Odyssey of the Lion-heart: Captivating Action Adventure Novel

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Title Page

ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART

O’jay Dimbuh

JOSSIDY BOOKS

http://www.jossidy-books.webs.com

Copyright Page

OD ES S EY OF THE LIO N -HEART

Copyright © 2015 O’jay Dimbuh

First Edition. May, 2015

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Jossidy Books, except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles.

ISBN: 978-1-310-41141-0

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of this e-book should be submitted to Jossidy Books at: info.jossidybooks@gmail.com

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

LICENSE NOTE

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Preview Comments

Praise for ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART

This is a thoroughly absorbing and curiously nostalgic tale about an Africa that is long gone. It is full of captivating conflicts, the material is very rich, and the potential for drama is enormous. O’jay has an excellent eye for describing his story’s setting, easily putting the reader in a time and place – a big strength, since the subject matter is rarely written about. – DAVID O’CONNOR, Writer’s Consultants, London, UK.

ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART is an intriguing and evocative historical tale of loyalty, courage, passion, and betrayal; and its writer’s incredibly vivid imagination is better appreciated when viewed against the backdrop of the era he wrote about. This sumptuous feast of storytelling even outdid Harold Robins and Jackie Collins in raunchy fireworks, and will surely live in the mind for a long, long time. – CAROLYN FRENCH, Fifi Oscard Agency, London, UK.

This is an enthralling story about Africa, written with pride and admirable candour. It is a stirring tale of adventure, culture clashes, huge courage, strong convictions, and love. O’jay is truly a gifted storyteller; and will surely go places with this work. A must read. – FRANCES BOND, Literary Agent, Dublin, South Africa.

ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART is a fascinating story of adventure, passion, bravery, friendship, and treachery, all in the background of an Africa still in touch with itself. It is a compelling read. – CHIKA NWANKWO, Professor of English Literature, University of Nigeria, Enugu Campus.

An absorbing, provocative, and multi-layered story, packed with enough heated passion to set a house on fire. It is built on rare convictions, stacked with acts of near-unbelievable courage, and told in a moving and very lively manner – a story you will never forget. – DANIEL LAZAR, Writer’s House, New York, USA.

Absolutely captivating, unforgettable, riveting are words that aptly describe ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART. Sizzling hot and raunchy are other words too. This is one of my best stories ever, and I’ve read plenty. I had to fight with two of my friends over this book and I have no regrets about the fights! See for yourself, it is a truly compelling piece of storytelling. – OSITA OKOLI, Multiple Awards Winning Movie Director.

ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART is a beautifully crafted tale with a gripping plot and very lucid prose. It is built around the passionate convictions of a fearless visionary who lived well ahead of his time; and filled with the astounding gallantry of this golden-hearted man, the sort of which rarely grace this cynical world of ours. I’ve never seen Africa the way I did through this work, and I highly recommend it to any adult reader, despite its more steamy parts. It is a very memorable book. – KATHRYNE SWAYZE, Stuart Krichevsky Literary Agency INC., New York, USA.

ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART is a gripping story of an inevitable collision of cultures, of uncommon, prodigious gallantry, tragically blighted by inimitable hubris, and told with animated, unbridled lucidity. – RICHARD ASIEGBU, Ace Sports Commentator and Multiple Awards Winning Journalist.

Wow, what can I say? I found the quality of this work overwhelming. It is probably the best book ever written about the real Africa. Without doubt, it is one of the very best stories I’ve read, and definitely the most evocative, the most powerful. I just couldn’t put it down, and my husband too. – OLAMIDE JOLU-ADESORO, International Institute of Journalism, Abuja, Nigeria.

A great epic story whose bold scenes of unbridled passion were only outdone by the incredible courage, and deep-felt, revolutionary beliefs of its larger-than-life lead character. It is a moving and seemingly embellished, but very believable tale of an Africa very few could imagine today, given breathing life by this writer’s unique and utterly inimitable flair. I can’t wait for O’jay’s next literary feast. – SEBASTIEN RITSCHER, Mohr Books, Zurich, Switzerland.

Hot raunchy stuff, adventure, great daring, fearless courage, heartbreaking betrayal, tender romance, intrigue, touching loyalty, and friendship… that’s ODYSSEY OF THE LION-HEART, one of the most stirring books I’ve ever read. And it’s mainly about this unknown and alluringly mysterious Africa! I assure you, you won’t be able to put down this book once you get started. I loved it! – MELISSA FLASHMAN, Trident Media Group, New York, USA.

Quick Bites

QUICK BITES

ACTION ADVENTURE:

He was right – it was a cobra! The weak sun cast a faint shadow of the reptile on the ground.

He watched the snake’s shadow move as it lowered itself to the ground, and a frantic thought flashed through his mind. He heard the faint slithering sound again as it approached, and knew that it had to happen in moments!

He moved immediately he saw the snake’s head emerge, less than a pace to his right.

In one breathtakingly quick and fluid motion, he grabbed the reptile behind its head and flung it towards the two men to his far right. The snake still air-borne, he picked up a wooden spear and threw it at the man with the gun, aiming for his torso. Without waiting to see it hit target, he quickly rolled to his left and grabbed the next spear.

He heard screams of Agwo! Agwo! as he drew back his hand to throw the second spear, and he knew that the snake had landed on target. The two men to his left jerked up suddenly from their slouched, sleeping positions, and he aimed at the torso of the closer man who stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape...

STEAMY PASSION:

Sool'uka was like a wild thing beneath him, jerking frenziedly, delirious with pleasure. Her head moved from side to side on the bed, her eyes tightly shut, and her mouth open in progressively louder whimpering cries. Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers gripping and digging convulsively into the bunched muscles there. Then, as though dissatisfied by the lack of traction on his sweat-slicked skin, her hands dropped to the bed, her fingers twisting the bed sheet in a death grip.

