EJIMA

It drifted into the room again. Silent at first, but slithering now like the heartbeat of a phantom. That tantrum of unspoken words. That stillness spoke louder than the voice of frivolity, drilling its ugly head into the faint of heart. She had heard it once, long ago, before she became a wife and now a mother. It had even smudged her courage, making her wonder if this was the end for her. No, it was not her end. It was their end. An end without a beginning. If tomorrow starts without her, she would gladly have these lovely faces with her. It was their end. The end of a life that was never lived. "Alu. Mmeru ala. Tufia!!" Njideka flinched but held tight the wrapped cloth as she hid behind the bamboo bed. It was a poor choice. Her heart raced as her eyes pierced the dark, towards the entrance. No one was in the room of course. They were outside. The brood of vipers that sought the head of her children were outside. Waiting, perhaps for the right moment. She knew the voice that h

Call it luck. Whatever be the definition, but the way Fanyi's chest rose and fell in a constant rhyme made Uche wonder how the man had survived the first tribal war. They had raged into combat together and had battled death itself. However, fatigue was something their enemy had preyed upon. It was the same reason why some of the men had lost their lives, leaving memories and emptiness as a testimony. But how had the man survived? Ducking to the left, Uche jumped back, missing the wooden sword which swung freely above his face. "Same old tricks? Impressive." Fanyi said and took a different stance. It was the 'ice on water' stance. A technique that only a good swordsman can muster. Uche clenched his weapon. He had been on the defensive as always, waiting for the right moment. But knowing who his friend was, Fanyi would never leave a weak spot. The lanky man was too smart for that. "I will beat you on this one." "Not in your dreams," Fanyi said. The morning sun was on his dark skin

The leaves had lost the morning dew and bashed her skin as she traced her way into the forest. The previously cleared paths were beginning to lose their visibility as the grasses tried to sprout their heads from them. It was becoming difficult to see the white sands, and even more difficult to keep the familiarity away. The moist decaying smell, the constant whistles of the birds, the shimmering sunlight which filtered from the canopies of the tall trees, creating a warmth that made her remember her evenings with her husband. She was trading this path again. Not because she was out to hunt. No, this was different. She was different. Those abandoned children were making her different. Gathering her sling on her waist, she rounded the last bend. Dried bones and leaves crushed under her weight. Decayed flesh of men and women alike. Fleshes of people who were rejected by the village. Men that had been buried alive. Lost in history. Forgotten. Ejima knew she was breaking the King's

Ejima wiped away the sweat that walked down the bridge of her flat nose, but sneezed twice when she accidentally sniffed the dust in her hands. She wiped the tears that followed and tried to return to work but leaned away when a sharp pain strode through her waist. She hissed out the frustration from her teeth and tightened her grips on the wooden hoe. All the light-headedness and the weakness she had been feeling for the last four months, had turned out to be pregnancy. A pregnancy she never wanted. It was a curse to her. A punishment from the gods themselves. Tightening her grip on the farming hoe, she bent carefully but without ease, and was glad when her hands touched the heap of earth and grass. With the hoe, she dug around the brown tendril and tried to pull with her free hand. The yam obliged at the first trial but snapped in two when she tried forcing them the second time. She murmured and continued with the digging, hoping to bring out the rest of the yam that was still under

“I don’t think she can make it” Someone was saying. The words were gibberish and echoed in Ejima’s ears like the voice of some market women, arguing over the price of a goat. Her legs and thigh were on fire and her body ached. Lifting a limb was almost impossible. She tried to raise her head, but the sudden weight of ten thousand people will not let her. Where am I? She tried to recall. Her memory flashed back and a new pain sparked through her spine. She saw her husband and her best friend in her mind's eyes, smiling together, and laughing at their jokes. Nonsense thought She sniffed just as the image of her fall also flashed in her vision. My baby. She panicked but her hands would not move when she tried. The only thing that was moving at the moment was her eyes, which provided her with multiple images. “Drink this,” A voice seemed to say. The multiple images appeared over her head and poured something into her mouth. “But she is still breathing” Came another strange voice.