CHAPTER FOUR
2000 Words
WITHIN PEACE
The family compound was small but sturdy.
Its main house was built of red mud bricks with a rusting corrugated iron roof. Old wooden stools littered the porch. Chickens wandered freely, pecking at discarded cassava peels.
Smoke rose from the backyard kitchen where soup simmered over open firewood.
Inside, Mama Nneka peeled cassava while Nneka washed clothes in a large metal basin.
The radio crackled softly.
Then Emeka entered with George.
Mama Nneka froze.
“Chineke!”
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“What is this? You brought an enemy here?”
“He is not an enemy,” Emeka said.
“Kusiya!”
Her voice rose sharply.
“He cannot stay here! Mbanu!”
“Nnem, biko—”
“He is the reason we are trapped in all this!”
The room fell silent.
Nneka entered carrying a clay bowl filled with warm herbal brew.
Emeka dipped a cloth into it and gently pressed it against George’s bruised face.
Nneka watched carefully.
George stirred.
His eyes fluttered open.
“Holy crap…”
Mama Nneka recoiled.
George glanced around, disgust settling across his face.
“I need to… I need to leave.”
Emeka leaned closer.
“Please. You cannot.”
George brushed his hand away sharply.
“Don’t touch me.”
Mama Nneka’s eyes darkened.
“Eheh.”
She stepped forward.
“You dare speak to my son as though he were your servant?”
George stiffened.
“As it stands now, your life is at his mercy.”
Her voice trembled with contained fury.
“With all your white people have done, this country burns because of you.”
George stared.
“I care little whether you live or die,” she said coldly. “I keep you alive only for my children. Left to me, I would throw you to the forest and let wild dogs finish what war began.”
“Nnem!” both Emeka and Nneka cried.
George’s expression hardened.
“You are evil.”
Mama Nneka’s face twisted.
“You have not yet seen evil.”
She leaned closer.
“Tell your people we are coming. We will rip every one of you apart piece by piece.”
George swallowed hard.
Nneka scoffed.
“Ask your white gods what evil is, onye ara.”
“Kusiya osiso,” Emeka warned.
She hissed and stormed out.
George rose weakly.
“I’m leaving.”
Emeka stepped forward.
“You cannot. They will kill you.”
George’s jaw tightened.
“I would rather die by the sword than be killed by that witch.”
Emeka’s expression darkened.
“Mind your language, sir.”
The tension sharpened.
Then suddenly—
George lunged.
They crashed hard to the floor.
Fists slammed into George’s face.
Mama Nneka screamed.
“Ozugo! Ozugo!”
Nneka rushed in, wrapping her arms around Emeka’s neck and pulling him back.
Breathing heavily, Emeka rose.
Mama Nneka stared at George in fury.
“Have you no shame?”
Her voice cracked.
“My husband died in one of these wars.”
Silence.
“A white man killed him. Hung his severed head from a horse and paraded it through Onitsha and Agbor until it reached here.”
Tears spilled freely now.
“My son watched his father’s head dragged through villages…”
Her voice broke.
“And still he brought you here to save your life.”
George’s face crumpled.
For the first time, shame overtook him.
His voice trembled.
“I… am sorry.”
Mama Nneka scoffed bitterly.
“Yes. Sorry always comes after the damage is done.”
She walked out.Evening settled.
The room was dimly lit by a kerosene lamp.
The radio hummed softly as Emeka leaned close to hear the latest report.
Mama Nneka sighed heavily.
“This war grows wider every day. We lose land after land.”
Emeka’s voice was steady.
“If this war gives us a mind of our own, then so be it.”
Mama Nneka shook her head.
“People are dying.”
She looked toward the window.
“We should be fighting the colonial warlords. Instead, we fight ourselves.”
Her voice hardened.
“The Northerners accuse the East. The West accuses the North. Everyone blames everyone while our livelihood disappears.”
Nneka entered carrying four covered earthen bowls.
“Nne.”
Mama Nneka looked up.
“Ah. Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
Nneka glanced toward George’s room.
“I will call the oyibo man.”
Emeka started to rise.
Mama Nneka stopped him firmly.
“Don’t. You have already made your point.”
Slowly, he sat back down.
And outside, the war continued.
The Obi was quiet and dim.
Its mud walls stood thick and aged, crowned by a heavy thatched roof that let in narrow fingers of daylight through tiny openings carved into the sides. Smoke from earlier incense still lingered faintly in the air, curling around carved wooden masks and polished goat horns mounted carefully on the walls.
At the center of the room sat Obi Okwudili upon a raised wooden stool, his sacred Ofo staff resting firmly in his hand.
Around him, the Ndi Nze sat in solemn silence on low stools arranged in a circle, their expressions thoughtful beneath the heavy tension hanging in the room.
George Wellington stood quietly nearby, his gaze drawn toward a beautifully arranged string of cowry beads hanging on the wall.
He studied it for a moment.
Nneka noticed.
“That was my father’s.”
George turned quickly.
“Oh… I’m sorry.”
Her expression softened.
“He was a chief. A schoolteacher. And a trader.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“He knew how to divide his time wisely.”
George looked around the humble room again.
“Wow.”
