Our mind ran into many things - our memories with her as a young hardworking mother, our mealtime and farm times together, our playtime and bitter times, our trying times and good times. Tears formed a line in my face and made a visible runnel and so to our faces - in all faces. I had lost permanently in this life a woman I had ever loved, my mother who to me was a blood sister, never to see her again. Never.
We continued in silence, reflecting briefly the past and giving more attention to our future. Things could never be the same again. The next morning came in a hurry and the news gained ground faster than we had thought that mother had died. At least it was bad news, it was meant to travel than the good one. Sympathizers who had come to see us cried and held us lovingly consoling us. The cries continued and we never knew whether it was morning or afternoon. Mother needed to be buried that morning because she had long been sick. It would serve no useful purpose to continue leaving her. More so, in keeping with the tradition of my people she should be buried because she was a woman.
Soon, a procession formed and young men who carried her to her people led the way while we followed. We cried and cried in the eyes of the people, our people and her kinsmen. The many reasons for the cries were known to us, and some knew. Mother had suffered terribly for us, to see us grow, to see us make her smile, then ...then …She was no more. What was the meaning of its all? She had spent her years in suffering, in expectation, making many sacrifices she knew she could not be repaid.
Before the heart of that day, mother was interned. All of us, the children nearly followed her to the grave, but strong hands held us. We heard many sorry. We could have done that to ourselves. We never knew anything again. We cried. It was a way to show how grieved we were. Our thought was only on one thing death, to die and be buried with her. We cried as no one ever did, looking into our faces. I knew I was looked up to, but in reality, it does not come in. My mother had died. She would not die again. We saw her corpse well covered in the wooden box, and slowly it was lowered into the dust. She had begun a new journey to the world of the dead. We were at the graveside watching, sobbing, wiping the tears, gnashing our teeth and hitting hard our feet to the earth.
Few blessings were offered by her uncle and old men around. We were only expecting one thing more. Then what followed was more painful. The sounds of the awful sod falling out to the coffin. The first, the second, the third. The reality struck us that she had gone forever. Stronger hands held us firmly, and in the pain of our hearts, we saw them fill the empty grave with sand and matched on it.
My three younger ones looked at me and I opened my hands and they submitted to my embrace and tears, their tears fallen on me. They cried now in the strongest of hearts. I had stopped crying. It would not be good for me to continue. I made them understand few things.
That evening brought us to the world of the motherless. We mourned mother, days, and months and even for a year according to the tradition. Many people paid us visit and the aged send their condolences, which to us and in honor of our custom, a sacred duty to be performed by the living to the bereaved and the death relatives.
Some events followed afterward and it looked as though we could never remember our parents again. But flashes of our past memories with mother came, stayed and gone and we were sometimes unhappy.
I prospered afterwards and event that unfolded did last for a long time. We had almost everything and the events of the past 'did' not come to our mind again. We built the best-zincked house in our whole village, a very big house that accommodated us all. Mma our youngest and only sister married at the ripe hour of her youth to the first son of my master Ugonna.
Already, I had a son, a very handsome boy who was another face of father, his perfect reflection. He was named after him. It was his naming ceremony that brought us together as a family again.
For these years there was nothing that separated us. I continued shouldering the responsibility of headship, the heir, the head-son and I was glad I did.
GLOSSARY
Abanto Big-sized short won by young men and boys years back
Ala ndi yoroba Yoruba land
Asha The talkative bird
Chi One's personal god
Chukwu The way Igbo pagans pronounce the name of god almighty
Dalunu Well done
Dimkpa Full grown man, usually a married man
Dim My husband
Eke First market day
Eku A traditional wooden spoon
Iba Malaria
Kara obi. Oga adi mma Take heart, it shall be well
Mkpurumma Beauty
Nna Male title or father
Nne Female title or mother
Ndo Sorry
Nna anyi Title for the aged men
Nnunu mmuo. Evil bird
Otazi A specie of vegetable usually bitter in taste
Obiaradi Plant which its leave juice can be used to clot blood in event of bleeding
Nwa m My child
Orie Second market day
Oyi omuma Fever
Ude aki Locally made palm kernel oil. Usually black and thick in form
Utaba Snuff