Who Fears Death

“I did it for you, Mama!” I shouted.

She tried to snatch her hands from Papa so she could slap me again. “Don’t you blame me! Stupid idiot girl!” she said, when she couldn’t pull her hands from him.

“I’m not blaming …” I could feel blood seeping from me, faster now. “Mama, Papa, I bring shame to you,” I said, beginning to cry. “My existence is shame! Mama, I’m pain to you … since the day I was conceived.”

“No, no,” my mother said, shaking her head vigorously. “This was not why I told you.” She looked at Papa. “See, Fadil! See why I didn’t tell her all this time?”

Papa still held her hands, but now he looked as if he did it to hold himself up.

“Every girl here has it done,” I said. “Papa, you’re a well-loved blacksmith. Mama, you’re his wife. You both have respect. I’m Ewu.” I paused. “To not do it would bring more shame.”

“Onyesonwu!” Papa said. “I don’tcare what people think! Haven’t you learned that by now? Eh? You should have come to us. Insecurity is no reason to have it done!”

My heart ached but I still believed I’d made the right choice. He may have accepted my mother and me for what we were, but we didn’t live in a vacuum.

“In my village, no woman was expected to be cut like that,” my mother hissed. “What kind of barbaric …” She turned away from me. It was already done. She clapped her hands together and said. “My own daughter!” She rubbed her forehead as if doing so would smooth out her frown. She took my arm, “Get up.”

I didn’t go to school that day. Instead my mother helped me clean and pack my wound with fresh gauze. She made me a pain-relieving tea with willow leaves and sweet cactus pulp. All day, I lay in bed, reading. My mother took the day off to sit beside my bed, which made me a little uncomfortable. I didn’t want her to see what I was reading. The day after my mother told me the story of my conception, I’d gone to the book house. Surprisingly, I found what I was looking for, a book on the Nuru language, the language of my biological father. I was teaching myself the basics. This would have seriously enraged my mother. So as she sat beside my bed, I hid the book inside another book as I read it.

All day, she stayed in that chair, unmoving, only getting up for brief meals or to relieve herself. Once, she went into her garden to Hold Conversation with Ani. I wondered what she told the Almighty and All-knowing Goddess. After all that had happened to her, I wondered what kind of relationship my mother could possibly have with Ani.

When my mother returned, as I read my Nuru language book and rolled my stone in my mouth, I wondered what she thought about as she sat there staring at the wall.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_55c3068d-c1be-5772-81db-8ad7978b5c4c)

The One Who is Calling (#ulink_55c3068d-c1be-5772-81db-8ad7978b5c4c)

NONE OF THEM TOLD ANYONE. That was the first sign that our Eleventh Rite bond was true. And thus when I returned to school a week later, no one harassed me. All people knew was that I was now both adult and child. I was ana m-bobi. They had to at least give me that respect. Of course, we didn’t say a word about Binta’s sexual abuse, either. She later told us that the day after our rite, her father had to meet with the Osugbo elders.

“When he came home, afterwards, he looked … broken,” Binta said. “I think they whipped him.” They should have done more than that. Even back then I thought so. Binta’s mother was also brought before the elders. Both of her parents were ordered to receive counseling from the Ada for three years, as were Binta and her siblings.

As my friendship with Binta, Luyu, and Diti bloomed, something else started. It began indirectly my second day back at school. I leaned against the school building as students around me played soccer and socialized. I was still sore but healing fast.

“Onyesonwu!” someone called. I jumped and nervously turned around, images of that red eye popping into my head. Luyu laughed as she and Binta slowly walked over to me. For a brief moment, we stared at each other. There was so much in that moment: judgment, fear, uncertainty.

“Good morning,” I finally said.

“Good morning,” Binta said, stepping forward to shake and release my hand with a snap between our fingers. “You just back today? We are.”

“No,” I said. “I came back yesterday.”

