ACHEBE DIARIES

Elle

There are over a million definitions of the word "miracle".

At that instant, your life seems to acquire a user's guide, and everything else aligns perfectly. The future appears crystal clear, devoid of any uncertainties, with all potential paths to achieve your goal marked in bright green, and countless thoughts race through your mind as every voice urges you to "Go!" because every fiber of your being feels certain, enthusiastic, and prepared? Perhaps.

For some individuals, it represents a new job or a long-awaited advancement, for others, the moment of saying 'I do,' and for many, the arrival of a child. In those moments, a multitude of plans are envisioned, followed by numerous promises to ensure their success, as hope fills the room, anticipating a choice or an unexpected turn.

The birth of Chantelle in 1971 was a significant moment, yet the atmosphere was permeated with an overwhelming silence. Barely a minute later, all celebrations were enveloped in a solemn tune. Soft melodies of 'tùfià!' accompanied the lead voices, muffling the faint cries with their lament of 'arū' while they spat on the flower-printed cloth that wrapped the cold body of a baby boy.

"A cursed end to the Eke market day", some called it, while others preferred to title it the mother's worst day on earth, but to Mrs Ugoulo Catherine Odumegu, her dead son was the most beautiful abomination.

There was a story of population control in Eastern Nigeria at a time when community was the order of the day. Children were of course a blessing but the village head was religious and he took the words of Johnson Oatman Jr's "Count your blessings" literally as each family was allowed to count no more than two.

Aside from that, he believed in luck, timing, planning, precision and trust. With these ideas in mind, he built the big wooden gates that marked the beginning of their story. At the top, 'WELCOME TO GA-EME' was carved with the skill of a talented toddler. He had no formal education, but General Chukwudumago Victor Odumegu led a clan of wills.

"Papa, why is mama crying?" his four-year-old son, Kachi, asked, tugging his wrapper one evening, a week after the 'unfortunate incident' as he preferred to remember it. He had spent the whole day running negotiations with the whites regarding their secret trade and was in no mood to attend to his wife's brooding nor be reminded of it, so he chose to plead the fifth, hoping the curious mind would get bored and find clay the same way he had three other times that week.

"Papa, why is Mama crying?"

"Papa please now..."

"Papa..."

"Papa now..."

The anthem continued for his longest two minutes of that day, after which he silently thanked God, his son having given up and gone to mould another cup. The peace lasted only seconds before it was followed by screaming.

"Papa!" "Mama!" "Papa!" "Ahhhhh!"...

That was all it took for him to race to the only room in their hut and find his son crying next to his wife's still posture, one wrist filled with blood and the other still wrapped around clay.

"Chimo!"

"Ugo!! Kedu ihe bu ihe a?!" He matched his son's cries with panicked screams of his own as he lifted his wife and ran to their medical centre, leaving Kachi with red eyes spilling 'transparent' on the now altered clay floor.

"She is lucky you are such a fast runner, two minutes later, and we would have lost her", the white doctor spoke as carefully as possible, taking her 'strange' accent into consideration as she delivered the news to the general who had almost lost his legs to continuous pacing.

"You both can see her now"

Kachi, only understanding a handful of words by then, was the first to pick a race ahead of the doctor, only to be pulled back seconds later by the ear and a frustrated father asking, "Do you even know where she is?" The doctor chuckled at the child's impatience and directed them to room eleven. Victor then responded with a tired "Daalu" saving his remaining strength for talking sense into his stubborn wife.

"Dear, why would you do something like that, enh bikonu now?" he sighed, holding his forehead and leaning against the wall by her sick bed.

"You left your other child for that girl Nenye to take care of and you want to kill yourself for a dead one?"

Taking her hands, he continued, "Even if not for me, can't you do this for your daughter, Kachi and me..."? That was all it took to trigger every ugly thing the beautiful Catherine was feeling inside as she lashed at her husband shedding fresh tears.

"Do what for you!? You this wicked man! They killed my baby, and you...you just looked away...my baby oooo...my...my...aaaahhhh!

Bring him backkkk! Bring him back ooo, general give me my son!!!..." She continued screaming, raining insults and using whatever strength she had left to hit her husband, who only held her, trying to hold back tears of his own. He quickly told Kachi to wait outside as he tried to calm her down. He knew he had done wrong by allowing the murder of his own son, but as the village head, he could not be the first to break the very rules he, along with his council, had put in place.

The Ga clan was a lot of things but developed was not one of them. Thanks to their secret trade with the whites, they had a medical centre with facilities people would kill for, but that was as modern as they got. They embraced the land of their fathers fully, making their houses with bamboo and clay, farming for food and business, and then the few who embraced education amongst them were allowed to deal in furniture with the West.

They had a simple structure. Those who liked the idea of books would either learn from the whites and grow the furniture business or help expand the medical centre, and the men who liked to work with their hands made their living with farming, construction and their simple banking facility, while most women dominated the markets. The selected few were left to their secret trade.

Feeding his community and making sure every member was thriving was the heavy burden placed on Victor's crown. "General Maga" the villagers often called him, as the title suggested great strength to them. He was as strong as his compassion, smart, logical, responsible and above all, appreciated order. Population Control was one thing they learnt and embraced from the Whites and their first council meeting decided that each family would not be allowed more than two children for resources to suffice and allow their beloved community thrive. If there were any special circumstances of twins after the birth of the first child, then only the child who comes out first lives, as he/she is considered stronger.

Maybe if he had a miraculous vision about his family's future, he would have fought for three children, but at that moment, the only thing he could do was hold his shaking wife, fighting the emotional war between strength and regret.

"I wish things were different nwayi oma, but you know our rules. I am in pain too, my dear, that is why I couldn't watch, but this is still a family enhh" he pressed on, gently rubbing his wife's back as he tried to offer words of comfort and hope.

"You still have a daughter you have not seen and a son who has been sad this entire week watching you lie down everyday almost lifeless! We cannot bring him back but we have to be strong for the ones we have. O di m nwute, ahuru m gi n'anya, bikonu kwusi ibe ákwá," he continued gently as he put some distance between them to face her, desperately trying to find life in her eyes. It took a moment but she finally returned her husband's hug and whispered softly, "call Kachi and let us go home so I can see my other baby". Victor could only smile after that, recalling all the reasons he married her.

Thankfully, the small lady Victor had tasked with caring for his daughter did her work diligently, following his one instruction not to breastfeed, for that was a bond meant for only the mother to establish. Catherine finally held her caramel-skinned baby, with 'pap' stained lips close to her heart, and felt it beat in her hands. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, so beautiful that she was moved to tears.

Offering a grateful smile at Nenye, she used her other hand to lift her other son onto her lap so he could see his sister. Squeezing his brows in curiosity, he looked up and asked his mother, "What do we call it?"

She shared a quick laugh with her husband and lightly bopped her son's nose, responding, "She, my dear boy, is Adauguo Chantelle Odumegu, and yours to love."