The sound of their flesh slapping together, his occasional groan or grunt, and her fevered cries filled the room. Fired on by the rapacious movements of her hips beneath him, he thrust at her with a near-demonic energy and power he had never used on a woman before. To his amazement, though, the slender girl beneath him took all he threw at her, slim legs wrapped around his waist, head thrown back and moving restlessly on the bed, her cries rising to fever pitch...

ROMANCE:

I’m doing this to assuage my hunger for you, quench my thirst for you. I think of you all the time, especially when I lie down to sleep. Your beautiful face, smile, and body fill my thoughts always, making it difficult to keep my mind on my work. Even when I’m sleeping with my wives, I think of you. I have tried to stop the feeling, but it just won’t go away. I believe that if I have you, marry you, then perhaps, this mad fever in my blood will be washed away. Please, don’t refuse me. I want you very much and I promise to be a good husband to you.

She was in no doubt about the veracity of the thickly muttered words. It left her feeling weak, her legs a little shaky. How could she ignore such deep-felt emotions, such a heart-felt appeal?

She said nothing, and there was tense silence for a while. Then he walked towards her, and she stiffened at his silent approach. He stood behind her, gazing at her back, his heart thumping in his chest...

BETRAYAL:

You told me that it wasn’t poison, Ofoma cried, distraught, as he gripped Ez’ibe tightly around his throat with both hands. You swore that what you gave to me was to make me control his mind, to make him do whatever I say. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and tears stood out in them as he held Ez’ibe as though he wanted to strangle him.

Leave me alone, you foolish weakling, groaned Ez’ibe painfully, shoving Ofoma away from him. The man’s attack had startled him for a moment, but he managed to recover before he was choked to death. He had expected that the fool would react with displeasure at finding out that he had been tricked, but this… He was like a half-crazed man, like someone possessed by a wild spirit...

REBELLION:

By midday, the whole of Umuelo was like a battlefield, and many had fled their homes. Some ran to nearby clans where they had friends or family. Others ran to the church house on the outskirts of the clan to take refuge. When the protesters eventually got to the church house, majority of the people there fled on sighting them. Those who stayed back to protest the invasion of their church house were beaten up, receiving several lashes of the cane from the masquerades.

The masquerades invoked more fear than any policemen or court messengers, so the people hid in the bushes and watched helplessly as they destroyed and burnt down their church house.

On that day of madness, the smoke rising from their church house was like the evaporation of hope that their kin would accept their new faith. Strangely, though, most of them were not deterred by this. If anything, it strengthened their resolve to stick to their new beliefs...

Table of Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Co v er

Title Page

Copyright Page

Preview Comments

Quic k Bites

De d ication

Book One (1895-1897)

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

Book Two (1897-1913)

2 3

2 4

2 5

2 6

2 7

2 8

2 9

3 0

3 1

3 2

3 3

3 4

3 5

3 6

3 7

BOOK T H REE (1913-1922)

3 8

3 9

4 0

4 1

4 2

4 3

4 4

4 5

4 6

4 7

4 8

4 9

5 0

5 1

5 2

5 3

5 4

5 5

5 6

EPIL O G UE

ACKNO W L E DG E MENTS

ABOUT T H E A U THOR

FEED B ACK

Dedication

DEDICATION

For all those, all through the ages,

who had suffered, been persecuted,

or even died for listening to their conscience,

and following the path of truth and right.

Also, for all those befallen by the same fate today and tomorrow.

Take heart, be strong, and stand firm for truth and righteousness,

for as surely as night follows day, the sun will set for wickedness and evil…

PSALMS 37: 9-13

BOOK ONE

BOOK ONE

(1895-1897)

THE BEGINNINGS OF THE PROMISE

Look! Sons are an inheritance from Jehovah; the fruitage of the belly is a reward.

Wise King, Solomon (Psalms 127:3)

1

1

August 1895

R ELIEVED, the young man quickly repaired his clothes, all the time scanning the bushes with narrow-eyed intensity. The stop was a necessary distraction on his long journey, despite his misgivings about wild animals, and concern over the setting sun.

To save time, he decided to cut through the bushes in the direction of the road ahead.

He heard a faint sound, ahead and from his left. Stopping, he scanned the surrounding bushes, listening intently.

He heard nothing.

As he started to move, he heard the sound again, and stood still.

What wild animal might…?

Gingerly, he moved forward. A few paces and the sound came again, slightly louder. Instinctively, he dropped into a crouch, his body tensed. 

The sound was human!

He crouched for a while, seasons of hunting making him cautious in this environment. Then the sound came again, louder, borne by a slight breeze. It made his stomach churn and his eyes narrow in thought. It sounded like a child, and the voice seemed muffled.

That person must be in distress, he thought. A wild animal attack? He could not hear the bloodcurdling growls that usually went with such attacks.

Caught in a trap? He straightened, ready to dash forward when another thought stopped him short.

Why was the voice muffled? What was blocking that person’s mouth? He decided to advance very cautiously. His right foot caught on something and he looked down at a fat, dead frog, entangled around a small shrub.

What is it doing there? A premonition of danger washed over him. It was the third such incident since he set out on this journey, and the second since he entered this bush. To him, it was a warning; and for the first time, he thought he might be in danger.

He considered turning and bolting, but shook off the idea. He had to find out what was amiss here, though the two possibilities playing in his mind filled him with dread. Nevertheless, he began to move slowly towards the sound. His heart was beating fast, his body bent low as he moved.

Then another sound stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was a man’s voice, and it reaffirmed the fears that had begun to gnaw at his innards. The earlier sounds seemed more sinister because the man’s low voice was not muffled.

