CHAPTER SEVEN - A DAUGHTER CURIOUS.

Oge watched her daughters in the corner, conferring with her son by friendship, Nkemu. 

“When you are done deciding on how you want me to punish you, you will come over here.” 

She shouted over to them. Beside her, Ozioma hid a giggle with the back of her hand. Her children spared her a bothered look before they returned to their squabbling. It was a windy, rainy afternoon, but the rain was taking a break. The rainy season was at its peak, which meant that the break was welcomed. The women had planned to take the afternoon to catch up on chores. Oge fumed because she had come home expecting to have a slow afternoon, but here she was dealing with her daughters endangering themselves, again. 

“My son should be the one taking their punishment.” 

Ozioma said in a lowered voice, only meant for Oge’s ears. Oge shook her head. She could not understand why Ozioma found this situation amusing. The children could have harmed themselves if she and Oge had not walked in on them. Oge rotated her shoulder; the searing pain from carrying too many things on her head all day did not help her irritation. 

“Why, because he is older than those two?” 

She asked Ozioma, not bothering to lower her voice. She was washing and squeezing bitter leaves and green foam from the leaves that covered up to her arms. Ozioma raised her eyebrows to say. Why else? As her hand sifted the melon seeds in the basket. The heavy day still smelled strongly of the impending storm. Both girls stood a head taller than the lean seven-year-old boy. All three of their clothes were wet from the rain earlier in the day, which was telling enough that they had not stayed inside as they had been instructed. They never listened; these children, Oge felt her annoyance grow. She had no idea why Ozioma suggested that they pick their punishment. 

“He is barely a year older than them, but have you met my daughters? They can convince the moon to come down to the earth.” 

Oge hissed. 

“They are not that bad.” 

“Your problem is that you will always defend them, especially that one with skin as shiny as ripe papaya.” 

“What? She is my goddaughter, and that skin is as close to golden and the sun as we will ever get.” . Imagine, imagine what would have happened if we had not returned from the market earlier than they expected.” 

“They are just children, Oge, and children will be children.” 

Oge hissed again and shot a disparaging look at her friend. 

“Three of you come here.” 

She shouted over at her children, the green foam covering her arms looked like a sleeve, and she rubbed it off on a rag by the basin with the leaves. She looked up to find the children shuffling over to her. The look on her face must have scared them enough because they hastened their walk. 

“Whose bright idea was it to catch and cook a lizard?” 

They were looking at their feet rather than at her. 

“I advise that you answer me at once. My patience is thinning.” 

She shouted at them, and their heads snapped up in unison. Amara, always acting the adult of the three, started to open her mouth, but Oge held up her palm. 

“If what is about to come out of your mouth is a lie to protect your sister and your cousin, I don’t want to hear it.” 

Amara shut her mouth again and looked apologetically at her siblings. Oge knew by experience that she must have promised to take the fall. She was only months older than Oma and less than a year younger than Nkemu, but she was the unofficial elder of the group. Nkem, though older, was bossed around by them. The girls were more stubborn, and Oma more so, as their unofficial leader. She told them what to do and when to do it. This lizard thing suspiciously had her daughter all over it, Oge thought. They protected her because she was their little sister; it was the same reason they let her always have her way. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened, Nkem? Because we are making your favourite, egusi soup and fufu, and if I don’t hear the truth, you are all three going to bed with an empty stomach, and that is a promise.” 

They all three turned in unison, their eyes wide, to Ozioma, who looked like she was about to plead their case again. Oge shot her a warning look. She would let the girls get away with murder. All they had to do was give her the huge-eyed look, and she was putty. 

“Nkem.” 

Oge tried again on the weak link. The girls would kill him later if he tattled, but they would also forgive him; he was blood. She saw by the wrinkle on his forehead a sign that he was about to crack. 

“You are disappointing me. I know that my daughters made you do this, and you had no involvement in it. You have always been my good son, my favourite as well. Now you are breaking my heart. I am furious. Lizards have poison that could have killed you three if you ate it.” 

He looked at her with teary eyes. Oge almost felt bad for him, but they would do these stupid things that could potentially kill or maim them if she was not hard on them. Climbing trees taller than buildings and trying to climb a ladder to the roof were some of the things they did the week before, because Oma suggested it. She almost broke her head. The girl chased danger out of curiosity. 

 “Was it Oma?” 

She asked him. 

“Why does it always have to be me?” 

Oma muttered. 

“Was it not you then?” 

She asked her daughter. 

“I just wanted to hunt like father.” 

She was moving the wet earth under her, from side to side. 

“Your siblings did not try to stop you?” 

Ozioma chimed in, her look targeted at her son to convey her displeasure with him. 

“I was just curious, wanted to know how it tasted.” 

Oma cried, Oge worried that Oma could not see that what she had done or attempted to do was wrong. 

“I have a mind not to feed you this night, because the fumes and smoke from the poor lizard should be enough for you. But you finally told the truth, and I have said over and over again that you will be forgiven if you tell the truth.” 

