Nwanne sat on the floor with her legs curled in front of her like a Fulani beggar. At intervals, she looked up at her father Etee Kalu as he ate his dinner of akpu and onugbu soup. Her throat region jerked severally as she swallowed thick lumps of foamy saliva watching her father munch a mouth full of pork meat.  She looked up at her step mother thinking that she had heard the sound of the movement of the saliva as it forced its way down her throat. Their eyes met and she quickly buried her face on the floor. She was shy. The expression on Nwunyediya’s face was blank. Nwunyediya, Nwanne’s step mother was sitting by the right, adjacent the short kitchen stool on which the food lay, waiting for her husband to finish so that she could clear the table. That was the custom in Etee Kalu’s house – the wife that prepared the food must be seated beside the man and wait till he was done. Nwanne was drooling and waiting to take the left over. She was her father’s favourite daughter.  Nwunyediya handed Etee Kalu a cup of water as he coughed furiously beating his chest. “Maybe pepper has entered the wrong path” she said as she stood up and gave him several tender pats at the back while he drank some water slowly. Nwanne dashed into the kitchen and reappeared with another cup of water.

“kaa pa” she said in want of words as she handed her father the cup of water and placed her tiny left hand on her father’s shoulder. “Take it easy” nwunyediya added watching her husband with a show of care and love. Etee Kalu looked up at her and his face creased in a smile. She smiled back and recoiled to her seat.

“Nwanne!” Came Igbeneche’s laud voice from the inner room. Igbeneche was Nwanne’s biological mother and Etee Kalu’s second wife. Nwanne stood up hesitantly and sauntered uneasily into the room to answer her mother. She knew why she was being called. Her mother had warned her several times to stop milling around her father whenever he was eating especially when the food was prepared by another woman.

“Onye ukpa, longer throat. Sit down here and don’t say a word if u don’t want me to kill you” her mother snarled in a very low hoarse voice such that neither her husband nor any of her co-wives could hear her. She dare not beat Nwanne when her father was at home. She had once received a nasty slap on her face for lifting a finger on the girl. “If u dare beat my daughter again, I will show u that I carried palm wine for your head”, her husband had warned and that was final warning. Etee Kalu was a no nonsense man. He had a long thick leather belt with which he flogged his wives whenever they went against his dictates. His first wife could not take such treatments, so one day she ran away from the house with her only daughter to where nobody knew.

“Nwanne!” Rang Etee Kalu’s deep voice from outside. He had finished eating and wanted Nwanne to come and eat the left over before Nwunyediya cleared the table. Nwanne made to answer the call but her mother held her back and pressed an index finger on her puckered pouted thick lips. She couldn’t control the tears that trickled down her chubby cheeks. Nwanne wondered why her mother could deny her of the food and felt much pains inside of her. “I must tell my father what happened” she concluded silently in her mind.

“Nwannediya!” Etee Kalu called a second time, spelling out the full name. There was no answer but he heard some little movements in the inner room. “Ogbuefi, I’ve sent her on an errand.” Igbeneche lied. Etee kalu’s wives addressed him by his title name “Ogbuefi”. Etee Kalu knew that it was a lie; he made to stand up and felt some pains in his stomach. He held his belly and sat back sharply and looked up accusingly at Nwunyediya who was waiting for an order to clear the table. Nwunyediya looked surprised. Etee Kalu made to say something and fell backwards from the chair. His legs tossed up and kicked the near empty plates of food in the air and the food spilled all over the floor. He started shaking convulsively saying things nobody around could understand. Nwunyediya screamed and tried to hold him up. Her wrapper nearly went off untied. She readjusted it immediately and knotted the ends firmly with her hair scarf. The other two co-wives dashed out of their rooms screaming on top of their voices as they saw their husband battling for life on the floor. They carried him up gingerly, fidgeting as they called for help from the neighbours. There was no vehicle to convey him to the hospital. Oga Jude the taxi driver next door had gone out early in the morning. Igbeneche gave him a piggy back and the other wives held him on Igbeneche’s back as they ran to the hospital with his legs dangling limply behind and nearly touching the ground. Their children; all came out too. Nwanne, leaned on the wall with her legs crossed and her right hand crossed over her belly held her left elbow while her left palm supported her head. She was crying laud now; not for her father’s uncertain condition, but for the food she saw spilled on the ground. The stream of hot tears raining from her eyes could not allow her see clearly when some fowls came picking the food. She felt like shooing them off but held back herself.