He reached for the hunting knife in the cowhide scabbard at the waistband of his khaki shorts. It was a treasured deathbed gift from his grandfather, a great hunter and warrior. He stroked the smooth sides in unconscious reflex, and a strange comfort washed over him. As he moved forward slowly, memories of his great ancestors filled him with courage, and he blessed his grandfather for it.

He crouched behind a big mango tree. Though he could hear the men, thick bushes blocked his viewpoint. He could not see their entry point, but he guessed that they were within a clearing.

A plan was forming in his mind, and he needed to know their number. How could he see them without being seen?

Something wet and light dropped on his neck and he jumped, his body going tense. He smelt it even before he removed it and looked up to see the culprit – the wild pigeon whose faeces had dropped on his neck. He smiled tautly at it, relieved, and an idea struck him. He turned and scanned the area quickly for the right tree.

Soon he chose an ukwa tree, about thirty paces away from him. It was tall, and the thick leaves would give him cover as he climbed high enough to see into the clearing. He moved swiftly to the tree, not directly, but first to the right, always seeking cover, imbibing lessons from his grandfather.

At its base, he quickly scanned the tree, to make sure there were no birds or small animals, whose flight or cries of alarm could draw the men’s attention. Satisfied, he began to climb. At about two-thirds of the tree’s height, he stopped and looked in the direction he thought the voices were coming from.

At first, he saw nothing. Then his gaze drifted to his left and his breath caught in his throat.

There were five men in a small clearing. They were all bare-bodied, except for one who wore a black khaki shirt; with the equally dark-coloured shirts of the others flung around the clearing.

Dark clothes – nightclothes, he thought.

Sitting opposite the men were two children – a boy and a girl. They sat with their hands tied behind them, backing and leaning on each other. Their legs were bound together, too, and palm fronds ran between their lips, tied behind their heads. They were too far away for him to guess their ages correctly; yet the sight of them drove him wild, as the most painful memories of his young life flooded his mind.

Nduka… Nduka… his beloved cousin, Nduka…

Blood rushed into his head and he felt dizzy. Everything was hazy before him, and he had to grab at the tree trunk for support. His heart pounded in his chest as he slowly recovered. He was disoriented for a moment, then the faint sound of laughter drew his eyes to the clearing again. One of the men was handing out pieces of roasted yam to the others, which they dipped in a calabash bowl before eating.

He had seen enough, and climbed quickly down the tree to go and carry out his plan. About three hundred paces away, he had noticed an old farm littered with yam stalks, and left to fallow. He moved there quickly at a trot.

Soon, he selected five slim, straight and strong yam stalks, each about two-arm length. Then squatting on the ground, he began to sharpen the ends into spears with his hunting knife. He worked fast, the name, Nduka, running through his mind like a litany…

Shortly, he was crouched behind the nearest tree to the clearing, waiting for the right moment to move in and strike. His head was bent, his body tense as he listened to the voices behind the thick clump of bushes to his left. His heart beat fast as adrenaline rushed through his veins.

Applying great stalking skills, he had silently spread his wooden spears and sturdy, rough-hewn rocks opposite the camouflaged opening of the clearing.

The success of his plan was predicated on creating the impression that several people were attacking the men at once. Therefore, he would have to throw the spears and stones rapidly, from slightly different positions.

Now he waited, hoping for a lull in their conversation, more relaxation of their guard. They had just eaten, and a soft, early-evening breeze stirred the air. It would relax them; perhaps make them drowsy, as it did to wild animals. They might even doze off and make his task much easier.

Gradually, their conversation petered out and there was quiet.

The sun had receded and formed a magnificent orange ball in the horizon when he started to move. He moved slowly towards the clearing, stopping every few paces to listen and then continue.

Thirty paces… twenty paces… ten…

He approached by the side of the children as they sat in the foreground, a little to his right. Two of the men sat to his far right, with two others a little to his left, in the background. In the middle, directly in his line of vision, and behind the children, sat a man with a gun propped against the short tree on which he was leaning.

His body tensed, ready to spring up and attack. Then he heard a faint gasp, and his head shot up. He found himself staring into two pairs of frightened eyes. In the span of an endless moment, he stared at the bewildered children, less than ten paces away from him. Then he brought his forefinger to his lips. For a heart-stopping moment, he was unsure if they would heed his conspiratorial warning. Then the moment passed and he saw their eyes become less rounded, less frightened.

He shook and nodded his head alternately in a gesture he hoped would help calm them down, and watched with great relief, as they seemed to relax. He smiled at them, and to his amazed delight, the boy managed a caricature of a smile, what with the palm frond cutting into his mouth!

He smelt it before he heard the hiss, and his body went stock-still, his muscles locked tight with anxiety. It was approaching from behind him, and he fought the overwhelming urge to turn around. Any sudden movement could make it strike out instinctively in self-defence. Besides, such movement might draw the men’s attention. His best option was to stay still and wait.

The faint slithering sound stopped and his body became even tenser with apprehension. He suspected a poisonous reptile, and even now, he could easily imagine its body raised, ready to strike. Then he had an inspired thought. With his body held still, he turned his eyes to the right, where he guessed it was coming from.

He was right – it was a cobra! The weak sun cast a faint shadow of the reptile on the ground.

He watched the snake’s shadow move as it lowered itself to the ground, and a frantic thought flashed through his mind. He heard the faint slithering sound again as it approached, and knew that it had to happen in moments!

He moved immediately he saw the snake’s head emerge, less than a pace to his right.

In one breathtakingly quick and fluid motion, he grabbed the reptile behind its head and flung it towards the two men to his far right. The snake still air-borne, he picked up a wooden spear and threw it at the man with the gun, aiming for his torso. Without waiting to see it hit target, he quickly rolled to his left and grabbed the next spear.

