Okoye, the only surviving uncle to Emenike, was old. He now was having frequent bouts of malaria and sicknesses of the old. At the initial stage of his minor illnesses, which later became critical, became a constant burden to those giving him care. Everyone thought it would stop. The sickness was normal and treated accordingly; they never complained. He was becoming more troublesome now. One would hardly satisfy his needs. He complained at every little mistake and called names. There were reasons to accommodate him. He had not been troublesome and old age, which was marked with much bitterness, was something everyone considered and continued helping him.
Emenike, at many times, was into thinking. He was looking at his uncle, who had really grown old and remembered when he saw him as a young man, and then he too was a child who walked the clan naked. Someday, he would be old and then his uncle would have died, and gradually become older, helpless and without vigour and his children would look up to him, caring for him the way a good son did to a deserving father. But, which of them? A man became twice a child, he reasoned. When a child was born, he became helpless and when he got older; he became helpless, too. He also remembered when he told him to withdraw his case with Umudi over his share of the public land when he was away. He told him that no matter how great a man, he could not win a judgment against the clan. He also told him that the clan could wake up one day and kill him, and no one would bear the burden. It would be clan murder. This lasted for days and when he knew Emenike could not just agree with him, he told him to hand off from doing anything that would bring reproach to his family.
“If a man seeks to grow long teeth, he must grow long lips to cover them.”
That was when Emenike knew he was alone and that if he moved further, his head would fall.
“Listen, my son, no matter how sharp the cutlass, it cannot hold itself or carve its own handle. You are strong, young and lively, there are limits to which you can go.”
These thoughts dwelt with Emenike for a time, and he knew the old man meant so much to him.
But as time went on, his frequent bout of malaria turned into a protracted illness, which brought famous native doctors from Umudi to attend to him. Famous diviners Umudi consulted divined that the illness was natural and not manmade. Still, the diviners recommended for sacrifice to be performed to the gods and their ancestors. One does not go to the gods without dropping in something.
The sickness grew from bad to worse each day, and it was a sure thing that he would die. He was losing his speech and memory. He breathed heavily each time, after staying without breathing and coughing for a short time. His ailment defied all treatment. Emenike and Okoye’s children kept vigil at his bedside. They did not stay off for long and kept each other in constant touch. To the elders, it was certain he would not survive. Many had seen that long ago and kept silent. Emenike knew too, but he was very soft to the children who never would understand many things. It would not be better to kill him with the sword. When it was time, he would naturally give up. He had got into the acrid smell of death.
Day after day, his sickness grew. There was little trace of life in him. He had stopped eating; he could not speak or answer the names he was called. That was when they knew he had gone far. He was always under the log of fire in his interior room, with many attendants. His breathing was heavy and would be counted on by how many in a day. The gods and men were at his side, waiting on which he would go, but his ancestors were eagerly waiting for his return. He had lived long with a man and when fate summoned, he must obey.
Okoye was a great man. He had done much for Umudi. He was a man whom everyone could tell of. He was the mouth through which Umudi spoke and the mirror through which the men of his age and the younger looked at the future of the clan. As a talented talker, words never failed him. He threaded with caution whenever he spoke and ate words with caution. He spoke for Umudi in many times of trouble and those troubles which could have ended with war were settled in peace. The clan’s people would miss him dearly.
When a man like him died, it was said that men like him never came, always in the clan. For all this, he was considered a gift to his generation and the entire clan.
His illness had lasted for sixteen market days and no one knew what was next. He was already tired as it had defied all treatment, but could not say it openly. It was the sickness of an old man. There was no real cure for him at the moment. He was born on one of the Orie market days and so was the son of Orie. He would die on an Orie market day, but who knew when. Orie came up once in every four days. Each of the market days they counted until they gave up count.
Alaga, who was his neighbour and a man in the clan, slowly walked to his compound with his stick one afternoon. Since it all began, he had been lying low in his house and did not say many things. They were mates, born in the same Orie. While Okoye was born in the morning, Alaga was born in the evening. Their conception, as it was rumoured, took place in the same night after their fathers, very young men then, newly married, had returned from a second burial of a very influential man and drank so much. They took the juicy part, which was the thick and useful part of wine meant for the elders or newly married who would meet their women. Their next resting place was their wives. The midnight play brought to a reality the two different people in almost the same time. Alaga’s mother had delayed her delivery when he was in labour pains out of fear. It was her first child. The two young children who grew and now became old men were at the time of their youth, inseparable. They knew from the day they were told that they were born the same day and it pleased them so much that they became not only neighbours, but close friends. Okoye always took superiority over him in the gathering of men, saying that a whole afternoon was to him one full season and as such, he was much older than Alaga. It was not disputed. He took the first share in the gathering of their age mates before Alaga, though sometimes their share was almost the same in size and quantity.