The Exile

Go-di-di-go-go-di-go. It was the ekwe talking to the clan. The cannon shattered the silence. It must be something very serious had happened. I waited for the news and I heard somebody said “Ezeudu is dead.” It was like a lightning strike towards my heart. I felt cold shiver ran down my back as I remembered the last time the old man had visited me. He tried to persuade me to not being involved in the killing of Ikemefuna. “That boy calls you father” he said.  “Bear no hand in his death”. There were many feelings mixed in my heart at that time.

 

          He was such a very great man in our clan. His funeral was visited by our clan’s entire member. It was a warrior’s funeral as from morning till night warrior came and went in their age groups. I hope my funeral would be the same like this someday. The warriors wore smoked raffia skirts and their bodies were painted with chalk and charcoal. Now and again, an ancestral spirit or egwugwu appeared from the underworld and completely covered in raffia. It was kind of frightening people when egwugwu came because some of them were very violent. We have to restrain them by a strong rope tied around their waist. They would chase people and sang in a terrifying voice, that ekwensu, or evil spirit had entered his eye. I must tell you that some of the egwugwu were quite harmless. We believed that an old man was very close to the ancestors as a man’s life from birth to death was a series transition rite which brought us nearer and nearer to our ancestors. In this funeral, whenever any ancient men appeared in the crowd to dance unsteadily, youger men gave way and tumult subsided.

          It was a great funeral. The shouting and firing of guns, the beating of drums and the brandishing and clanging of machetes increased. Ezeudu was a noble warrior whom had taken three titles in his life. There were four titles in the clan and only one or two men in any generation ever achieved the fourth and highest. If any members of the clan achieved it, they became the lords of our land and that was my ambition. Because of Ezeudu had taken titles, he was to be buried after dark with only a glowing brand to light the sacred ceremony. I was one of the warriors. I had a machete and we clanged it together as our salutes to the dead person. I remembered the air was full of dust and the smell of gunpowder.

          Darkness was around the corner, and the burial was near. We were asked to fire our gun as our last salute to Ezeudu. Suddenly, I heard a cry of agony and shouts of horror. All was silent. Oh my God! My gun had exploded and shot somebody. I was like very shocked and did not know what to do. I had shot Ezeudu’s son of sixteen years old who was dancing the traditional farewell to his father. I felt very bad as I knew nothing like that had ever happened. As the result, I forced to flee from my home because I had done a crime against the earth goddess. They decided I could return back to the clan after 7 years. My heart stopped for a moment hearing this statement. But I had to move on.

          My wives and children wept bitterly while gathering up their things on that night. I was also very sad when gathering up my things. It was my luck to have such a very nice friend, Obierika whom helped me to carry and store my yams in his barn. So, we fled to Mbanta before dawn. This place was my mother’s origin and had lived here before she married my father. My heart hurts even more when they would destroy my home in Umuofia after the dawn. All I can do was hoping for a better life in Mbanta.