Disobedience and Goats

Perched on a tree branch, Odogwu looked high into the skies and the constellations, mighty and small, looked back. The stars twinkled like fireflies on a journey, like the glow worms of the Ogbunike caves. It was beautiful. It was also just past noon. Odogwu didn’t care about trivial things like the laws of nature. Whose genius idea led to waiting till nighttime to see stars? Odogwu would stargaze whenever he wanted.

The ruckus of the crowded village square below called Odogwu’s attention. The villagers clustered in small groups beneath the giant Iroko tree, muttering in hushed tones that translated into a communal buzzing of complaints.

“Aru!” Nnamdi, the village palm-wine tapper, cursed.

“Abomination!” Kwuafa, the cobbler, spat.

Odogwu watched the scene beneath him as the villagers continued giving voice to their uneasiness.

“This has not happened in decades. We must catch the culprit before it’s too late!” another villager declared out loud.

“The gods will rain down pestilence for this sacrilege!” More and more frightened and angry statements followed.

“That is enough.” The words had come from a commanding baritone voice, though barely audible. Nevertheless, silence fell upon the village square. The voice belonged to the Igwe of Umueleke, Achumba Agu. He was the only one seated at the gathering. He sat on his stool with legs spread and hands intertwined as his elbows rested on his lap. His bushy white beard bristled as he munched his chewing stick.

“It is said, if one person cooks for a group, they will eat all the food, but if a group cooks for one person, he will not eat all the food,” the Igwe said slowly, looking from one face to another. “Something has happened to put you all on edge, but if we do not share our worries in an orderly manner, we will be like chickens at the poultry making a lot of noise and no sense at all.”

The villagers took a moment to gather themselves. Finally, Chijindu, the balding farmer with ten barns, stepped forward and prostrated himself before the Igwe.

“Igwe, the nkwa has been stolen,” the balding farmer said, wringing his hands.

The crowd descended into wails.

The Igwe’s stare quieted them. “Chijindu, explain what you have just said to those feigning knowledge for fear of mockery. It is of the utmost importance that we all know what is at stake here.”  

“As you wish, Igwe,” Chijindu replied, then began. “Centuries ago, our great deity, Ala, came to us in the flesh. Her love for us was immense; she risked mortal harm to help us thrive and survive in a harsh world. She taught us much in those days. She led us away from the darkness and into an era of light, peace, and progress. Our people were never so blessed. We were happy ... till the shadows came. Led by vengeful spirits, they were twisted beings. Half men, half evil. They had learnt of the rare opportunity that Ala’s human form presented them. They meant to kill her. Our people became afraid. Some turned against Ala to save themselves, but seven of our ancestors kept faith and prevailed against the shadows. For this, Ala bestowed her blessings upon them. These blessings would be renewed after the turn of each year. Just before Ala ascended into the heavens, she crafted a he-goat from infinity and gave it breath. It had the blackest fur and gold irises that glowed. 

This goat, which he called ‘Nkwa’, meaning ‘promise’, would wander out of the forest of spirits once a year. The nkwa would spend seven days in the village, each day in the home of the original seven families or their respective descendants. They were to treat the nkwa like an honoured guest. This they did by offering it shelter and the best of their harvest. The presence of the nkwa made these seven families exceptionally blessed with wealth and good fortune. They became The Nobles as we know them today.”

On the eighth day, the nkwa would walk back into the forest of spirits, leaving the village with richer nobles whose wealth would ideally reach the common folk.”

Reach indeed, thought Odogwu, rolling his eyes.

“Has the nkwa been stolen before?” Igwe Achumba asked, scratching at his overgrown beard. 

“Yes, my king. The nkwa has been stolen once before,” Chijindu said. “Long ago, a non-noble sought to acquire the blessings of the nkwa by stealing it as it emerged from the forest. The people of Umueleke were unable to discover the culprit. He fed and sheltered the nkwa for seven days. It was on the eighth day that the people discovered his treachery. Neither the nobility nor the common people—including the goat thief—received any blessings that year. It was an abomination for a non-member of the original families to participate, and so the village suffered immensely for it. For a decade, the nkwa did not return. In those absent years, our people perished, men went to war and died screaming, infants refused sleep, mothers lost their sanity, the land dried up, and the rains would not come. It was a time of starvation, disease, and desolation. It took years of sacrifices and rituals to appease the gods.”

Odogwu watched the worried faces of the villagers as the silence stretched on.

Igwe Achumba rose from his seat, and the crowd drew back in unison. “We cannot afford to dally. The mistakes of our fathers must not repeat themselves. We will capture the thief, complete whatever portion of the ceremony is left, and hope the gods are lenient.” 

“We need Odogwu,” Mama Chisom, the basket weaver, chirped in, her head down.