Etee Kalu was very heavy on Igbeneche’s back. She stopped and transferred him on Nwunyediya’s back. His bulgy belly quivered like a bag of sachet water as Nwunyediya trotted on with increased agility like a wounded horse. Etee Kalu discharged his last breath with his eyes open as they stepped on the hospital pavement. The three women lowered the heavy body gently on the pavement and started wailing uncontrollably. Neighbours trickled out one by one like termites after a chilly rain; in a twinkle of an eye the hospital premises was full of onlookers and sympathizers.  Igbeneche was astonished. She never knew anything could kill a man this fast without symptoms; without ailment. She wasn’t sure if these were happening in a dream or in real life. It was like what she used to see on the Nollywood movies she had always criticized. Tears ran down the corners of her eyes. She didn’t know how to start crying like the other women.

The three women made arrangement to deposit their husband’s corpse in the morgue but the doctor, a tall dark man with uneven white beards refused and said a man has to be around. “No women, this should be done by a man no matter how old or young. Is there no man in the family?” the doctor had asked removing his glasses to look into the women’s faces one after the other. It was then that Akudiya, the last wife realized what was about to happen to them. She broke out again in a high pitched wail and threw herself on the grown, kicking generously in the air like a cyclist. Her only son was just three years old. He can’t be brought to represent the family in the morgue. She jerked up from the ground and started running home. Somebody made to stop her but she pushed the person away and tore through the crowd into the street. The other wives knew what she was going to do.  They too dashed out running after her. The big tree had fallen and the birds had to scatter. On her way home Igbeneche dashed into an electronics mechanic shop. The electrician a tall dark young man with hideous scar across his forehead was soldering something on an open radio. He was the man that always came to look for Igbeneche at her fruit shop along Ngwa road. The man Nwanne had learned to call uncle whenever her father was not in town. He was the Uncle that bought Nwanne the t-shirt that had the inscription: Aba noo ji. Igbeneche greeted him amid sobs and ran the back of her left hand across her nostrils to clear the nose that had started running. She bent low to the electrician’s ears and whispered something. Immediately he dropped his soldering iron, unplugged it from the wall socket, carried an old nonfunctional black and white television and followed Igbeneche.

It was bedlam at home as everybody wailed from one corner of the house to the other. Igbeneche led the electrician to the sitting room where he laid down the old damaged television and stealthily carried the new coloured TV away through the back yard. Nwanne could not understand what was going on. She sat there on the floor hugging her knees to her chin and rocking childishly to and fro as she cried like the other kids. She saw Akudiya surreptitiously moving a box through the back yard. Most of the valuables in the house left just the same way within a space of minutes. Some disappeared totally without a replacement while some others where swapped with either rickety irreparable one or an inferior good-for-nothing equivalent. The women removed whatever they valued most; their jewelries, wrappers, clothes and electronics. These they would have done in a better way only if the death had given a little sign; if it had not come this sudden. None of the women wanted to put a call through to Etee Kalu’s people with their phones. They wanted to take care of things first. Words had been sent to Etee Kalu’s people through a little kid and they were expected to arrive soon.