He heard screams of Agwo! Agwo! as he drew back his hand to throw the second spear, and he knew that the snake had landed on target. The two men to his left jerked up suddenly from their slouched, sleeping positions, and he aimed at the torso of the closer man who stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape.

Once again, without waiting to see the spear hit target, he rolled over to his left. He sprang up with a stone in his right hand and a spear in his left. The second of the two men to his left had scrambled to his feet and was making a mad dash for the gun. The young man looked at his hands and opted for the stone. He had done enough killing.

This time, he watched the big stone hit the back of the man’s head as he reached for the up-standing gun. He toppled over and lay still on the ground.

He heard screaming and looked up just in time to see one of the men on the far right side of the clearing run wildly into the bush. He clutched the left side of his neck, screaming that the snake had bitten him. With all that excited activity, and the position of the bite, he would surely fall to his death soon.

A movement to the left caught his eye, and he turned to see his mate disappear through the entrance. He ran as though all the evil spirits in all the evil forests were after him. It would have been funny but for the situation at hand.

A horrible gurgling sound drew his attention. He looked down to see the man with the gun clutching feebly at the spear embedded in his throat as his body fell into spasms, twitching on the ground. Blood dribbled from his mouth and flowed down his throat. The horrible sounds he made chilled the bones. Fortunately, his agony would soon end.

Further to his left, the other man clutched at the spear buried in his abdomen, making pitiful grunting noises as he struggled to sit up. Great spurts of blood poured out from his wound, covering his hands; and the look of sheer terror on his face was almost comical. The young man picked up another big stone and watched it hit his forehead, knocking him unconscious. It was better for him to die without so much pain.

Quickly, he ran to the terrified children and cut them loose. The girl had fainted during the attack, so he lifted her to his shoulder. Then grabbing the perplexed boy by the hand, they ran out of the clearing. Everything had happened in moments.

They ran through the bush for a while before bursting out onto the road. Shortly after, the girl started to groan, and then struggle on his shoulder. He put her down and she crumbled to the ground, whimpering in fear. She had a look of terror on her face as she scrambled away from him.

He stood watching silently as the boy held and comforted her. After a while, he managed to reassure her and they set off again at a run. The young man noted with a grim smile that the girl stayed beside the boy, away from him.

They ran for quite a while, and were panting heavily by the time they slowed down to walk at a brisk pace. He had to think fast about where they would go. Darkness was falling, and getting to Obosi was out of the question. As they got to a deserted Ek’uz’agu market, he took a left turn and headed towards Umuoji. They would go to his sister’s home and spend the night. It was the nearest place they could go from there.

Throughout their journey, they did not exchange any words. Despite the terrible violence they had witnessed, the children knew instinctively that they were safe with him. As they approached the village, he turned to look at them, and they smiled at him – the boy broadly, and the girl tentatively. He smiled back at them, moved by the trust he saw in their eyes in the late evening’s dying rays of light. He felt sure then that the risk he took to rescue them was well worth it.

2

2

A T his older sister’s marital home, the spontaneous expressions of joy that greeted the news of his feat in rescuing the children went on late into the night.

It was already dark when they entered his brother-in-law’s compound and found him discussing with some men in his obi. His sister’s husband got up and hugged him as recognition dawned on him. Though they were together two days ago at his mother’s Ilochi ceremonies, he was startled to see him at his home at this time.

Nw’ony’ocha! Ok’afo exclaimed, calling him a pet name that referred to his association with white people.

Nnukwu-ogom, he replied, calling him ‘my big in-law’, in deference to his greater age.

Nnoonu, Ok’afo continued, welcoming them warmly.

Thank you, the young man responded on their behalf.

Who’re the children with you? Ok’afo could barely mask his curiosity and slight anxiety as he regarded them. He was a jovial man of average height and build, who had won his elder sister’s heart with his irresistible jokes, and he was very fond of him. However, he could only gaze at his anxious face, illuminated by lamplight, as he asked again about his companions.

Let them come in and sit down first, Ok’afo, interjected an old man seated inside the obi. He paused, looking up from the snuff he was about to put into his nostril. Some questions are better answered sitting down.

Yes… yes, come in and sit down first, Ok’afo enthused as he ushered them into the obi.

Welcome, my son. Welcome, my children, greeted the old man with the snuff, and the other two men joined him in welcoming them.

"Thank you, Nn’anyi. Thank you, our fathers, for welcoming us," the young man answered. The two children sat mute, gazing around with wide, bemused eyes.

They all declined the men’s offer of garden eggs and palm wine.

Where’s my sister? Is she at home? Oziel’onye was the first daughter of his father’s second wife.

Yes, she’s at home. I’ll send for her shortly. But won’t you tell us where you’re coming from and about the children with you? Ok’afo could not contain his curiosity anymore.

I’ll tell you, my great in-law, he assured with a heavy sigh. But it’s a long story, and I think that everyone here should hear it, including some members of your kindred.

He had their full attention now as they stared at him intently.

"Ehee, I said so! exclaimed the old man with the snuff. Some questions are better answered sitting down. Quickly, Ok’afo and Nwan’eli, go and call our people, please."

"Yes, Ogbuefi." Ok’afo called out to his wives to come and greet their visitors. Then he hurriedly left with Nwan’eli.

Oziel’onye exclaimed in surprise at the sight of her little brother. She hurried over and gave him a big hug, then gazed curiously at the two children beside him. Soon, her co-wife and their children surrounded them, chattering excitedly and glancing curiously at the children with him.

Soon, Ok’afo, Nwan’eli, and several other kindred men and women, joined them. There were over forty people gathered there, including curious passersby.