“You look well,” Luyu said, also giving me the friendship handshake.

“You too,” I said.

There was an awkward pause. Then Binta said, “Everyone knows.”

“Eh?” I said too loudly. “Knows? Knows what?”

“That we’re ana m-bobi,” Luyu said proudly. “And that none of us screamed.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved. “Where’s Diti?”

“Hasn’t left bed since that night,” Luyu said with a laugh. “She’s such a weakling.”

“No, she’s just taking advantage of missing school,” Binta said. “Diti knows she’s too pretty to need school, anyway.”

“Must be nice,” I grumbled, though I didn’t like missing school.

“Oh!” Luyu said, her eyes growing wide. “Did you hear about the new student?”

I shook my head. Luyu and Diti looked at each other and laughed.

“What?” I said. “Didn’t you two just get back today?”

“News travels fast,” Diti said.

“For some of us, at least,” Luyu said, smugly.

“Just tell me whatever you’re going to tell me,” I said, irritated.

“His name is Mwita,” Luyu said, excitedly. “He arrived here while we were gone. No one knows where he’s living or if he even has parents. Apparently he’s really smart, but refuses to come to school. Four days ago, he came for one day and scoffed at the teachers, saying he could teach them! Not a great way to make a good first impression.”

I shrugged. “Why should I care?”

Luyu smirked and cocked her head and said, “Because I hear he’s Ewu!”

The rest of that day was a blur. In class, I searched for a face the color of a camel’s hide with freckles like brown pepper, with eyes that weren’t Noah. During midday break, I searched for him in the schoolyard. After school, while walking home with Binta and Luyu, I still looked around. I wanted to tell my mother about him when I got home but I decided not to. Would she really have wanted to know of another result of violence?

The next day was the same. I couldn’t stop looking for him. Two days later, Diti returned to school. “My mother finally pushed me out of bed,” Diti admitted. She made her voice severe. “‘You aren’t the first to go through this!’ Plus she knew you all were back in school.” Her eyes flicked toward me, then away, and I instantly understood that her parents didn’t like me being in their daughter’s rite group. As if I cared what her parents thought.

Regardless, it was now definitely the four of us. Any friends Luyu, Binta, and Diti had before were no longer important. I had no friends to drop. Most girls who went through their Eleventh Rite together, though they were “bound,” didn’t remain so afterward. But the change was natural for us. We already had secrets. And those were just the beginning.

None of us was the “leader,” but Luyu was the one who liked to lead. She was fast and brazen. It turned out that there had been two other boys she’d had intercourse with. “Who is the Ada?” Luyu had spat. “I didn’t have to tell her everything.”

Binta always had her eyes downcast and spoke little when around others. Her father’s abuse cut deep. But when she was with just us, she talked and smiled plenty. If Binta weren’t born so full of life, I doubt she’d have survived her father’s sickness.

Diti was the princess, the one who liked to lie around in bed all day while her servants brought her meals. She was plump and pretty and things typically fell right into her lap. When she was around, good things happened. A merchant selling bread would sell it to us at half price because he was in a hurry to get home. Or we’d be walking and a coconut tree would drop a coconut at Diti’s feet. The Goddess Ani loved Diti. To be loved by Ani, what must that be like? I’m yet to know.

After school, we’d study at the iroko tree. At first, I was nervous about this. I was afraid the red and white creature I’d seen was linked to the iroko tree incident. Sitting under the tree felt like practically inviting the eye to come at me again. In time, as nothing happened, I relaxed a little. Sometimes I even went there alone, just to think.

I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit.

It was eleven days after my Eleventh Rite, four days after I returned to school, three days after I realized I was bound to three girls my age, and a day after Diti returned to school that the other thing happened. I was slowly walking home. My wound was throbbing. The deep unprovoked pain seemed to happen twice a day.

“They’ll still think you’re evil,” someone behind me said.

“Eh? What?” I said, slowly turning around. I froze.