“Nda ife obu? What is it?” Etee Mba asked directly to nobody as he dashed into the yard filed with the noise of the wailing women. Etee Ndukwo the deaf and dumb was with him. They were the first among the relatives to arrive. They made straight into the sitting room where the three women performed different wailing patterns. Akudiya’s voice was the loudest. She could not rest on a place. She threw herself on the floor and landed with her buttocks with her two hands on her head. She stood up and flung herself into the upholstery and lay limply there. Her wrapper was undone and she didn’t seem to notice that. She was wearing a white pant with every other part of her body left bare. Mama Ada, the fat woman that sold Akara in the neighbourhood was trying to hold her still. To the left, beside the entrance door leaned Nwunyediya sobbing in a loud voice and stamping her feet on the ground in a matching fashion. Igbeneche lay on the floor sobbing gently. Mama obi her friend was attending to her. “Please stop doing this to yourselves biko nu” Mama Obi said aloud tapping Igbenche gently at the back. As the three women saw Etee Mba and Etee Ndukwo, they raised their voices the more. It was like a crying competition. Etee Mba whispered something into Mama Ada’s ears and she stood up and picked the wrapper on the floor and help Akudiya cover herself.

“iya, come and show me, come and show me” Etee Mba said to Igbeneche as if in a hurry and made some signs to Etee Ndukwo. As the oldest wife Igbeneche had to go with the men. Mama Obi helped her up and she wiped the tears on her face with the back of her palms and readjusted her wrapper. She raised the tail end of her wrapper and blew her nose into it. She didn’t care that the men were watching as the raised wrapper exposed the “V” end of her fleshy thighs. She readjusted her wrapper once again. She untied her hair scarf and tied it to her waist to hold her wrapper firm and followed the men out of the room leaning on Mama Obi’s shoulder. Outside’ the children had resumed playing once again. They didn’t know what was going on. Nwanne did not play. She sat alone beside the door to the sitting room still hugging her knees to her chin and rocking back and forth. As Igbeneche came out from the sitting room, she saw Nwanne and their eyes met and Nwanne looked away without a word as if she just saw an enemy. There were whitish sketches of dried tears on her chins. Igbeneche thought something about telling Nwanne to go and play with other children but held back her tongue. She also wondered if Nwanne was suspecting anything but jettisoned the thought and moved on. At the gate, they met three other relatives and together they all walked down the street to the hospital

******

The other women were still crying when Igbeneche and other members of the extended family returned from the mortuary. Their voices had gone so hoarse and their throats sore that only people in the sitting room could know they were crying. It was getting dark now. Many people sit at different corners with faces ashen. The milieu was now calm when Igbeneche stepped in through the gate that led into the yard. The children were now playing as they normally did. In the middle of the yard, they sat in a circle playing okoso under a fluorescent light. Igbeneche wondered something about why Nwanne could not play with her fellow girls and looked up the three girls playing alancho close to the kitchen and said nothing. Many more neighbour had came around to condole them.

“Nwanne will you sit like a woman!” Etee Mba barked. Nwanne jerked and adjusted her dress and crossed her legs slowly without looking up. In the sitting room the other women lay sprawl on the floor sobbing gently. They must be tired of wailing now.

“Women we have to lock up this room now” Etee Mba announced. They were expecting it. One by one they stood up and worked out slowly into their various rooms without saying a word and Etee Ndukwo used a big padlock to lock the door. Beside the sitting room window was packed Etee Kalu’s old stainless white horse bicycle. Etee Ndukwo mounted it and unlocked the chain fastening the wheels to the window protector. No one could say where he got the key to the padlock; maybe they were too encumbered with thoughts of the day to think about the key to a mare bicycle. Yet nobody could stop him. His hands were quaking now as they did whenever he was angry and his eyes were red. He must be crying inside of him. Men don’t cry. Nobody wanted to get close to him. Nobody wanted a deaf man’s palaver. Etee Mba made a sign to him and he responded with another clumsy sign and rode out of the gate. Igbeneche bit her lower lips and shook her head in pains as she watched the deaf man riding away with the bicycle. She would have planned and sold the bicycle and even the house; only if the sickness was protracted a little. She felt like a failure. Then Etee Mba was left to read the riot act to the women. He went into their rooms one after the other.

“That is our custom and you can’t change it” Etee Mba’s croaky voice echoed from Nwunyediya’s room.