Frowns and grimaces found the faces of the villagers. Mutterings followed. Odogwu smiled at the reaction his name evoked.

“Yes, yes, we need Odogwu.” Igwe Achumba massaged his brow with old fingers. 

“Only the gods know where he might be. He is a wandering spirit that one.” Chijindu folded his arms in early resignation.

“Do not waste my time, Odogwu. Get down here!” the Igwe bellowed.

The people looked around, confused. Then at once, they all raised their eyes to the Iroko tree. Odogwu sighed before descending the tree in a series of jumps and tumbles. He finally somersaulted to the ground from the last branch. He was dressed in an undersized dark blue weathered vest and three-quarter trousers. He had bushy black hair and a beard that looked like it had never seen water. The leaf stalk that stuck out of the corner of his mouth did not help.

“What were you doing up there?” Kwuafa asked.

“Plucking mangoes.”

“That’s an Iroko tree.”

“So?” Odogwu cocked his head.

Kwuafa squinted in irritated confusion.

Odogwu didn’t miss the faint smiles of the Igwe and Chijindu. They were the only ones in the village he did not entirely rattle. They were rather fond of him for some reason.

“I assume you were the last nobleman to see the nkwa?” Odogwu turned to Chijindu.

“Yes. The nkwa came to my house first,” Chijindu replied. “My wife and daughter had gone to the market in the neighbouring village. So, I prepared a hut for it. I left to get more fresh yams from my farm, but the nkwa was gone on my return.” 

“When did this happen?” Odogwu inquired.

“Two days ago.”

Odogwu felt a spasm of pain in his left thumb. He took a deep breath, perceiving a whiff of sulphur. The spirits were trying to tell him something. 

Two days ago. The words echoed in a whisper of wind in Odogwu’s ears alone. Something significant must have happened two days ago that was in connection with the theft... other than the theft itself. Odogwu searched his mind, but nothing stuck out in his memory of that rowdy market day. 

“We must search the village again. The last search was done poorly,” Odogwu said, almost to himself. He took the leaf stalk from his mouth, sticking it behind his ear. He seemed deep in thought as he caressed his temple with two fingers.

“How can you say such a—” Kwuafa started in a huff.

“Did you find the nkwa?” Odogwu asked, still distracted. 

“Well, no but—” Kwuafa began to deflate.

“Who did the searching with you?” Odogwu asked. 

 “Most of us.” Kwuafa frowned.

“Not good enough, the whole village is participating this time around. It keeps everyone in each other’s line of sight if we're all involved. Do not forget, the thief is among us.” 

The villagers shuffled, looking skeptically at one another.

“By your leave, I propose the search begins immediately.” Odogwu bowed to the Igwe.

“As you will.” The Igwe nodded.

“Get to it then.” Odogwu shooed the people.

The villagers began to move.

 “Search the homes of the nobles this time around,” Odogwu added.

The villagers looked to the king, who nodded his approval.

“Also, search the pots.”

“Why?” Kwuafa was confused.

“Because pots are used for cooking delicious goat meat pepper soup, you dotard,” Odogwu chuckled as he cut slices off a mango.

Kwuafa balled up his fists but seemed to think twice before joining the others.

 “That was harsh even for you.” Igwe Achumba came to stand next to him.

“Yes, yes. That aside, I believe I’m missing something. What happened two days ago?” Odogwu murmured, offering the king a mango slice absentmindedly.

Igwe Achumba sighed as he took the mango.  

#

It had been three days since the search had begun. The nkwa remained missing. Odogwu paced beneath the Iroko tree.

Two days ago...

 The king sat on his stool. The seven noble families stood before him, and his guards stood stoically behind him. 

“Blessed ones, please bear with me,” Igwe Achumba began. “It is said the bush fowl tells her children that they should gather yams and roots because there is no knowing when the farmer might dig up all of his yams. We must suffer indignity now so that we might avoid calamity.”

“There is no need for apologies, your majesty.” Chijindu bowed. His wife and daughter clung to him. Odogwu spared a glance at the family of three.

Two days ago...

“Speak for yourself, Chijindu,” Nwachukwu, a head of another noble family, retorted. “The rest of us do not enjoy being called thieves. Thieves of our own possession no less!” 

The words jerked Odogwu from his reverie. Two days ago... Odogwu suddenly knew who the thief was. 

“Yes, we are most sorry for all the pain you must have endured.” Odogwu waved impatiently at Nwachukwu, who seemed taken aback by the sudden curt apology. Odogwu walked solemnly to Chijindu and his family. “I know you must feel a little guilty for this whole mess. The nkwa was stolen from your home, but it was not your fault.”

“Thank you, Odogwu,” Chijindu said, just as taken aback by the change in tone.

