Twenty-Five- A SPIRIT CHILD.

“You cannot let it bother you too much.” 

Ozioma laughed into the back of her palm, wiping at her forehead, where prickles of sweat were scattered in a random pattern. 

“She is not trying very hard to shake off the rumour of a spirit child.” 

Oge muttered, lowering her voice in acknowledgement of the children falling over themselves in the compound. At the other end of the compound, near the closed kitchen, Amara sat ladylike, her wrapper pulled straight towards her knees. She watched her grandmother with rapt attention and imitated her every move. 

“Look at Amaram, she is over there with Mama learning to paint water pots with our family patterns. She is growing into a mature, mindful young girl.” 

Oge sighed and turned her attention to where Oma was showing up Ozioma's sons in a handstand. Her wrapper hitched so high it was practically resting on her waist, exposing her underclothes. Ozioma laughed again. 

“My sons can be proud, she is good for them, she shows them that a girl can beat them at everything they think they are the best at.” 

“I don’t like how you defend her. She is not a boy. She is a girl, I want her to be more like her sister.” 

“But Oge, Oma is not her sister. Oma is Oma, and she is a special girl.” 

Oge hissed and drew her wrapper over her ample chest. The sun was already at the other end of the sky, but it was one of those days with too much heat. Everyone in the village would be outside in their compound, where the breeze is. The day, with its blistering heat, did not affect Oma, though, at the height of the heat, hours ago, she had run around, climbing trees. She had missed her lunch because she wanted to play more than she wanted food. 

“Ozioma.” 

Oge muttered, frowning at her sweaty friend. 

“Oge, I know, but you cannot let their gossip get to you. People will always have something to say, but we cannot force Oma into a shape to soothe them.” 

“You have been talking to my husband, haven’t you?” 

Oge grimaced, but Ozioma had an open smile on her welcoming face. 

“And I side with him on this, I think my aunt would do, but you are both letting fear lead your judgment.” 

“So, I should not worry that my daughter walked the edge of death and came back like nothing happened? I am still recovering. I cannot walk more than five steps without breathing through my mouth, but my daughter, who was worse off than I, is swinging off trees and leaping off every height like an overzealous tigress.” 

“I will admit that gave me a pause, but I am just happy that she came back to us.” 

Oge eyed her friend. It was like Ozioma to say something profound in an off-handed manner. Oge had the sudden urge to smack her. 

“So, mama and I are crazy and insane for worrying?” 

Ozioma moved away from the mat where she and Oge sat, weaving small baskets. They were surrounded by dried, stripped bamboo bark and dried, stripped beige canes. Oge watched her friend with a raised eyebrow. 

“For worrying? No.” 

Ozioma shook her head. 

“But you and my aunt are crazy people on the norm. 

“Tah, it is your mother and mother-in-law that are crazy people, you disrespectful toad, I should have let you boil when you fell into the boiling water as a child.” 

“Aunty, you like to gossip. How are you listening to us from over there? Tah.” 

“Tah, dry up your blood.” 

Her aunt shouted at her. Oge could not help the giggle that rose out of her. She had felt weak and useless the last couple of days, but the bickering of these two made up a lot for her restlessness and her boredom, and her mother-in-law's response was as good as any smack she would have given Ozioma. 

“But Mama, how are your ears so good? I was whispering.” 

Oge asked her mother-in-law. 

“You were, but that toad of a niece has no idea what a whisper is, even if it hit her on that oblong head.” 

“Aunty, I at least have all my hair on this head.” 

Ozioma retorted, and her aunt nodded vigorously. 

“I am your future, you ugly child.” 

“Ah, that means you are an ugly old woman.” 

Ozioma shouted at her aunt, snickering. Her aunt hissed, a sharp sound made through noise escaping clenched teeth and pursed lips, causing Oge to roar in laughter. 

“In my day's story, coming next.” 

Oge whispered conspiratorially to Ozioma, who winked and smiled in response. 

“Back in my days, do you know how men chased after me for my beauty?” 

“Yet you married a man with barely a name or cowrie to him.” 

