Alaga had a good body since his childhood. He looked younger and stronger than most of his mates, that one could hardly believe he was of the same age as the dying man. He did not drink and married just two wives. His slim nature was a very big advantage to him. Many envied him and wished to be like him.
“Hei,” he shouted as he saw him and shook his head sadly. He had examined his condition with expert eyes and knew he would be far long from coming back to full life.
“Dike alaa,” he continued.
“He will no longer come back to full life,” he said, nodding his head in full disappointment.
“He has degenerated to a very bad condition. Nwaorie nwannem, ka odibazie. Something has to be done for him to pass yonder; he would not have to continue this way. This is the torment of the flesh. He could be like this for two seasons, if nothing is done. He can even start to decay and maggot may start eating his flesh from under.”
He walked close to him, set his hands on his body and nodded. He sympathised with him and gave thought to his condition in a quiet way as he thought deeply. Life! It was life. Yesterday, they were young children and played and cried and smiled. Today, they were men and painfully passed through many hard times, and now it was time to die.
They were both the sons of orie, and therefore were brothers in that line. So, he was losing a brother, a friend, a neighbour and son of a father, orie. He shook his head and went sorrowful with his friend, who was languishing in protracted old age and sickness.
Emenike and his children were seated around his obi. They never spent long hours outside without attending to him. He was always around to feel his temperature and to call his name. It was what he did to know if he still breathed. Alaga had spoken like an elder. An old man did not talk for the pleasure or itch of talk, but because he knew if he could not talk when he was supposed to, he would be regarded as an elder who was in the house and the goat died with rope on its neck. He was to him like a father. They were watching with interest as the old man said the many words that rang hopelessness.
Alaga looked up and shook his head sadly, walked straight to Okoye’s shrine and came out. He signalled Emenike with his stick to come nearer. He knew that among all the men in the house, it was only Emenike who had become a full man. He had seen many things and could confidentially keep secret anything he saw in the shrine. Others were mere young men, who were married with only one wife, and others just covered their nakedness. He knew he was the only one who could carefully and fearlessly keep the secret of what he saw to himself about the old man. In a low tone, he told him to get a machete and come along the second time.
Alaga walked around the shrine slowly and touched many things tied together and they dangled. One might contain his life and if it was left dangling, he would never be called human. He would commune with the gods for many years and keep the living in a constant bad state. He also knew that if nothing was done, the termite might eat his mud bed under and then he might change to a hawk and fly away. That would be bad. That was their belief.
Slowly, the old man nodded. He had seen it. He shook his head again and had some time to ponder. It was life that he was about to cut. It was his friend’s life. He meant good for him. He could not forgive him if the dead knew that he allowed him to continue living. He held the small sized rope firmly while his hands shook slightly and cut it off. It fell into a pot. He watched the pot again and again, took the machete from Emenike and broke a little pot found at the shrine and a sudden life came into Okoye.
He slowly walked out when he heard a shout of his name called by one of his sons. The young man thought he had been cured. He came out, watched him again and called him many names and encouraged him to go in, that they would come along when they were done with humans. Okoye then breathed his last and was confirmed dead.
The man slowly walked out with his age-long walking stick. He had done so well for the family. As for Okoye, he died on that orie afternoon. Everyone came and looked at him sleeping peacefully, and nodded. No matter the age and how one died, death was death.