Ogbuefi Okechukwu called for silence and the young man started to tell his story.

There’re two sides to this story – my side of it and the one these children have to tell. I think it’s better for them to tell their own side first. He paused and looked at the boy. What brought you to the place I saw you two this afternoon?

The boy swallowed nervously and looked around at the gathered people. Then at length, he began to speak.

They… they were slave-hunters… His voice trailed away as cries of ‘who?’ and ‘what?’ echoed around the gathering at the deeply hated word.

Yes, go on, Ogbuefi Okechukwu urged him, as he seemed to lose his tongue at the barrage of questions.

They fell silent as he told how five strangers kidnapped him and his cousin when they went to fetch firewood in the bush. They had gagged them with palm-fronds running between their lips and tied their hands with twine rope. Then dragged them through the bush, travelling virtually all night. Using mostly bush paths, they had arrived early that morning at the clearing where the young man saw them. Since their capture the previous day, they only ate that afternoon.

His tale brought tears to many eyes, and the women gathered around, clucking in sympathy and fusing over them.

At the prompting of Daa Mgb’oye, one of the oldest women in the kindred, they led the children away to bath and eat. Then it was time for the young man’s story.

He barely finished telling it before shouts of ‘Eze-nwata!’, ‘Omek’agu!’ and ‘Nna-nnia!’ rent the air, eulogizing him, calling him ‘the child king’, ‘leopard-like one’ and ‘his father’s father’.

Then young men in the gathering carried him shoulder-high and started parading around the kindred. They did this to the accompaniment of music played with the ekwe, wooden gong, and ogene, metal gong, which had materialized as though by magic. They also clapped their hands as they sang his praises to the high heavens, praying for more of such great men of valour who made nations strong and secure.

When they brought him back, Ogbuefi Okechukwu, the oldest titled man in the gathering, asked for a kola nut and some palm wine. Then he asked the young man to kneel down before him.

First, he gave thanks for seeing this great day, and for the young man’s ability to pay the evil slave-hunters the full wages of their sins. Then he blessed him, praising such valour in one so young, and predicting greater feats from him.

Then he broke the kola nut and threw out a cotyledon of it on the floor for their ancestors. He also poured out some of the wine, calling on the ancestors to come and take their share. Then they shared the rest of the kola nut among all present. They also shared the palm wine among the gathered people, as the impromptu celebration started in earnest. Food and drinks materialized from all corners of the kindred, brought by men and women who were very pleased with the young man’s feat.

As he rejoined them after taking his bath, the mood was high and the atmosphere charged with the joy of the moment. Little groups of men and women sang reminiscent songs of great achievements, and they added his name among those great men of courage.

In response to their promptings, he danced a little, while the music rose in tempo, and the singing got louder.

When he eventually sat down to eat, he felt eyes on him and looked up to see the girl staring intently at him. Their eyes met and she looked away shyly. When their eyes met again, he smiled and she smiled back shyly.

Her prettiness struck him. With the grime washed away, the transformation was great. He noted that she was quite fair in complexion. She was thin, though, and her face looked pinched. He glimpsed a haunted look in the depths of her beautiful eyes, and wondered about that in one so young.

Perhaps, a result of the trauma they went through, he thought grimly.

The boy joined her and he noted the resemblance between them for the first time. He beckoned on them and they came to him.

Sit down and eat with me, he invited with a smile.

Thank you, but our belly is full, the boy answered, rubbing his stomach.

So full that you can’t eat meat? he teased.

No, thank you, he answered with a smile, eyeing the meat all the same.

What about you? He turned to the girl.

No, I can’t eat anymore, my belly is bursting. Those women wanted to kill us with food in there. They kept asking us to eat more and more, and now I can hardly walk.

She spoke so artlessly… so innocently, that he laughed heartily, charmed by her lack of self-consciousness.

How like a child, he thought, and smiled at her. She smiled back, and once again, her thin face lit up as the sun does a sullen sky. He gazed at her happy face, thinking, this one will be a real beauty one day.

Where’re you from? he asked, idly stirring his soup with his forefinger.

We’re from Nnewi, the boy answered.

He had already guessed that much from their dialect.

Where, in Nnewi, are you from? His tone was teasing, challenging.

Otolo. The boy had picked up his tone and was playing along.

Where’s Otolo?

Near the Nkwo market. Do you know the Nkwo market?

Yes, I do. It’s the biggest market in Nnewi. So you know you’re from Otolo, Nnewi, near the Nkwo market. Does that mean you’ll be able to find your way home if you’re asked to do so?

Not from here, but from the Nkwo market, I will. He screwed up his face in thought, and the young man laughed again. This time, they joined him in the laughter.

Are we going home tomorrow? the girl asked eagerly.

Yes, he assured her. Are you in a hurry to go? he teased with a smile.

Yes, I am. I want to see my mother. I know she must be crying a lot by now. Her expression grew serious and her eyes clouded over. Then it lit up again. But I want to come back to see Nneka. She pointed at a young girl about her age who was engaged in animated conversation with another girl. "She plays a wonderful oga," she said excitedly, referring to a favoured game of girls that involved songs, clapping and dexterous leg movements.

Will you come home with us tomorrow? the boy asked expectantly.

No, I can’t, he said regretfully. I have to go to Onitsha early tomorrow morning. I work there. He watched their faces fall, and an expression akin to fear fleet across their eyes.

I want you to come with us, the girl pleaded. I want you to tell my mother how you killed… how you beat those men to rescue us.

Please, don’t be upset, but I can’t come with you. I’ll like to go with you, but I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.

When? Where? the boy asked, all eager excitement.

I don’t know when, but soon, I promise. He tried to reassure them with a smile, but their disappointment, and a hint of sadness, showed clearly.