He shook his head.
“How did I not see all of that before?”
Nneka smirked.
“You were too busy fighting us, kwanu.”
George gave an embarrassed smile.
Nneka gestured toward the adjoining room.
“Food is ready. Bia re.”
George frowned slightly.
“By that?”
She laughed softly.
“Come and eat.”
Mama Nneka and Emeka were already seated halfway across the mat when George followed Nneka into the main room.
The evening air had grown cooler.
A strange calm had settled over the compound.
Mama Nneka looked up as they entered.
“You must gather strength if you intend to survive this war.”
The group settled onto the woven mat.
Nneka carefully uncovered the earthen bowls.
The rich aroma instantly filled the room.
One bowl held steaming rice drenched in thick stew with roasted bush meat.
The second held abacha—African salad richly garnished with more roasted meat.
George stared.
“What is that?”
Nneka smiled proudly.
“Abacha. African salad, in English.”
George leaned closer.
“Can I try some?”
Nneka blinked in surprise and glanced at her mother.
Mama Nneka raised an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?”
George chuckled lightly.
“Trust me. I’m a tourist. I’ve survived worse.”
Mama Nneka laughed for the first time.
“Alright.”
George scooped up a careful bite and placed it into his mouth.
Almost immediately he coughed violently.
Nneka rushed to pour water into a cup and handed it to him.
He drank quickly.
Then suddenly laughed.
His eyes watered.
“Wow.”
He fanned his mouth.
“That is hot and spicy.”
The family stared cautiously.
George wiped his eyes and smiled.
“What?”
He took another bite.
“I definitely love this. Let me join you.”
Slowly, the room relaxed.
For the first time, laughter touched the walls.
Later, under the mango tree, George carefully washed several ripe mangoes in a basin of water.
He picked one up and bit deeply into it.
Juice ran down his fingers.
Nneka frowned.
“What are you doing? You could have asked for a knife.”
George grinned.
“I’m fine this way.”
He held up his sticky hands.
“I like feeling the juice drip.”
He turned toward Emeka.
His expression became serious.
“I owe you my life, young comrade.”
Emeka smiled quietly.
George looked toward all of them.
“And to all of you…”
His voice softened.
“I am deeply sorry.”
The silence deepened.
“I thought this land was weak. I thought your people had given up.”
He shook his head.
“But there are still patriots here willing to fight for their home.”
He looked at Emeka and opened his arms.
“We can seal peace with a hug.”
Emeka hesitated only briefly before stepping forward.
They embraced awkwardly.
Nneka laughed.
“Oh! Oh!”
Mama Nneka shook her head.
“That is enough. Inside, all of you.”
The younger pair obeyed.
George remained seated beside Mama Nneka.
For a while neither spoke.
Then George’s voice broke the silence.
“You are a good woman.”
Mama Nneka looked at him.
“You raised warriors. Children who remain loyal to family no matter what.”
His face darkened with memory.
“My parents were diplomats at the British Embassy.”
He paused.
“But they believed in Africa’s freedom.”
Mama Nneka listened silently.
“They supported African independence. Humanitarian work.”
George’s voice tightened.
“The British Prime Minister ordered them to withdraw.”
He swallowed.
“They refused.”
The words came harder now.
“They were stripped of position. Threats followed.”
His eyes grew wet.
“The day we were meant to leave, I stayed behind.”
His voice cracked.
“There was a car accident.”
He stared into the dirt.
“They died.”
A tear slipped down his face.
“And since then, I’ve been under the mercy of these men.”sweet and juicy mango. George Wellington washed them closely and picked up a trial
Nneka: What are you doing, You would have requested For a knife
George Wellington: I’m Fine Dear! I love it this way, feeling the juice dripping on my hands ( referring to Emeka) I am sorry for everything, I owe my totality to you,young comrade
Emeka: (smiles)
George Wellington: And To you all I’m so sorry for everything, I guess there are still patriots ready to fight in keeping their homeland. On that note I’m sorry about that, We can Kiss it with a hug.
Both: ( Hugs Him) oh! Oh!
Mama Nneka: Ok That’s enough, inside you all
Both: ( walks in)
George Wellington: You are a good woman and raised warriors that sticks to been with the family no matter what. Unlike Mine, My Mom and Dad were Diplomats For British Embassy. But picked on the African needs and fight For The African Freedom, The British prime minister and it’s World of Affairs, got to hear about it and called them asking them to withdraw, They refused been humanitarian, So they stripped them of the position and that was the beginning of threat and more threat, On the Day we were meant to live I didn’t go with them. I stood back and there was a ghastly car accident. And since then I’ve been on the mercy of these men. ( Whispers) I just want to opt out For Good. ( Cries silently) I’d be going back to my homeland like you Patriots I also have a country to protect and I won’t let it be taken away by bigotry and blood drainers. In the name of dictators, I need to write some wrong starting off from this spot, by leaving you with the remaining pride left off
*****”**””***””””
Narrator: The c**k-crowed and the Journey started on.It was a race And like The spur of the moment there was an interlock,
Mama Nneka: ( removes the gown mixing some herbs)
George: ( pacing up and Down) Will she be fine
- Writer
