Ejima wiped away the sweat that walked down the bridge of her flat nose, but sneezed twice when she accidentally sniffed the dust in her hands. She wiped the tears that followed and tried to return to work but leaned away when a sharp pain strode through her waist. She hissed out the frustration from her teeth and tightened her grips on the wooden hoe. All the light-headedness and the weakness she had been feeling for the last four months, had turned out to be pregnancy. A pregnancy she never wanted. It was a curse to her. A punishment from the gods themselves.
Tightening her grip on the farming hoe, she bent carefully but without ease, and was glad when her hands touched the heap of earth and grass. With the hoe, she dug around the brown tendril and tried to pull with her free hand. The yam obliged at the first trial but snapped in two when she tried forcing them the second time. She murmured and continued with the digging, hoping to bring out the rest of the yam that was still under the soil.
The sun was at its zenith, sending rivers of scorching rays, which came blaring the earth with their heat. It was direct and she could feel them on her nape. But what option does she have? The hot sun was tinging her physiology, but this was her life now. A life of rejection.
She stood again to ease the pain in her waist. This time, the sun left her neck and rested on the vertex of her braided hair. If only she had come early enough, at least she would have been done by now.
Stray away from the blistering sun and hard labor, in this your condition, I don't want to lose you. The voice of Uche, her husband seemed to warn. But she scoffed out his words by breathing in.
Her eyes walked through the green cassava leaves. She could pick out the number of heaps that have yam on them. They had planted enough yam this season. At least, Ani (the land god), had blessed them with a good harvest.
If only the gods could be merciful and make me fertile like this land.
Ejima laughed at the thought. No, not again. She wouldn't think about it, she was okay with her unfortunate condition with her husband, at least the gods have been kind in giving her a husband that was good and caring.
Stupid childbearing thoughts.
She hissed continued digging the yam.
"Ejimmamara!!"
Ejima stood and listened to the voice of the wind.
Who was the fool, shouting her name without course?
She flared as her white eyes studied the ocean of green leaves. That person must be dumb. He or she should have learned from the story of Ikemba, who had answered the call of a ghost on his farm and had died the following day.
"Ejima." The person called again. The voice was distinct this time, and familiar too.
"But for the gods and the mouth of people, I would have cursed you and your entire generation," Ejima shouted.
"Oh, there you are," The voice laughed, oblivious of the woman's rage. The leaves of the cassava parted ways as a small boy burst out from them, wearing a smile that contrasted with the scorching heat.
"Ejima, they said I should call you,"
"Ekwensu racha onu gi (may the devil lick your mouth)."
Ejima cursed as her eyes considered the little boy who was no taller than the hoe in her hands. His dark skin was like loamy soil and the broad lips seemed to cover his entire face. Two white lines trailed down from his nose, a testimony of the phlegm he had failed to clean, which dried out eventually in the wind.
"Onukwube," Ejima stood akimbo, her white eyes were still considering the boy who had failed to meet her gaze. "How many times have I warned you and your brothers to stop calling me by my first name?"
The boy shrugged but remained quiet. The frown that plastered his face portrayed the image of someone who had been starved for three days.
"Anyway," Ejima continued, "I don't blame you. But the day I will lay my hands on you, you will understand the difference between hospitality and hospitalize," She picked up the half yam and arrange them into the basket.
"Ichie Uche said I should call you. It is urgent," The boy grumbled and disappeared through the leaves.
Ejima continued to pick up the yams, not knowing why her husband would want to distract her from this work. It was his responsibility to harvest the yams, but she had opted to do it herself because the King had invited him.
Picking up some cassava leaves that had fallen, she covered her basket but paused when she heard the approaching footfalls.
"Morning rose," Someone said. Ejima's bulging stomach jutted when she heard the sweet voice.
"I was coming to meet you, my love,"
"Oh, you don't have to worry, I am here now," Uche said when he finally broke into the clearing where Ejima was.
"Is everything alright?" Ejima asked. She picked up the hoe and studied her husband.
He was in his leopard vest-his ceremonial attire-and had his sword strapped by his side. "Don't tell me you are going off for war again." Her big tummy knotted.
"No, my love. The war is over." He smiled and blinked those snow-white eyes of his. "I just came to tell you something,"
"Oh, someone wants to surprise me," Ejima giggled "please help me with the basket while we discuss the matter on the way home?"
"No," He swallowed, "I don't think that would be necessary."
"Morning rose," Ejima called and tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't meet her gaze "What is wrong, who died?"
"Nobody died, Ejima. Nobody."
Her frown deepened from his words. He had never called her by her name, never for twenty years since they have been married.
"Em..." Uche stammered, "This your condition" His eyes were on her stomach now. According to the diviner, she was eight months pregnant, the youngest pregnancy she'd ever had from the last four she had miscarried.
"Are you certain you would give me a child this time?"
"Why are we discussing that under this hot weather? Please, my dear, the heat is too much, let's go under that mango tree and discuss this,"
"No, there is no need." Uche swallowed and rested his hands on his sword. "I have decided to take a new wife."
"You what?" Ejima's ears rang. Despite the heat, she sensed a chill enveloping her as though she had been immersed in cold water.
"I am taking a new wife,"
"But why, I thought you said I was enough for you. Has your love for me waxed overnight? Or is it because I can't bring forth children?" Ejima looked down at her eight months' pregnancy.
It was hard to tell if she would deliver the baby successfully. The villagers were already spreading rumors that she was a witch and had used her four pregnancies as a blood ritual to make herself more beautiful.
"I never said that. But you know, in times like this, one needs to be careful"
"I understand," Ejima nodded, trying with failed attempts to keep the tears that were already dripping from her hot eyes. "I understand that you need a child to bear your name. But, please, morning rose, let's try this one. It's already eight moons. Maybe the gods might be good to us and make this one live."
"Those were your exact words before you miscarried the last pregnancies." Uche rubbed his nose, "Please, I am tired. I can't continue to live like this. Nwoke na agbadazi (I am getting older)"
"Please, I beg you."
"Your plea can do nothing now. I came here to collect the wristband we used during our courtship"
"By the gods of our land," Ejima exclaimed, "What are you up to?"
"I just want what is best for us. Please tell me where the wristband is. You know it's expensive to get a new one."
"Please, morning rose, don't do this to me. Let me have this baby, I believe the gods will let it stay"
"My name is Uche. Stop using those fancy words of yours on me." He snapped.
"Okay" Ejima gnashed her teeth, trying to conceal her anger under a coerced smile. She knew this day would come, eventually. But what pained her was that it had come so soon. It was happening so fast and she doubts she would have the courage to bear the stinging brunt alone.
"The wristband is inside my box"
"Thank you," Uche said and hurried away from the farm.
It was difficult to see him. Tears blurred her vision as her wobbling legs finally gave way and she found herself sitting on the grass. She tried to think of the next step, but nothing was forthcoming. Her head was blank and roofed with agony. This was one day she had feared and had prayed earnestly that it would never come. She had even prayed to the gods to give her the heart to bear the burden should it surface, but now it was here, her strength was failing her. She had lost her parents to leprosy. Uche was the second pulse of her heartbeat. He was her life and her world, and now he was abandoning her to the world.
Ejima wiped her face, but her eyes refused to obey. If she had the power, she would have had a thousand children running in her household. But now, the gods have deserted her. Was this the fulfillment of the Dibia's words four months ago? Was this the nemesis foretold to catch up with her?