Her aunt shot her a dirty, searing look. 

“Like you did any better.” 

“Mama, she married your nephew. Ha!” 

Oge said in mock shock, her eyes glistering with unshed tears from laughing too hard. 

“And who asked her to marry poor?” 

“If I don’t tell your sister what you just said, let me break.” 

Ozioma swore, touching her finger to her tongue and placing the wet finger on the ground. Oge sputtered in a coughing fit. She did not doubt for a second that Ozioma would tell her mother-in-law to get a rise out of her. 

“Mama, I want dry fish.” 

Oma interrupted the sparring. Her mother eyed her sternly. 

“So, now you are hungry? When your mates were eating, you were running around like a homeless dog.” 

Oma pouted and fell into her mother. Oge caught her daughter with experienced arms. She was used to the behaviour. 

“Your mother is too weak for you to throw yourself at her like that. And you are not a baby, leave your mother alone.” 

Ozioma scolded her. Oma smiled sheepishly at her aunt, batting her long lashes, from her mother’s arm, where she was sitting. Her mother’s arms wrapped around her, still weaving the basket. 

“Look how thin you are. I am tired of forcing meals down your throat, this child.” 

Her mother complained, she gave Oma a look over, her eyes lingering on Oma’s face. 

“Mummy, pretty please.” 

Oma pleaded, batting her lashes again. 

“You only call me mummy when you need something. But fish is not food. You are not a deity that only survives on snacks, left for them as offerings. Eat something else. I made yam porridge. With dried fish, oh, you will like it.” 

“Mmm.” 

Oma made a throaty sound to indicate her disagreement. 

“I just want dried fish, please.” 

“Just let her eat the fish; at least food is going into her body.” 

Oge’s mother-in-law called. She had returned to painting the pot with her granddaughter. Oge shook her head at her and sighed. 

“Amaram, please get your sister dried fish. I cannot trust her near my fish; she is like a cat with fish. Get some for yourself and your cousins and take a break. You have been working on that pot all afternoon.” 

Cheers and jostling erupted from where the boys had congregated. Oge rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently. 

“So, you sent Oma to ask for the fish.” 

Their mother yelled in their direction; she was met with open, innocent looks of dismay. 

“Mama, no, oh.” 

Her eldest denied vehemently, managing to keep his face open and innocent. 

“I will break your head if you lie to me again.” 

She yelled at him. Her son muttered something about people disbelieving the innocent, his face turned away from his mother, so that she could not hear what he had said. She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say it to her face. Beside him, the twins had gone very quiet, worried that sudden movements would make them a target for the fury currently directed at their older brother. 

“Leave him alone, he is just a child, and it is just a fish.” 

“Defend him, oh. One of these days, I will leave them at your door and let them be your problem.” 

Ozioma said to her friend, her annoyance evident on her sweaty face. 

“You already do that.” 

Oge replied, nodding in acknowledgement at her older daughter, who had brought the dried fish out and was going through the task of dividing them. She shared them in the order of age hierarchy. The twins got the least share, but theirs were the same size. An elder would usually divide up the fish, but Oge had started letting Amara do chores that made her cousins and her sister jealous, because the tasks were reserved for older people. She completed these tasks with pride, reveling in her power over her sister and cousins. Oge smiled at the loaded looks the boys and Oma were directing at Amara, because her portion of fish was more than theirs. 

“It's because I come back for them, one day I won't.” 

Ozioma said under her breath, her experienced hands deftly looping bamboo barks into patterns. Oge shot her a mock-disappointed look, wondering for a moment why they were still on the topic, and shook her head. 

“You won’t even see me for a week.” 

Ozioma informed her, still not looking up from her work. Oge nodded, moving Oma away so she could eat in comfort. She smiled to herself, knowing Ozioma lived and breathed for her children; a day without them, and she would come running back. She looked up and caught the boys wolfing down their fish from the corner of her eye. Her poor girls were eating slowly. In a minute, they would face badgering by doe-eyed and pleading boys, asking the girls to share their fish. There was never a dull moment anymore with a compound full of children.