Taking of Flesh

Five days before the Iwa-akwa festival, nestled 20 miles from Umuigwe village, lay the obscure Okpo village. Renowned for their exquisite craftsmanship in pottery, fishing implements, and masterful canoe construction, they possessed a dark underbelly stained by the abhorrent practice of human slavery. In a grotesque exchange, they callously traded their own kin for coveted items like mirrors, foreign garments, alcohol, and medicinal supplies.

This depravity reached an unfathomable zenith as Okpo villagers shamelessly bartered even their sacred deities to opportunistic Europeans. The sordid transactions unfolded with the sinister collaboration of corrupted native doctors, known as dibias in Iboland, who facilitated the sale of gods for substantial sums of money and gleaming gold.

The once-honorable legacy of Okpo became eclipsed by the shadows of avarice and moral decay, staining the upcoming festival with an unsettling pallor of guilt and despondency.

Numerous sacred idols, symbols of cultural heritage, were mercilessly exploited and pillaged from Africa, finding their way into Europe during the dark era of the slave trade. As the transatlantic slave trade unfolded, these revered artifacts became commodities, traded for minor items and money.

The sanctity of these items was violated, leaving scars on both the cultural landscape of Africa and the conscience of those involved. The exchange not only represented a heinous disregard for sacred traditions but also perpetuated the dehumanizing nature of the slave trade, casting shadows on the interconnected histories of Africa and Europe.

On this fateful day, Amadioha, the god of thunder, took center stage. Legend has it that a century ago, he descended from the sky in the dead of night, striking down numerous slave masters amidst a procession of slaves sold by their village chiefs and avaricious family members.

He appeared as a formidable warrior without a distinct form. In gratitude for the rescue of hundreds of slaves, they fashioned an idol for Amadioha, revering him in their shrines, particularly during the morning consultations with their ancestors.

For a century, they revered Amadioha. On a fateful day, under the rule of Okwute, a corrupt king, he murdered the chief priest, replacing him with another corrupt figure to facilitate the sale of the village deity, Amadioha.

The transaction succeeded as planned, but in attempting to control Amadioha's power with a magical cloak, both the king and the chief priest lost their lives. The white men, their partners, fled with the deity. Fast forward to the present day.

In the dimly lit chamber of Ikenna's ancestral home, the air was heavy with tension as the family grappled with the mysterious events that unfolded. The distant echo of villagers' murmurs reached their ears, drawn by the unsettling smoke billowing from the direction of the Royal family.

Ikenna and his brothers huddled in consultation, seeking answers from the revered Ikenga. However, an unusual silence enveloped Ikenga, leaving the family perplexed. In a sudden burst of urgency, Ikenga darted towards his mother's sacred shrine.

"Nne m, what is happening? Both Ikenga and Ijele have maintained silence on this crucial matter. What course of action should we take?" Ikenna implored his mother, Ukwaike, who turned from her idols to address him.

"Patience is a virtue, my son. Give them time. They will reveal the truth when the stars align," Ukwaike reassured him, her gaze shifting towards the statue of Ijele – the god of beauty and childbearing.

With a swift motion, she banged a double African gong, the sound resonating through the chamber. Her voice joined the rhythmic hum of a praise song dedicated to Ijele, an ancient melody filling the air with both solace and anticipation.

As Nduka awoke, his eyes cautiously scanned the dimly lit room through the slits in the wooden door of his mother's chamber. The air was thick with an unsettling energy, and outside, the sounds of slaughtered flock echoed in the air. A wave of confusion swept over him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

His hands trembled as he touched his own body, discovering the unfamiliarity of newfound masculinity. "Am I a boy now?" he muttered, fear etched across his face. Seated on the bare floor, he gazed upward, seeking answers from the vast expanse of the sky.

In the midst of his turmoil, a man and a woman materialized from the shadows at the edge of the moody room. Their presence carried an otherworldly aura. "We are gods of this land, my lord," the man spoke, addressing Nduka with reverence, "What has led the great ancient warrior to cross our path?"

"Ikenga and Ijele, I know you both. I have journeyed the galaxy in search of my son, and I am glad to be in your midst." He turned and walked towards them, "I remembered seeing my son, but he vanished as I struggled to release myself from the magical cloak. Then I found myself here." He narrated with a disappointing tone.

Nduka, now grappling with newfound powers of Ama Ogu, addressed Ikenja and Ijele with urgency. He paced around again."They seem inquisitive about this incident. Speak to no one about this; tell them a foreign powerful force healed me and brought me back," Nduka commanded, locking eyes with both of them. A solemn nod from Ikenja and Ijele signalled their understanding, and with that, they vanished, leaving behind a room veiled in ethereal smoke.

As Nduka contemplated his situation, a heavy realization settled upon him. "I must pretend to be Nduka until I am of age. But this disguise... it feels weird, almost humiliating," he mused aloud, examining his transformed appearance.

The weight of his secret and the burden of assuming a false identity hung in the air, setting the stage for a journey fraught with challenges, where Nduka would navigate the delicate balance between his true self and the facade he must maintain to protect those he cared about.

Hours passed, and the echoes of gratitude resonated in Nduka's ears as he overheard Ikenna expressing joy and Ukwaike offering praise to Ikenga for answered prayers. Their voices lingered for a moment before fading into the distance. Seizing the opportunity, Nduka slipped out of his mother's room through a small, squared, moody window.

Emerging into the family farm known as Ngbala, he carried his catapult at his waist, moving barefooted through the fields. As he ambled, thoughts of an uncertain destiny weighed on his mind.

The tranquility of the farm provided a canvas for Nduka to meditate on the twists of fate that had transformed him. The path ahead remained uncertain, and Nduka contemplated what the future held for him, caught between the mystique of his abilities and the authenticity he sought to preserve.