now a married woman. Ifechi and Afoma came together, when a rich man and his people came to do the traditional marriage rites for Ifechi.”
“Does that mean they live together?” he wanted to know.
“That, we don't know. But we know that Ifechi and Afoma live in Onitsha.”
“Do you have any address for any of them?” he asked, feeling hopeful.
Uncle Ndulue shook his head sadly. “What will we use their address for? We don't travel … do we know where Onitsha is? Since I was born, I have never left this village! I was born here, I married here, had my children here and I will be buried here.”
Onukwube swallowed his disappointment, but some traces showed on his face. “So, nobody has their address?”
“We didn't know you would come back … there was no reason for us to ask for their address.” This was Uncle Nwadinobi.
“OK,” Onukwube said, blinking away tears, as Ozioma touched his arm in silent solidarity.
“But they are doing well,” Uncle Ndulue assured him. “Ifechi and Afoma are university graduates.”
“They are?” Onukwube asked, feeling weak.
“Yes.” This was Mazi Okafor. “Afoma is a lawyer and Ifechi is a teacher.”
Before he could stop it, a tear rolled down Onukwube's right cheek.
His uncles looked as alarmed as Ozioma felt. “O gini?”
He cleaned his face on his shirt sleeve, as he explained to them that Ifechi would hate him for all he had done to her.
“She will not forgive me,” he moaned.
“No, don't say that,” Mazi Okafor encouraged him. “Ifechi … her heart is very kind. Sometimes, we do things out of ignorance.”
“Do you know,” continued Uncle Ndulue, “do you know that when she last came, she and her husband gave me money?”
“She did,” agreed Uncle Nwadinobi. “She gave all of us; her heart is very free. She is a kind person.”
“I just wish I could see her and Afoma again,” Onukwube mumbled.
“You will,” assured Mazi Okafor. “As far as there is life, there is hope. Everything is a matter of time. You don't know how it will happen … did you know when you were leaving Nimbo that you will be this rich?”
Onukwube shook his head. He had had no idea. The circumstances in which he had left the village, had been less than ideal. But it dawned on him that if he had not left, he might have been stuck in Nimbo, like his uncles. Yes, Ifechi and Afoma gave them money. But it could not be said that his uncles were rich. They were actually quite poor. They weren't exactly starving, but they had remained in the village.
“Who is this beautiful girl that you came with?” Elder Nduka asked. He had remained quiet till now, but he had a knowing look in his eyes.
“Oh,” smiled Onukwube, as Ozioma knelt down. “Her name is Ozioma Nwankwo. She is the woman I have asked to marry me.”
Sounds of oohs and ahhs went round; Ozioma tried not to preen when they commented on her beauty.
“O maka!” Mazi Okafor said. “Get up, get up. Let your fine skin not spoil!”
The others nodded their agreement.
“My daughter, what do you do? Are you a student?” asked Uncle Ndulue.
“No, sir,” she responded, as Onukwube laughed.
“Ah, is there anything wrong with what I said?” asked Uncle Ndulue.
“No, Papa … there is nothing wrong with what you said,” replied Onukwube. “We own a business together.”
“Ah, let her speak for herself,” Mazi Okafor said, good-naturedly.
“But, Mazi,” responded, “Onukwube is a good boy. He is just protecting his wife-to-be.”
“He is a good boy,” agreed Mazi Okafor. “But if she will be one of our daughters, she should feel free. There is nothing to protect her from; we are not enemies.”
They laughed, as Mazi Okafor turned to Ozioma. “My daughter, he said you own a business together.”
“Yes, Papa. It's a boutique.”
“Ahhhh!” exclaimed Uncle Ndulue, although the real meaning was lost on him.
“Yes, Papa,” she replied. “But I also have a job at a radio station and with a magazine. I help to advertise the boutique in the magazine and on my radio show.”
“Our son has brought home a hard-working journalist,” Uncle Ndulue said.