“Hmm I don’t think that is going to be possible o, because I have to go and carry my goods from Nwanyi-Ngwa, and I still have to sell them before they spoil. They are perishable. How would u expect me to stay indoors for six months because my husband died? As if I killed him; as if that would raise him from the dead.” Nwunyediya complained still sobbing. She sniffed in her running nose and continued; “ok, who is going to be taking care of my children? Who will be feeding us? What about our clothing?”

“There’s nothing to worry about clothing woman!” Etee Mba barked “you have to wear your akwa-mkpe throughout the mourning period.”

“Me, in black? A single cloth for six months?” Nwunyediya retorted with a question meant for nobody. Stressing on the “me”, she beat her chest and shook her head slowly to disagreement. She blew her nose with the end of her wrapper and murmured something no human could understand.

“Woman just wait let me tell you all of the customs before you start” Etee Mba continued saying things she was no longer interested in. the words were to her like water on the back of a duck. She was now thinking of what else to do. If she ran away people would conclude that she killed her husband. After all it was her food he ate before he died.

“Ngwa kpairim, Etee Mba tell me; what rights will you perform during the mourning period? Or are you not going to mourn your blood brother? After all you are going to inherit his things. Look there that deaf that calls himself Ndukwo has already inherited the bicycle. Who knows what and what you are going to be interested in. You will soon for this house and who knows what more. What are you men going to do?” She wanted to add “good for nothing men” but held back and clicked her tongue and clapped and continued; “You are going to throw us out with nothing, yet you want us to suffer mourning as if we caused his death” Nwunyediya made her points weeping louder now. She was no longer weeping for the death of her husband but for the impending customarily imposed punishment and suffering and humiliation. She couldn’t imagine herself in that disgusting black mourning cloth like Mama Ebuka her neighbour; she couldn’t imagine herself staying indoors doing nothing and begging for food from friends and neighbours; after all Etee Kalu had never been the one feeding or providing for her. All he did was coming home to impregnate his wives as if they were baby making machines and have them compete for his attention, cook his food, wash his cloths and even pay his bills at times. “Oh God, had I known, I wouldn’t have allowed him to go to that palm wine bar with Etee Onwuso, that wicked man. He must have poisoned him.” she thought inside her and sniffed in her running nose.

“I didn’t formulate the customs you know and I won’t be the one to change it. I‘ve just told you how it is going to be.” Etee Mba dropped brazenly in a finality tone after some minutes pause. He dusted his buttocks and made for the door without looking back at the depressed widow. He had told the other wives the same thing. Igbeneche was not listening while he spoke to her. His voice sounded so faint and sick as if he spoke from a far. She was brooding over her mistakes. She had injected an over dose of the potion in the soup. She would have been a little more careful if not for the little Otisi, Akudiya’s son that budged in to the kitchen and she over turned the bottle into the soup. She had quickly tiptoed into the kitchen when Nwunyediya went out to fetch some water. She had planned it very well. Nwunyediya had called Nwanne severally to send her for the water but Igbeneche had hidden Nwanne in her room and ordered her neither to answer nor to go outside. Her plans had been to make Etee Kalu go through serious pains in a protracted illness so that she would have ample time to sell most of his properties before his brothers would come to inherit them at his death. The prophet had told her to give him the potion in three installments.

“I want something that would make him go through pains” she demonstrated with her hands in a fist; “that man is a wicked man. He just married us to be producing children for him. He doesn’t provide us with anything. Instead we fight each other for his attention.”

“Just make it easy for him” the dirty bearded prophet in a long white gown said as he mixed the concoction.

“I don’t want to show any sympathy here lord. You can only see sympathy in the dictionary and check it there; it is found in-between shit and syphilis. I don’t want to make any mistake.

The prophet had smiled at her analysis of sympathy and handed her the potion.

Now she was crying as she pictured the wicked grin on the face of the prophet as he said: “this is your with madam. I have nothing to do with it”. Igbeneche just cried and cried and slept off. Her weeping was not for her dead husband but for her mistakes. She didn’t hear anything Etee Mba had said. Akudiya did the same but Nwunyediya could not take it; maybe because of the way the death came as if she killed her husband. She suspected Etee Onwuso poisoned her husband but she couldn’t say it out because she would have no prove to that. She wondered what his co-wives could be thinking about the death or it cause.

