Facing the Mockery

At a quarter to five in the morning of Tuesday, Ndukwo was already awake. He woke up to answer to the horrible cry of a wild cat. Yes, a wild cat! He told himself. He was not the only person who was awake; his parents were awake too. They all left the house to see the wild crying cat. They lived in a bungalow which Ndukwo's father built in his forties. The bungalow had four bedrooms, two sitting rooms and a big kitchen. Each bedroom had its bathroom. That night was strange and dark, and no one could walk in it without a torch. That was the reason why they left the house with a big torch held to the right hand of Ndukwo's father.

When the cat saw Ndukwo and his parents approaching, it got ready to fight. Its look and attacks were frightful, but they were useless. Ndukwo's father had killed many wild cats in his youth in the village; that was many years ago, long before Ndukwo was born. So he knew how to handle a wild cat. He hit the cat on the head with a very heavy wood and it fell. He rushed it, still holding the wood, and he hit it another three times on the head. That was how Ndukwo and his parents killed the wild cat. They returned to the house and left the cat by the coop. 

"When the day breaks, I will call some boys who usually help me wash my car and give out the cat to them," said Ndukwo's father. "We are Christians, we should not eat wild animals," he added.

"Do Christians not eat wild animals?" Ndukwo asked.

"Other Christians may eat wild animals," said Ndukwo's father, "but we don't."

"Why is that, mummy?" Ndukwo turned to his mother, but she did not answer him.

"It is because wild animals possess unclean spirits," his father snapped.

Ndukwo did not understand how an animal could be possessed by an unclean spirit. "But..." Ndukwo said, about to further his question.

"It's enough, Ndukwo!" His father interrupted him. "Go inside and sleep, now!" he added in a stern voice. Ndukwo obeyed and walked straight to his room.

******* 

It was a break of day and Ndukwo got to school early as usual. The first, second, and third periods were observed. Now, the fourth period was about to end. Ndukwo's class teacher was a handsome tall young lady. She was fair in complexion and kind to her class students. She hailed from Ugwulangwu in Ohozara, Eboyin State. Her name was Ozioma. Her students called her Miss Ozioma because she was still a bachelorette. She read English Education and was twenty-seven years old. She was the class teacher of SS 2. As an English teacher, she loved telling stories to her class students.

When Miss Ozioma was born, she was born with a half little finger as Ndukwo. In her first birth, she lived for three days and died. In her third birth, her grandmother chopped off her little finger. That was why, in her fourth birth, she was born with a half-little finger. That was the story which she received from her mother. She did not like telling this story because it was against her Christian beliefs. Meanwhile, she did not know that a student in the class had noticed her half-little finger. Her name was Nwakego. She was slim and dark complexion. She hailed from Nguzu Edda. She queried her class teacher about it. To answer Nwakego's query, she told the young girl the story of her birth to explain why the little finger remained chopped off.

"That was the story my mother told me," Miss Ozioma concluded.

"Anyone born in that manner is Ogbanje," said the class captain. He was a blunt speaker. His name was Mmeri, but his classmates called him Victor. He was taller and bigger than Ndukwo. He was from Abiriba.

Ndukwo became very bothered by Mmeri's comment. So he became apprehensive and hid his left hand whose little finger was chopped off from birth.

"You are wrong, Victor," said Miss Ozioma. "Ogbanje is a mere idea, and it does not exist. It is a fetish story that the heathen, the unbeliever, tell in order explain certain things, and we, the Christian, should not believe it - Christians do not tell or believe in Ogbanje story." 

"Excuse me madam", a girl interfered in a deep masculine voice, putting his right hand in the air. Miss Ozioma, knowing very well the names of her class students, rightly recognized the girl as Eberechi, meaning God's mercy in Igbo. She was fat and fair, and she hailed from Ngwa. She was Ndukwo's academic rival.

"Yes dear," Miss Ozioma faced Eberechi, requesting her to speak.

"Madam, you mentioned the heathen", Eberechi stood and continued talking, "Who are they?"

"They are men and women who don't believe in Christianity," she said, feeling a bit put out. "They are traditional men and women," she added.

"How then can a baby come to life with an incomplete body?" another boy student asked. His name was Ekeoma. His complexion was dark and he hailed from Ugwueke. "Is it possible? Does it not explain that Ogbanje is real?" he added curiously.

"It is possible, Ekeoma. Miss Ozioma retorted and continued. "It could be as a result of biological problems. I have seen many children born with half little fingers or incomplete parts of the body," she lied and continued. "I am one of them born with an incomplete body part. That does not explain that those children or I am Ogbanje."

"What is the biological problem?" asked Nwakego.

Miss Ozioma smiled shook her head and said: "Biological problems are from birth. It involves life or health issues during pregnancy or birth. Have I answered you?"

Nwakego did not reply; she only nodded in doubt.

"My grandmother is very old, far older than you, ma," said the captain. Miss Ozioma felt embarrassed by that but she waved it as the boy continued. "She said that children who are born many times with incomplete parts of the body are Ogbanje. My grandmother said that they usually do not want to live. That is why their small finger is cut off to force them to stay alive." The class captain added.