“Chinelo,” he turned to Chijindu’s wife, taking her hands in his. She looked like an antelope paralyzed by shock in a lion’s grip. “I can only imagine the effort it must have taken to prepare the hut for the nkwa only to have it stolen.” He smiled sympathetically at her.

She smiled back. She never noticed her husband trying to get her attention with his foot. “That is not an issue, it was no more effort preparing the hut for the nkwa this year than any other year.”

Chijindu closed his eyes in defeat. Odogwu’s smile disappeared. He had hoped his suspicions would be wrong. “Interesting, considering your husband said you were not home upon the nkwa’s arrival.”

She extracted herself from Odogwu, clutching her husband. “I–I– My daughter and I were at the market in the neighbouring village,” she managed to let out.

Two days ago...

“Two days before the search was a market day right here in Umueleke. Which means it was not a market day in any neighboring village.” Igwe Achumba had risen. His expression was livid.

“I did it,” Chijindu professed, still holding his wife and daughter, who had begun to cry. Multiple cries went up amongst the other families. 

“Take him!” the Igwe commanded. The guards separated Chijindu from his family, forcing him to his knees.

“Where is the nkwa?” the Igwe asked.

“It has been in my home for the past five days.”

 “Those simpletons never searched your home, even though I expressly told them to search the homes of all the nobles?” Odogwu cut in.

“They interpreted nobles as all the nobles except the one from whom the nkwa was stolen in the first place,” Chijindu said.

“Quickly, go to his home. Get the nkwa and complete the ritual. Hopefully, the gods will not be angered as no non-noble was involved.” The Igwe added. “Go!” he shouted. The villagers ran.

#

Odogwu leaned against the wall inside the hut. He was slowly peeling an orange. Chijindu watched him. The noble was on the floor, his hands bound behind his back.

“I’m sure you want to know why,” Chijindu started.

“I’m sure you want to tell me,” Odogwu replied. 

“I did it for the people of Umueleke.”

Odogwu looked at him. “How does stealing the nkwa help the people? I can understand you meant no harm, as no common folk were involved, but you did this for yourself. You never struck me as the greedy type, Chijindu. Did you think extra days with the nkwa would make you wealthier?”

 “Have you heard of the other villages' progress in various aspects of their lives?” Chijindu queried.

“And what does that have to do with the colour of the sky?” 

“Why do the common folk still suffer for the crimes of their forefathers? Isn’t it time for all to receive the blessings of the nkwa?” Chijindu’s face intensified with each passing word.

“Ala knows best.”

 “Is that so!” Chijindu sounded a little manic. “You see, I think Ala has given us the means to replicate her blessings for all. We’re just too short-sighted to see it. Don’t you see why it had to be me? I am noble by blood, but I needed to become one in deeds.”

“Are you deluded? You stole the nkwa! You disobeyed our traditions!” Odogwu was in disbelief.

“It is our duty to be disobedient in the face of unjust traditions.” Chijindu raised his jaw in defiance. “Yes, I stole it. I stole the nkwa to make every Umueleke family a noble family.” 

“What in Ala’s name are you ranting about?” Odogwu shook his head.

“The gifts of Ala have inadvertently led to stagnancy. We have remained in the same place since she departed this earth. How can we progress as a people if all opportunities are not available to all people?” Chijindu cried.

“Perhaps not everyone is meant to soar. This is the truth of life. Some people will be nobles and some will not. Ala knows best.” Odogwu said once again.

“Perhaps.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Outside, an owl hooted its questions.

“Have you ever wondered why the nkwa is a living thing?” Chijindu broke the quiet. “Why not an object?” 

Odogwu shook his head in response. 

“I believe the nkwa is a living thing so it can procreate,” Chijindu provided. “I believe the true blessings of the nkwa are its progeny.”

Odogwu’s eyes widened in realization. “What have you done?” 

“Well, the nkwa did all the doing,” Chijindu let out a sad chuckle. “Five days of it.”

Odogwu couldn’t believe it.

“Can you see it now, Odogwu?” Chijindu continued. “Can you see a time when all the families of Umueleke have an nkwa of their own?” 

“All your work is for nothing now. You will be banished or executed.”

“Well, in that case, you will finish my work.”

“Me?”

“Tell me, Odogwu. Why do you stargaze in the afternoon?” 

“Because I can.” 

“Yes, that could be so,” Chijindu said, “or perhaps you stargaze in the afternoon because you realize we do not always have to dim the lights so others can shine. You believe in blessings for all as much as I do, my friend.” 

Odogwu’s eyes became distant, his chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths. He handed Chijindu a quadrant of orange, which the seated man took in his mouth. Then, Odogwu walked out of the hut into the night. 

#

Months later, Odogwu sighed as he watched the five she-goats in the yard, each trailed by three kids with the blackest fur and golden irises that glowed. As he ate a pear beneath the star-filled sky, the spirits whispered to him, and they were pleased.