“Eew! Eew! They have killed him!” she screamed with stress on the “they” as if she was letting her co-wives know she didn’t kill their husband and tears gushed continuously from the ends of her oval eyes like water from a leaking tank.

******

The six months mourning period passed as if it never came and life went on like it would never end. The co-wives parted too like they never met. The string holding them had broken. It’s been six years now and things had changed a lot. Nwanne stood in front of their new home. She couldn’t see Onu and Otisi again to play with. “They must be big boys now like these ash boys here”, she thought. She was watching some boys playing football in the rain. She had marked this set of boys for their always being dusty. She had called them ash boys because their bodies were always ash with the patches of dust on them. Even while it rained the dust on their bodies seemed not to be washing off. She stood at the window holding the burglary proof and watching the ash boys from the hole of missing louvers on the window as they played naked in the rain. She felt like jumping into the rain to play football with the boys though her mother had warned her against playing with boys. She would have liked to be born a boy if it were to be her choice to make. One of the boys shot the ball towards the stone goal post but the ball rolled close to the goal post and stopped locked in a water log. The goal keeper dashed towards the ball to kick it off but the ball drifted a little to the left and he missed it, kicked the air in a rapid swoosh and landed with his back on the dirty muddy ground. The other boys sniggered freely and threw themselves on the ground. Nwanne joined with laud laughter and clapped too. One of the boys turned and made a face at her, sticking out his tongue and she opened her fingers at the boy still laughing. “shege JB”, she cursed playfully. If it were to be some years before now, she would have pulled off her cloth and run into the rain to play football. She was sure she could play better than some of the boys but she can’t play now that some little balls are growing on her chest. The kind of balls she can’t see on the chest of the boys of her age. She had thought they were boils because of the little pains she felt in them. Her mother said they were not boils when she complained and said they were called breasts; that they would soon grow bigger like those on her own chest; and that they would be producing milk and that her babies would have to suck and feed on them. She had felt so embarrassed the day she tried playing with boys of her age and they left the football and focused on watching the balls on her chest. Some of them tried to touch the balls but she didn’t allow them, not for anything but the pains she would feel at the touch.

Now she felt bad. She wanted to feel free and play naked in the rain. Even if she should ran into the rain with her dress on, the football might hit her chest and the balls will start aching her. She can’t risk increasing the pains of the balls now. She drew up the upper part of her cloth and looked down into it to her chest. The area of the balls looked lighter than every other part of her abdomen. The balls were still there growing by the day, just as her mother had said. She felt them with her left hand and sighed. She wondered what might be inside the balls. They felt strong like unripe tomato balls. As her fingers shoved across the edge of the tender breasts, she felt some pains and sighed again, and looked up straight into the rain. She was looking at nothing in particular. With her eyes on the droplets of the fading rain as they trickled down from the roof she could see the serenity in them. She felt like going into the world in the droplets to know how it felt in there. Then the voice came.

“Nwanne!” It was her mother calling and she jumped out of her imagination and scurried to the kitchen where Igbeneche was wrapping asusu with plantain leaves. She knew why she was being called. “Mma, let me get the trey pan ready” she said as she walked in and out of the kitchen. Igbeneche looked up watching her back as she sauntered like a tomboy towards the wall on which the tray leaned. She could notice the increase in the size of her back side and the curvy sides of her hips and her dark skin that shined oilier by the day. Her daughter was gradually developing into womanhood. She thought something about telling her to walk like a woman but just saying it had not worked. Igbeneche was worried that her daughter was acting masculine. She recalled her own days as a growing teenage girl in the village. She tried to compare herself with her daughter yet she couldn’t fix any similarity but the knock knees and the shrill voice they shared. Igbeneche was still watching Nwanne till she picked the tray and turned. She could now see that her breasts are getting bigger despite the many cloths Nwanne wore to hide them.