The slight smile of victory on her daughter’s face at this gave Oge a pause. She wondered whether Oma would ever learn her lesson. 

“You girls go help your aunt with the soup. Nkem, come with me. Let's gather more firewood.” 

She had worried that Uche was too quiet; now she worries that Oma would grow up with a broken arm, a limp, or worse, one day break her head, and what would happen then? Stricter punishment does not work. She had tried those in the past. The number of nights Oma had gone to bed hungry was heartbreaking, but they never dissuaded the child. Her mother-in-law and husband, like Ozioma, insist that Oma was just a girl who wanted to be a boy. But Oge knew it was not true. Her daughter was not trying to be stubborn or a boy. She just wanted to experiment. To her, it was an adventure. Oge did not want to cage her, so where did she draw the line between allowing her freedom and keeping her daughter safe? She watched as Oma nudged Amara, but Amara still looked upset and close to tears. Oma had already moved on, Oge could tell. She would not keep a grudge, unlike her sister, but her sister also learned from experience. She hated upsetting the adults, so she would spend the rest of the evening trying to show them that she was sorry. The two could not be more different. 

“Come, Nkem.” 

She said softly to her moping godson, it was not his fault that the girls had very strong characters. He would spend the rest of his life as their enforcer. She did not doubt that they probably made him kill the lizard after they trapped and caught it. 

~ 

That night, after Ozioma had returned to her husband with her son, Oge sat with her family in the open kitchen. The last sputter of the dying fire illuminated the otherwise cloudy night; there were no stars, of course, because the rain fell incessantly and yet lazily. Between Oge’s legs, her Oma was dozing, Amara was dozing by Oge’s side on a woven mat, alongside her stretched-out grandmother whose snore was the only other sound permeating the night, other than the rain. 

“You know she was only trying to be a hunter like me. She was crying the other day after you left for the farm, insisting that I take her and Amara with me to hunt.” 

Oge turned towards her husband on the bench they were both occupying. 

“What did you tell her?” 

“Nothing, I promise, I refused.” 

Oge returned her attention to her daughter’s hair. She was untangling her unruly hair. This wild child was her daughter, she thought, sighing. As if he had read her mind, Obu said; 

“She will outgrow this stage.” 

“And if she does not? Or my chi forbids she maims herself before she can grow out of it?” 

The sound of the rain and their intimate voices added to the temple of the night. Obuzor’s mother shifted on the mat, lying now on her side. Her snoring momentarily reduced as her airway took solace in the new resting position. 

“Maybe I should take her hunting.” 

Obuzor suggested after a lengthy pause, in a voice that said he already knew what Oge’s response to this would be. Oge chuckled and shook her head as if amazed by her husband. 

“Okay, maybe hear me out before you chuckle like you think I am insane. The girl is bored and curious, two dangerous combinations. It's not like we would be hunting for anything serious. 

Obuzor tried to explain, but Oge nodded with a pursed lip. 

“Your wise idea for keeping her from danger is giving her weapons and actively showing her how to pursue danger? Also, it is unheard of for a girl to hunt.” 

Oge withdrew her hand from her daughter’s hair. She had the heart to wake up her mother-in-law just to have someone reasonable on her side, but the woman had worked hard all day. She deserved this sleep. 

“What is wrong with a girl hunting? She is not doing it to provide for the family, so we cannot say we are taking advantage of our child. So, tell me where the taboo is.” 

“And what would people say?” 

Oge snapped her voice, rising a little more than she had intended for it to. 

“That is always your problem, what people would think, has their thinking ever changed the weather or even fed our family?” 

“Our daughter will not learn to hunt, and that is final.” 

Obuzor sulked in response to this, rising to his feet, he mumbled an angry; 

“I am going to bed.” 

Oge ignored him. He went to the mat where their daughter, Amara, lay sleeping and lifted her gently into his arms. 

“Shall I take Oma in, as well?” 

He mumbled to his wife, evidently holding back his anger, and Oge removed her hand from her daughter’s hair in response. Obuzor lifted her into his free arm and walked in his brisk way to the hut beside his wife’s, cutting through parts of the compound sheltered from the rain. Oge pulled the bench and stools to the corner where they lived when the humans had no use for them. She released an angry breath, wondering why Obuzor was taking offense when he was the one in the wrong. How could he tell her she was the problem for worrying about what their village would say, after suggesting arming their daughter as a solution to her always putting herself in danger? She had a mind to march back to him and pick a fight. 

“Mama, wake up, it's time to go in.” 

She tapped her snoring mother-in-law gently. The fight was not over. Tomorrow, she would report him to his mother. She would see where he would keep his foolish anger, then, she thought as she assisted her sleepy mother-in-law to her feet. They both retired to their respective huts, Oge already plotting in her head how her mother-in-law would defend her. 

“Sleep well, mama.” 

She called as the old woman disappeared into her hut. 

“You too.” 

The old woman called back.