When Obiora’s Ikenga fell the warriors of Nri took his head.

To tell the story of Obiora, one need not talk of his life but the circumstances of his death.

Arochukwu could talk about the type of warrior he was before he died, anyone could talk about the titles that were bestowed on him before he died, one could talk about the wars and battles he had won before he died, but most importantly one could talk about his great love, his wife, Akwaeke, the woman he had left behind after he died.

Akwaeke saw Obiora for the first time after their victory at Okigwe, the sight her Dede said was for the gods, and not for men. He held the severed head of his opposition above his head, as deep cuts traced the width of his back, he was covered in blood, but if it was serious the man did not show.

War chants and victorious stomping of feet shook the grounds, Arochukwu had excelled again, their victories were too much to count.

Akwaeke had walked past that sight, eyes lingering on his whole body before taking her leave.

That was not the last time they’d see, because an onwa later she saw him on the path that led to the stream, that big tall man covering the whole space with his body

On this day, he did not look like the man she’d seen that day, he did not look anything like the man who grounded his jaw and stomped his feet, he did not look like the man that comfortably carried a human head in his hand or the man that looked like death itself, this day he looked human, he was clean, his locked hair dangling with cowries, his injuries had faded but the marks had remained, they ran haphazardly around his taut belly and akwaeke fought the urge to reach out and touch them, to trace them, to ask what stories they told.

She liked the man.

“Why is a young maiden on the path to the stream this early” he had asked covering whatever space existed between them, smirking and eyes jumping 

He liked the woman.

Her eyes drove to his face, he had a lingering smile, his mouth turned upward at their corners, eyebrows raised at her, forcing out a smile from her.

To explain whatever Obiora and Akwaeke had would have been dangerous, not in his capacity as a warrior but in the sense that he was the property of the gods.

To say obiora loved, was to tell how he died, to declare it to the skies that they loved pieces of their souls, was to explain the treacherous path they were to walk 

Akwaeke did not know.

Obiora knew.

“I have an early day” she had answered and returned a smile, then made her way to leave

The man had held her elbow’s then, so softly that she could have missed it

‘‘What is your father’s name?” He asked the sides of his eyes crinkling, his eyes lightening up as if he had just seen Anyanwu manifest in human form.

   “Okonkwo, that is my Dede’s name, I have no father”

He nodded thoughtfully and let her go.

Akwaeke did not wait to see him leave, neither did she look back to see if he had watched her leave or if he had smiled at her walking away 

An onwa after that meeting, obiora had not come to see her Dede which explains that he knew what fate he was choosing, the hope In Akwaeke’s chest started to lose its fire, the same way her firewood lost its flame when she separated them from each other, it was still there but it wasn’t burning.

Her firewood only started to burn again onwa abou later when Obiora came to see her dede, he came alone, just to make his intentions known she suppose 

Akwaeke did not come outside instead she peeped through her hut to catch a glimpse of the man that had plagued her mind for the past month since meeting him

He was not smiling now, his face was set in a rigid frame and he ate the kola nut her Dede had offered enthusiastically.

She didn’t know what they were talking about or if her Dede would agree to whatever his offer was, so she prayed that her ndichie make this one work

And it was, just like that.

                Part II

When Obiora was seven years old he fell deathly ill, so ill he stayed with the dibia for an Afor, he knew what the dibia said about him, what the lines on his palm foretold, what his chi had destined for him.

He was going to die, way sooner than later but surprisingly that did not perturb him.

Obiora did not fear death, he had rules and rituals to keep him rooted to Ala, they would take him but only when he was ready, so he wore his big big charms around his waist, and he had a special cowrie neck piece that he never took off.

He only really started to fear death after her

He had seen her that morning, face stern, big jigidas swaying to the movement of her hips, pot secured tightly under her arms, her anklets creating a special harmony as she walked closer, he knew at that point because he felt it.

So He went ahead and married her because he wanted to, she wanted that too.

It was good, at least he thought so, the way she strolled around his compound like she owned the place, he liked it. liked how the air changed shapes and forms when she was around him, he liked how human he felt with her around.

He wanted it to be enough, to be perfect for her, he wanted her to never lack, never want for nothing, he wanted her satiated, filled.

And even as the ‘stay away from women, as they make your ritual less potent and could anger them’ rang in his head every waking day, obiora paid no heed

In the first onwa that akwaeke had married obiora, she knew the man was different, 

In the sense that he changes from a loving husband to a deathly quiet warrior with a snap of a finger, in the sense that he carried so many charms that in the onwa that they had been married, they had not consummated their marriage, in the sense that these charms were visibly so potent that half of the time her husband looked and sounded like a mmuo

Akwaeke did not think too much of it, as other parts of their marriage were far too perfect to doubt 

But it changed, at least a week before obiora journeyed to Nri with his warriors, he stopped taking the potion and doing his rituals, and that night a week before his death, he loosened that big charm around his waist 

“You are beautiful……” he had said as he joined her in bed, shaking his head as if he too could not fathom his luck 

He loosened her wrappers and gazed at her in all beauty

  “…..And like this” He swallowed hard and his lip found the spot behind her neck 

Akwaeke shifted to give him more space as he worked his lips from her neck to her mouth, he had kissed her then, thoroughly, properly. He broke the kiss to look even more at his wife, again she was beautiful.

“Just come back to me” she had whispered into his ears the night before he was to take the journey, he had said nothing, just unclipped his neckpiece closed it in her palms, and kissed her.

Obiora was a thorough man, so he explained where the livestock was supposed to go, how the palm wines should be stored, where he kept his cowries, where his lands were situated, and finally reminded her to sacrifice a cock on his warrior ikenga every day.

On the day Obiora died, the clouds covered their eyes, and thunder clapped throughout the village, the wind swept their ama, and the rains came down heavily.

Akwaeke dashed to save the firewood she’d dried out, and as she rushed to put them inside, the tail of wood struck Obiora ikenga and it fell, chipping on their horns 

 ‘This is not happening’ she cursed under her breath 

She held it up to see how bad the damage was before setting the ikenga up straight, she poured a drink and said a word of prayer

   ‘’My husband will soon be back and everything will be back to normal’’ she said to the sky as it poured ferociously threatening not to stop

   ‘’Everything will be just fine’’ she sang to herself as she made her way into her hut, wrapping herself in obiora wrappers she waited for the rains to go 

It never did.