Just then, his sister called out to them to come and sleep, and they turned reluctantly to go.

Wait, he called out to them. You haven’t told me your names.

My name is Nduk’aku and she’s Sool’uka, the boy answered.

Eem… eem… okay, goodnight, he stammered painfully, and they called back the greeting as they went with his sister. He sat staring after them for a while. Then he turned back to the food that was much less appealing now.

The deadly encounter with the slave-hunters had destroyed his euphoric mood as he left home earlier that day. Now he lay awake, his mind playing back the extraordinary incident.

He was on his way to see his brother, a blacksmith, and catechist of the new church at Obosi, en route to Onitsha, where he lived and worked. He was coming from his home clan, Umuelo, where he had gone to take part in the Ilochi-nwanyi celebrations. It was an annual festival when women paid tribute to their chi or guardian angel, for all they believed he had done for them in the course of the season, and asked for a bountiful harvest.

Since he had not gone home for several moons, he had felt compelled to respond to his mother’s invitation.

The festival was very memorable because all his married sisters came with their husbands and children. Many relatives and friends were there too. It was the best Ilochi he had enjoyed for many seasons, and the visits and merriment went on late into the night. Most of the invited guests left the day after the feast, but he stayed back to help his mother in her farm, and help his father prepare his barn for the forthcoming harvest.

He left today, after fulfilling some obligations of his age-grade society. He also visited with bereaved relatives and newly delivered women – people forbidden by custom to be part of the Ilochi-nwanyi festival.

He sighed deeply as his mind switched from more pleasant thoughts to the gruesome events of that evening.

Grimly, he fought the inevitable feelings of remorse slaying his fellow humans invoked. The trauma the children’s family must have gone through, the agony of worry and fear, made him feel he did the right thing. Moreover, the thought of those slave-dealing lowlifes marching the children through the bush all night without food or water made him want to do the killings all over again!

How they must have suffered! By the gods, how frightened they must have been! How anyone could conceive and treat children that way was beyond him, because he loved them. He was no fully mature adult himself, but he had special affection for those younger than he was.

Despite his unease, he strove to banish thoughts of pity for those slave-dealing crooks. A less ruthless approach would have led to failure, and perhaps his capture or even death.

Nonetheless, he could scarce believe what he had done, though he knew exactly why he had done it. He knew where all that fearless courage had come from.

Nduka, his beloved cousin… His favorite human being in the whole wide world.

They had done so many things together. Nduka had taught him how to fish; how to swim; how to climb and how to play okoso, a favoured game of boys. He had taught him how to wrestle, too. No matter how difficult a task was, as long as Nduka was part of it, he always found the strength, drive, and inspiration to accomplish it. In spite of how much he loved his grandfather and their hunting expeditions, Nduka’s presence was often the tonic that made him go on some of them. He was a cousin dearer to him than a brother was. Then those animals had taken him away!

He was only fifteen seasons of age at the time and Nduka was seventeen. However, he felt sure that if he had been present, they would not have taken Nduka. Together, they would have defeated those men, whatever their number or strength. It pained him so that he was absent when Nduka needed him the most.

Illogical as it was, he often felt as though he had let his cousin down by failing to be there for him.

They had grown up together at his eldest brother’s compound at Obosi. However, that planting season, he had gone home to help his parents. Then had come the devastating news that slave-hunters had taken Nduka away, early one morning, when he had gone to fetch water with a few other children.

For several moons, he had slept poorly because of the nightmares he had. Every strange young male voice reminded him of Nduka. Sometimes he ran after strangers he saw from behind, thinking they might be Nduka. He had nurtured, somewhere at the back of his mind, the faint, elusive hope that he would see his beloved cousin again. Perhaps, it was his own way of dealing with the terrible pain of his great loss.

That was what today was about, really. Granted, those children, at about thirteen and eleven seasons of age, were younger than Nduka was when they took him away. But the sight of them in that clearing had invoked the same half-crazed pain that had overwhelmed him when he learnt of what happened to Nduka.

Therefore, this evening was not only about rescuing those children. It was also vengeance for what slave-hunters did to Nduka. And he would inflict that vengeance repeatedly if he had the opportunity to do so! After all, that was why he had gone to work for the Royal Niger Company.

He was Chidebem, George, Orag’amadike Akadike. It was 1895, and he was nineteen seasons old.

3

3

C HIDEBEM was born early in the morning, at the start of the rains. He was the sixth and last child of his mother, the first of his father’s two wives. On the day he was born, just as his mother laboured to bring him forth, something strange had happened.

His father, Akadike, was pacing about restlessly in the pre-dawn gloom, when the priest of their king deity paid him a surprise visit.

Your wife is in labor and will soon give birth to a baby boy, the enigmatic albino declared in a strangely tremulous voice. "He’ll grow to be the greatest of Ngana’s sons. He’ll be a servant and protector of our people. His hands will be spread wide, and he’ll be upright and the envy of all.

But he must be wary of strangers from very distant lands who’ll aim to destroy and lure our people away from the ways of our ancestors. His interaction with them will benefit our people, but he must not forsake the ways of our ancestors. If he does, he’ll be destroyed by those he trusts. An animal that doesn’t belong to the sky or the land has no kin on either side. If he stands with his ancestors, he’ll age well and join them at the right time. That’s my message. Make sure you give it to him at the right time, it’s a sacred duty given to you by the gods. Stay well, the body of Akadike. I’m gone.

Shortly after he left, as though coming out of a trance, Akadike shook his head, hands on his waist, wondering what just happened. Then he heard a baby’s cry. It was lusty and carried well in the pre-dawn air.

He hurried over to the back, intent on one thing. Dashing into the hut, he startled the women as a mid-wife was set to cut the umbilical cord. He stared at the baby’s penis, but hardly dwelt on its precocious size.

