Who Fears Death

“Wokike.”

“Did you have intercourse?”

Luyu said nothing. Then she looked at the fish man on the wall and said, “Yes.”

My jaw dropped.

“How often?”

“Many times.”

“Why?”

Luyu glowered. “I don’t know.”

The Ada gave her a harsh look. “After tonight, you’ll refrain until you’re married. After tonight, you should know better.” She moved on to Binta, who’d been crying the entire time. “Who?”

Binta’s shoulders curled more. She cried harder.

“Binta, who?” the Ada asked again. Then she looked toward the five women and they moved in close to Binta, so close that Luyu, Diti, and I had to tilt our heads to see her. She was the smallest of the four of us. “You’re safe here,” the Ada said.

The other women touched Binta’s shoulders, cheeks, neck, and softly chanted, “You are safe, you are safe, you are safe here.”

Nana the Wise put her hand on Binta’s cheek. “After tonight, all in this room will be bound,” she said in her dry voice. “You, Diti, Onyesonwu, and Luyu will protect each other, even after marriage. And we, the Old Ones, will protect you all. But truth is the only thing that will secure this bond tonight.”

“Who?” the Ada asked for the third time.

Binta sunk to the floor and leaned her head against one of the women’s thighs, “My father.”

Luyu, Diti, and I gasped. The other women didn’t seem surprised at all.

“Was there intercourse?” Nana the Wise asked, her face hardened.

“Yes,” Binta whispered.

Several of the women cursed and sucked their teeth and muttered angrily. I shut my eyes and rubbed my temples. Binta’s pain was like my mother’s.

“How often?” Nana the Wise asked.

“Many times,” Binta said, her voice growing stronger. Then she blurted, “I-I-I want to kill him.” Then she clapped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she said, her words muffled by her hands.

Nana the Wise removed Binta’s hands. “You’re safe here,” she said. She looked disgusted and shook her head, “Now we can finally do something about it.”

In fact, this group of women had known of Binta’s father’s behavior for a while. They were powerless to intervene until Binta went through her Eleventh Rite.

Binta vigorously shook her head. “No. They will take him away and …”

The women hissed and sucked their teeth. “Don’t worry,” Nana the Wise said. “We’ll protect you and your happiness.”

“My mother won’t …”

“Shhh,” Nana the Wise said. “You may still be a child but after tonight you’ll also be an adult. Your words will finally matter.”

The Ada and Nana the Wise barely glanced my way. No questions for me.

“Today,” the Ada said to us all. “You’ll become child and adult. You will be powerless and powerful. You will be ignored and heard. Do you accept?”

“Yes,” we all said.

“You are not to scream,” the healer said.

“You are not to kick,” the seamstress said.

“You are to bleed,” the architect said.

“Ani is great,” my great-aunt said.

“You have already taken the first step into adulthood by leaving your homes and entering the dangerous night alone,” the Ada said. “You’ll each get a small sack of herbs, gauze, iodine, and body salts. You’ll return home alone. In three nights, you’re to take a long bath.”

We were told to remove our clothing and handed pieces of red cloth to wrap around ourselves. Our tops would be taken to the back and burned. We’d each be given a new white shirt and veil, the symbols of our new adulthood. We were to wear our rapas home; they were symbols of our childhood.

Binta was first, her rite most urgent. Then Luyu, Diti, and then me. A red cloth was spread on the floor. Binta started crying again as she lay on it, her head on the red pillow. The lights were turned on which made what was about to happen that much scarier. What am I doing? I thought, watching Binta. This is crazy!I don’t have to do this!I should just run out the door, run home, slip into my bed, and pretend this never happened. I took a step towards the door. I knew it wouldn’t be locked. The rite was a girl’s choice. Only in the past had girls been forced to do it. I took another step. No one was watching. All eyes were on Binta.

The room was warm and outside was like any other night. My parents were sleeping, as if it were any other night. But Binta was lying on a red cloth, her legs held apart by the healer and the architect. The Ada disinfected the scalpel and then heated it over a flame. She let it cool. Healers usually use a laserknife for surgery. They make the cleanest cuts and can instantly cauterize when necessary. I briefly wondered why the Ada was using a primitive scalpel instead.

“Hold your breath,” the Ada said. “Don’t scream.”

Before Binta could finish taking in her breath, the Ada took the scalpel to her. She went for a small perturbing bit of dark rosy flesh near to top of Binta’s yeye. When the scalpel sliced it, blood spurted. My stomach lurched. Binta didn’t scream but she bit down on her lip so hard that blood dribbled from the side of her mouth. Her body jerked but the women held her.

The healer stanched the wound with ice wrapped in gauze. For a few moments everyone froze except Binta, who was breathing heavily. Then one of the other women helped her stand and move to the other side of the room. Binta sat down, her legs apart, holding the gauze in place, a stunned look on her face. It was Luyu’s turn.

“I can’t do this,” Luyu started babbling. “I can’t do this!” Still, she allowed herself to be held down by the healer and the architect. The seamstress and my great-aunt held her arms for good measure as the Ada took another scalpel and disinfected it. Luyu didn’t scream but she made a sharp, “peep” Tears dribbled from her eyes as she fought with the pain. It was Diti’s turn.

Diti lay down slowly and took a deep breath. Then she said something too quiet for me to hear. The minute the Ada brought the fresh scalpel to her flesh, Diti jumped up, blood oozing down her thighs. Her face was a mask of terror, as she tried to wordlessly scramble away. The women must have seen this reaction often because without a word, they grabbed her and quickly held her down. The Ada finished the cut, fast and clean.

It was my turn. I could barely keep my eyes open. The other girls’ pain was swarming around me like wasps and biting flies. Tearing at me like cactus thorns.

“Come, Onyesonwu,” the Ada said.

I was a trapped animal. Not trapped by the women, the house, or tradition. I was trapped by life. Like I had been a free spirit for millennia and then one day something snatched me up, something violent and angry and vengeful, and I was pulled into the body that I now resided in. Held at its mercy, by its rules. Then I thought of my mother. She’d stayed sane for me. She lived for me. I could do this for her.

I lay on the cloth trying to ignore the three other girls’ eyes as they stared at my Ewu body. I could have slapped all three of them. I didn’t deserve to suffer those scrutinizing stares during such a chilling moment. The healer and architect took my legs. The seamstress and my great-aunt held my arms. The Ada picked up the scalpel.

“Be calm,” Nana the Wise said into my ear.

I felt the Ada part my yeye’s lips. “Hold your breath,” she said. “Don’t scream.”

Halfway through my breath, she cut. The pain was an explosion. I felt it in every part of my body and I almost blacked out. Then I was screaming. I didn’t know that I was capable of such noise. Faintly, I felt other women holding me down. I was shocked that they hadn’t let go and run off. I was still screaming when I realized that everything had fallen away. That I was in a place of periwinkle and yellow and mostly green.