The Cannibal

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‘‘No oooooo!’’ my voice drowned the the tumultuous ambience of the bloody war.

The atmosphere was coloured with thick orange and ash hues of the raging flames, and the air smelt of blood and smoke. Voices of some allergic persons coughing now and then sliced through the crackle of the flames.

Our enemies had fled in fear, dispersing in different directions. But the damage had already been done — not to them mainly, but to us, orchestrated by one of our own, my own son, the one who had my blood flowing through his veins.

I slumped on my knees, and watched Ofo’s head dangling from Ógù’s hand. Ógù seemed to be making a show of his fratricide, for he basked in the histrionic of one who had killed a dreadful beast.

As blood dripped from Ofo’s severed neck, Ekemma’s nightmare flashed in my mind.

I should’ve listened to her. I regretted. I shouldn’t have let Ofo go to war with us.

But even if I had hearkened to Ekemma’s subtle warning, Ofo would still have dismissed the idea, for it is an ignominious thing for a man to shy away from a daunting task in our town.

My eyes, with the last strain in them, peered past Ógù and his ‘treasure,’ and fixed at the place where the enclosure once sat. It had been burnt down to a frazzle, with smoke rising up from the rubble, and the branches of nearby trees drooping over the mess like a sincere sympathizer.

I felt a lump in my throat. Our daughters’ ashes must have coated the ground with that of the thatch so that any effort to scoop them for funeral would be futile.

What do we tell their mothers? What do I tell Ekemma and Ekwe? How do we explain this?

With the last ounce of strength in me, I rose to my feet and turned to confront Ógù, but my eyes only beheld his brother’s headless body!

★★★

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