It was a boy, the first part of the prophecy was correct!

He turned and walked away slowly, deep in thought. He was only slightly distracted as one of the women muttered, …this one will surely terrorize the damsels with this thing. The women giggled in response, and despite himself, he smiled faintly.

Chidebem grew up exceptionally strong and healthy. He was a very warm, friendly and affectionate child, though given occasionally to impatience and quick temper. He also asked too many questions.

He basked in the love and affection of numerous relatives who were ever ready to pamper and spoil him. In spite of this, he showed remarkable independent-mindedness and aversion to pampering from a young age.

However, he was not at all averse to his mother’s attention. At age seven, he was still suckling on her breasts, often eagerly bringing a stool for that purpose. All attempts to cajole him out of the habit had failed, especially since his mother chose to indulge him. He was her last child, so she felt he might as well have his fill.

He often got into fights with other children because of this, and the easiest way to provoke his anger was to call him ‘oñu-ala’, breast-sucker.

One day, arriving home from obosi, where he lived and worked as a blacksmith, his eldest brother, Mbaj’ekwe, had intervened when he found Chidebem fighting with a much bigger boy.

He… he called me a breast-sucker, Chidebem had spluttered, still angry and raring to go, despite all the blows he had received.

Is that so? But are you a breast-sucker? Mbaj’ekwe had managed to keep a straight face, though he wanted to howl with mirth.

"Eeee… is it his mother’s breasts that I suckle? Isn’t it my mother’s own?"

The point of the matter is not whose breasts you suckle, but whether you suckle breasts or not. A farmer is called a farmer. A palm wine taper is called a palm wine taper, so what’s wrong with calling you a breast-sucker if you actually suckle breasts? He had paused to let his words sink in as Chidebem screwed up his face in thought. If you don’t want to be called a breast-sucker, why don’t you stop suckling breasts?

But I like it!

I know you like it, but you don’t like the name that goes with it. You have to choose one.

I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?

I want you to choose one. Either you’ll suckle breasts and accept the name, or you refuse the name and refuse the breasts. Besides, someone who suckles breasts can’t be strong enough to go to Obosi. You know it’s a very far journey.

He knew he had him then, because Chidebem had been eager to go to his place since he was five seasons old. Some of his older siblings had been to Obosi and he envied them the goodies they brought home. He had received his fair share of the goodies, but it was not enough. He wanted to get his own and share out to others too.

I go to the bush with grandfather to set traps and catch animals, he had declared proudly. I’m strong enough to go to Obosi.

I know that, but the distance to Obosi is much farther. The only way to get strong enough for the journey is for you to stop suckling breasts, because breast-suckling is for weak babies. Mbaj’ekwe’s tone was firm.

So if I stop suckling breasts, you’ll take me to Obosi?

Yes, I will. And Nduka will be there too. That was the coup de grace, and Mbaj’ekwe had watched the boy’s eyes light up.

Nduka will also come to Obosi? He was excited and his eyes had sparkled as he tugged at his big brother’s hand. Nduka, his maternal first cousin, was his best friend. His eldest brother, Mbaj’ekwe, was like a god to him; but Nduka was like a gift from the skies. He loved him with all his heart, and the feeling was mutual.

Yes, Nduka will come too, Mbaj’ekwe had replied with a winning smile, and a wink at their father’s second wife, who was watching them silently, an indulgent little smile on her pretty face.

Oh, I’ll stop suckling breasts… I’ll go to Obosi and I’ll see Nduka, he sang as he hopped excitedly from one leg to the other, still tugging at his big brother’s fingers.

Chidebem went to Obosi nearly two seasons after that. However, he went there to live, not just to visit.

Mbaj’ekwe had to work hard to persuade their parents, especially their mother, to let him take the boy to Obosi. As her last child, Ugb’ego had said, Chidebem was supposed to look after her in her old age. Mbaj’ekwe had agreed, but had pointed out that since she was not yet old, there was plenty of time for Chidebem to come back home to look after her. Finally, she had succumbed to his pressure and let the boy go.

Life at Obosi was a mixed bag for Chidebem. He had to do more chores, and help his brother and his wife with their farm work. There were no older siblings or cousins to do most of the work, so he had to work much harder than he had at home. He had adapted quickly, though, because he was a strong boy, and was not afraid of hard work. Besides, there was plenty of fun, too, especially with Nduka around.

With other children their age, they went fishing, swimming, tree climbing, searching for fruits, hunting for small animals, wrestling, and playing okoso. They raced also, and did myriads of other naughty, mischievous things young boys did. In addition, they did ufi’olu, working for people on their farms, during and after which they sumptuously fed and offered them gifts.

Chidebem was at Obosi for about a moon of seven market weeks when he saw a white man for the first time. He was Joseph Dodd, the young Irish catholic priest who was doing his utmost to persuade the Obosi people to change from their ‘heathen’ ways.

The priest had visited his brother, Mbaj’ekwe, and Chidebem had hidden behind his wife and stared at the strange-looking man. He wore a strange white cloth that covered almost his entire body and looked as though it had wings. Under the white cloth, he wore a darker one that reached his ankles; and, as was said, he had no feet! The only parts of his skin that showed – his face and hands – were fairer than an albino’s skin.

The white man, who seemed to talk through his nose, came with a black man in khaki shirt and shorts. He was his interpreter, and their interaction with Mbaj’ekwe involved lots of gesticulation, especially from the white man.

His visit was short, and he had left with a small crowd of people trailing behind him. Some children touched his cloth, and ran screaming with glee at their dare.

Mbaj’ekwe’s deferential treatment of his visitor had made Chidebem even more apprehensive. His brother was a big strong man who dealt with metal as though it were wood. He never saw him treat anyone with such deference, not even men with high titles who were among his patrons.