"Don't believe that story. See, old people have unbelievable stories that they tell to explain events that are beyond belief. Do you understand me?" Miss Ozioma asked awkwardly.

None of the students in the class replied to her. Miss Ozioma, by the way, she carried herself intelligently, had made her students believe that she knew answers to every question or matter. But her answers to the questions on Ogbanje seemed unreliable. Each of her students had had a rethink about her ability to answer every question, for she answered most of their questions as a brilliant seven-year-old British girl who was unsure whether or not she was a boy.

Ndukwo, who had observed the argument and the way Miss Ozioma answered those questions, believed that Ogbanje was real. Why was he born this way? Why did his grandmother cut his little finger? Was he born many times or what? Or was it not that he was Obanje, that he was born with a half little finger? He could not get answers to all these questions. He felt betrayed or cheated by Chineke or whoever created him that way. This feeling, as usual, birthed rage in him. Every time he remembered that he was born abnormally, he hated himself more than he did to his Chi or anybody who referred to him as Ogbanje. 

Miss Ozioma smiled. That smile seemed the only thing she could do, knowing that her students were unsatisfied with her answers - their ferocious eyes spoke volumes of their dissatisfaction. Her classroom was big and magnificent. There were charts on every wall. Her seat was somewhere by the doorpost. She walked to her seat and sat down. Shortly she got up and began to talk to the students.

"Has someone a story for us?" said Miss Ozioma. Her voice lacked firmness.

None of the students in her class indicated interest, but Ndukwo. He wanted to tell a story, one of the stories told by Grandma, but he feared that his classmates might discover his half-little finger and laugh at him. He would not like to be laughed at, so he stayed back. But a second thought surged up within him, entreating him to go out, to go on and tell a story. It was after a few minutes that Ndukwo resolved to tell a story. He unknowingly put up his left hand, which had the half little finger. He seemed to have forgotten himself that he had raised that very hand. When Miss Ozioma saw that he had shown interest, she smiled but did not ask him to speak immediately. She wanted to see more hands in the air. For a few minutes, Ndukwo's left hand remained in the air as Miss Ozioma was waiting to receive more hands, yet no more hand was held up in the air.

The students did not notice Ndukwo's half-little finger; even Miss Ozioma did not see it either. Perhaps the students had seen it but decided to be quiet about it. But there was a student, a particular Yoruba-Igbo girl, who sat right beside Ndukwo. She was dark and average in height. Seeing the half-little finger held up, she burst into ridiculous laughter and other students joined her. They could not hold back the urge of laughter.

Their noisome laughter covered the whole of the classroom. Miss Ozioma noticed this and was enraged. She quieted the class by screaming, "Enough!" Every one of them remained still like a hot coal which was dipped in cold water. Remorse showed on their faces as many of them bowed their heads. Ndukwo also bowed his head but not in remorse. Gradually, he felt his teeth gnashing together and his anger grew mightily and prevailed. He stood up to the girl who had mocked him and descended his right fist on her, but it was useless. He missed his target and she ran to take refuge in Miss Ozioma's seat.

"Stop it Ndukwo! Are you mad or what? Don't ever try hitting a girl next time. Miss Ozioma yelled at Ndukwo. But seeing the sad face of the boy, she calmed down and spoke: 

"Ndukwo, we are sorry." That word alone caused some tears to roll down on Ndukwo's cheeks and he wiped them with the back of his right palm.

Miss Ozioma was pleading on behalf of the girl and other students. Ndukwo remained mute - he was neither saying anything nor looking up. He buried his face in anger. Tears began to gather in his eyes and suddenly they dropped down again from his cheeks as he was sobbing. Miss Ozioma, when she saw the tears drop, hurried to meet him and console him. As he sobbed, his anger grew up, burning like a bush fire in harmattan season.

"Sorry, Ndukwo," the class captain said as Ndukwo continued sobbing. His voice carried the remorse of other students in the class.

Miss Ozioma continued soothing Ndukwo's back, telling him sorry until he became calmer. She ordered other students to stand up and raise their hands above their hands, to save the class captain. She made that order so that Ndukwo would believe that she was not in support of what had happened. The girl who started the laughter was called Iyabo, meaning returned mother in the Yoruba language. That was the name her mother enrolled her to the school. Her father, Mr Ikechukwu, hailed from Ozu Item. He came to know his wife, Iyabos mother, during her usual trade tour to sell Agbo. One faithful afternoon, the two of them became entangled and that union produced the girl who instigated the mockery. 

She was sorry for her actions but, as a young girl, she could not say sorry. It was obvious that she was hardhearted. Most children who came to school at the Elite Child Academy had one character or the other with which they were different from one another. Truly they were all born the same way, but their differences surpassed those qualities which made them the same. Some students came from very rich families, like Ndukwo, but others came from very poor families. Some students were refined and kind, but others were hardhearted and annoying, like Iyabo, who could not say sorry. Ndukwo's bad temper put him in a group of cruel students. Oftentimes, he was seen handling junior students in the school with his fists. His attempt to use his fists on Iyabo supported the fact that he had a bad temper.

While other students were still serving their punishment, the bell tolled and there was a shout of joy from other classes. That was meant for school dismissal at 3:50 p.m. That day was on Tuesday, the eighth Tuesday of the first academic term.