Chinelo Okparanta - Under the Udala Trees

I’m not sure if it ever made it to the ten, and even if it did, I’m not sure what that ten would have been, but where it finally landed was on the story of Ogbuogu, one of the old folktales Papa used to tell me. Perhaps that was the ten.

Once upon a time, two neighboring villages were at war with each other in a relentless struggle over land. The first village had an army of mighty warriors, intimidating warriors, all equipped with fancy spears and with fancy bows and arrows. The second village had none of the mighty warriors; neither did it have any of the fancy weapons. What it did have was a boy by the name of Ogbuogu, whom the gods had endowed with mighty powers so that he always knew the best way to organize his people in order to win every battle that came their way. The neighboring villagers knew this, and it aggravated them to no end to have this boy as their obstacle, in the face of whom they would surely lose all battles.

Whenever the opponents were about to come battle Ogbuogu’s village, the town crier went around announcing that ndi iro abiawana , that the enemies were coming. He blew his opi in that specific way that was Ogbuogu’s signal to report for battle. Along with the blowing of his flute, the town crier sang:

Ogbuogu nwa, Ogbuogu nwa,

Anyi agbarana ogu oso

Ogbuogu nwa, Ogbuogu nwa,

Anyi agbarana ogu oso

Ima na ofu nwa n’egbu ora nine!

Anyi agbarana ogu oso.

Fighting child, Fighting child,

Let’s not run away from fighting

Fighting child, Fighting child,

Let’s not run away from fighting

Imagine, one child can kill an entire village!

Let’s not run away from fighting.

One day, as Ogbuogu’s village was nearing the point of securing all the land belonging to them, the opposing village found out the secret of the town crier’s call. They brought their own opi and blew it in the same fashion as Ogbuogu’s village’s town crier. Of course, Ogbuogu responded.

He came out, prepared with his bow and arrow, not knowing that it was the opponent playing a trick on him. He arrived at the battlefield only to find that none of his fellow warriors were there with him. Rather, he was all alone on the battlefield surrounded by the enemy warriors.

The battle began. Ogbuogu fought, and he fought. One would hardly have believed that he was one single man on that field. One would hardly have known just how outnumbered he was. But eventually he grew exhausted. It was too late by the time his fellow warriors got wind of what had happened. They arrived at the battlefield only to see that Ogbuogu was dead. There was nothing they could do but carry Ogbuogu’s body back to the village. And as they did, they wailed and shed tears. Not only had they lost a kinsman, but this particular loss, they knew, would leave them vulnerable to attack. This particular loss might even lead to the end of their village as they knew it, because the conquering village might go so far as to force them off their land.

They were still in the middle of mourning Ogbuogu when the town crier announced that the neighboring village was approaching for another battle. This news sent them into a panic, of course. How could they possibly fight any battle without Ogbuogu? What hope did they have of making it out alive?

They held a quick meeting where they considered their options. When the time of battle arrived, they gathered themselves and prepared, bows and arrows in place. As luck or cleverness would have it, they came up with the idea of tying Ogbuogu’s body on a horse. They set a plank of wood at his back, to hold him up so that it looked as if he was alive and sitting on the horse. They put a small colony of ants in his mouth so that from a distance it appeared that his mouth sometimes moved, that he was the one doing the moving, the way the living do.

They arrived at the battlefield that way, with Ogbuogu in their midst, riding high and looking very proud on his horse.

Upon seeing Ogbuogu on the horse, the enemies fell into disarray, scattering about, exclaiming that here was Ogbuogu’s spirit returning to deal with them. Surely, they said, if they were to so much as attempt to do battle with him, as with any member of the spirit world, there was a good chance that they themselves would soon die and be sent to the most terrible part of the spirit world.

So it was that Ogbuogu’s village remained undefeated.

The sound of my stomach growling snapped me out of my thoughts. That morning, I had been so busy with chores, trying to finish them early, that I had completely missed breakfast. And, the night before, I had eaten only a piece of bread for supper — the last remaining bread, a very small piece, almost a morsel, hardly enough to fill an ant.

I felt the stabbing ache of hunger in my stomach. Reflexively, I brought my hand to my belly, as if to assuage the pain that way.

Okeke’s eyes followed my hand, settling with it on my belly. Then his eyes traveled back up to my face.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked.

“Yesterday, Sir,” I replied. “We have no kerosene to cook.”

“What about bread?”

“I ate the last piece of bread last night, Sir,” I said.

There appeared a frown on his face, but it was hard to tell if it was really there or just the effect of the drooping half.

He looked at the container in my hand, the glass one that I had come to fill. “Hand me your bottle,” he said.

I did as I was told.

He took the bottle, headed to the cabinet beneath the countertop on which he had set the funnels. He took out a small container of what must have been his personal stock of kerosene and set it on the counter near the funnels. He chose the smallest funnel, stuck it into my bottle, and began pouring the kerosene from his container into mine.

When he was finished, he brought the filled-up bottle to me.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, extending my hand and collecting it from him.

I turned to leave, but he stopped me. “Wait,” he said. “One more thing.”

He went back to a different cupboard. The loaf of bread that he took out of the cupboard was wrapped in a polythene bag, so he first had to unwrap it before tearing it in two, dividing it in an uneven half. He gave the larger piece to me, kept the smaller piece for himself.

He walked to the place where a tall stool sat, took a seat on the stool, began to eat his portion of the bread right there before me. He bit hungrily into it, catching the crumbs as they fell and eating them too. I remained standing where I was but followed his lead and began eating my portion as well.

A few moments later, it seemed he was about to speak, but suddenly there was a loud crashing sound outside. I startled, stared wide-eyed at Okeke.

He furrowed his brow, a look of concern, but then a thought appeared to occur to him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I remember now. This one is just the Biafran army. Practice rounds. They’ll be finished within the hour.”

When he was through with his bread, he wiped his hands brusquely on his thighs. As I took the last bite of my bread, I realized that I had not yet thanked him for it. Hardly had I gotten out the thank-you when he said to me, “What are you waiting for?” His voice was soft. “Go on, you can go now. This is it. I don’t have anything else to give. Go on. You may go now.”

I said, “But I have money for the kerosene.”

He shook his head, waved me away. “Just go,” he said. “Save it. Use it to buy something for yourself the next time you run out of kerosene to cook. Your oga won’t know any better unless you tell him.”

I nodded. Thanked him. Turned around and left.