A few days later, Chidebem was excited, despite his apprehension, to accompany his brother him to the school run by the priest. It was on the outskirts of the clan, where the people could tolerate the white man’s presence, with his strange ways, and his band of outcasts and odd followers.

He had felt excited apprehension, and hung back, refusing to enter the house with his brother. He had peered at them from behind a tree, his attention focused on the white man. There were a handful of men and two women inside the house. A portion of the wall facing them was painted black, with strange-looking white marks on it. The white man was standing, facing the people seated on wooden stools, and whenever he looked towards Chidebem, he quickly ducked behind the tree.

Chidebem had thought a lot about the big hut, and his elder brother increased his fascination by telling him that it held answers to his many questions.

Then one day, he persuaded some of his friends, including Nduka, to go there. They went as close to the house as they dared, and ran away when the white man beckoned to them.

Soon, most of the children tired of the game, but Chidebem’s fascination grew until it became an obsession. He went there almost every day, and was ready to forfeit food and play to do so. Only one boy was ready to accompany him then, and they would creep so close to the hut that they would clearly hear what they were saying.

One day, he went there alone. Then seated against the wall, he gave the answer to a question the man in khaki had asked. Suddenly, there was quiet because their young visitor had given an answer none of them knew.

The sudden quiet made Chidebem aware of what he had done. When the white man came out from the hut to beckon to him, he ran away as fast as he could.

It took three days for Mbaj’ekwe to persuade him to start attending the school. Chidebem had agreed to go if he would come along. Mbaj’ekwe was very pleased when Nwochei, the white man’s assistant, told him what happened at the school. The main reason why he had brought his little brother to stay with him at Obosi was for him to acquire the white man’s knowledge.

The people here scorned it, with some calling it witchcraft. However, he believed that it must have great value for the man to leave their very distant land and come here to teach it. Besides, their ability to travel across incredibly vast bodies of water must involve a special and worthwhile knowledge.

He did not tell his parents about it because he feared that they would not understand. Then if they listened to tales from places the white man had been, they might be afraid that the strange men they had heard about might bewitch their son.

Chidebem made rapid progress at school. Being only nine seasons of age, he grasped the words of the new language much faster than the adults did. Gradually he lost his fear of Joseph. The priest won his confidence by speaking as much Igbo language to him as he could, and by giving him gifts. The young boy was finally convinced that the strange-looking man was a normal human being when he removed his footwear to show him his feet!

Joseph was highly impressed with the boy’s diligence and exceptional intelligence, and began to take special interest in him.

It’ll be easier to get this one to accept and practice the faith because he’s so young and not yet set in his ways like the older ones, he had thought. He marvelled at the boy’s prodigious mental capacity and voracious hunger for knowledge. To him, the boy’s incessant questions indicated a great mind in the making. By his third season in the school, he was giving him books to read.

Chidebem was so excited by what he was learning that it was all he could do not to talk about it when he went back to Umuelo, his home clan. Mbaj’ekwe had warned him not to tell anyone about the school because they would stop him from coming back to Obosi. The fear of missing the school and not being with Nduka had kept his mouth sealed.

In his fourth season, their parents were upset when they found out about the school. Mbaj’ekwe had eased their concerns by pointing out that it had not changed Chidebem in four seasons. However, he had to promise to withdraw him at once if his behaviour turned strange.

Chidebem progressed so quickly that he started to teach new pupils by his fourth season. He felt sad that Nduka was not interested in the school. It was one thing they could not share, and he regretted that. By his fifth season, he went to live with Joseph. He was his assistant, and even helped with Sunday Mass. In time, he began to read any books he found at the priest’s house.

It was through some of those books, and stories told by Joseph, that he learnt about the unlikely tales of slavery. The white man’s brand of slavery.

Slavery was not a strange concept to Chidebem; it was a part of the society in which he lived. They were in his home clan, with their perforated ears and nostrils. What baffled him were the unimaginably distant lands to which the white slave traders took their slaves, and the unbelievable cruelty they suffered. In addition, many of them died before they reached their destination because of the inhuman treatment they endured, and the heartbreak from knowing that they would never see their homeland and their loved ones again.

Then there was the method of acquiring those slaves. As far as Chidebem knew, slaves were people sold willingly by their kith and kin because they had committed one atrocity or another. Others were taken as spoils of war.

However, with the white man’s brand of slavery, they simply grabbed people and turned them into slaves. He had heard dreadful whispers of slaves of kings being buried with their masters. However, people discussed such things in low tones as practices in distant lands. He was not sure that they actually occurred. His home clan, Umuelo, and the others around it had no rulers, so there were no such practices there.

In his area, the slaves were not treated that much differently from the freeborn. Performing exceptional feats – like the kind of valour that swung a war in favour of their master’s homestead – could elevate them to the status of the freeborn. They could gain or buy back their freedom. They got married and had children, though not usually with the freeborn. They took no titles, however; and were not buried as elaborately as the freeborn.

Therefore, Chidebem could not comprehend such cruel practices as branding slaves with hot iron; flogging them with whip that cut the skin; separating and selling their children like puppies and chicks; having them work on farms from dawn till dusk, even when they were sick or pregnant.

He was just coming into an awareness of this alien kind of slavery when they took Nduka away. Agents of these foreign slave traders must have taken his cousin, considering their cloths and weapons.

His quest to learn about this form of slavery had increased double-fold. He read anything he could get from Joseph or any of his associates on the topic, and asked many questions. The more he learnt, the more his despair deepened until he was enveloped in a bottomless miasma of depression.

Night after night, he cried himself to sleep, unable to bar from his mind, thoughts of what his beloved cousin must be going through. Some nights