Ikenga- prologue
Theme: (The Demon I Saw)
By Praise Chidera Obiora
I sat on the tall Igbuala mango tree, plugging only the soft red colored mangoes and sli-pping them
into the pockets of my brown short knicker. The red mangoes were my favourite mangoes. They
had no seed at all. One could easily throw the mangoes into his mouth and chew it like the popular
blue berries. It was soft and had the sweet taste of lemonades. This tree was believed to be a gift
from the gods.
GrandMa had told me that the Igbuala tree was a tree planted by Agundaobi, the god of beauty
and love. I was only five years old when she told me the story of the beauty god and the history of
the Igbuala mango tree. I loved the story so much. Many parents told their children that same
story.
I would run to grandmama when ever the white moon was out, and drag her by her hands until she
followed me outside, limping with her stick which made the “kolom kolom” sound on the broken
cement floor, while she carefully picked her steps out of the room.
I remember the first day grandma told me the story of the celebr@ted tree. It was on a dark chilly
evening, when the cool breeze of the night robbe-d its comforting hands on our n-ked b©dy,
bringing sweet chills to all who were re-ady to embr@ce it.
I had dragged grandma outside as usual not only to enjoy the sweet breeze, but also to tell me the
story of the popular Igbuala tree.
“Mama tell me the story of the Igbuala tree. I want to know about it.” I pleaded with my eyes turned
into that of an innocent puppy.
I called her Mama even though she was not directly my own mother. Grandma was my father’s
mother. Grandma was a quiet woman who smiled always. She loved me like her own child.
Grandma once told me that she loved me even more than she loved my own father. Although I
took her words as mare exaggerations. I couldn’t un-derstand why a mother would love her
grandson more than her own son.
“Ike do you really want to know about the Igbuala mango tree?” She asked.
“Yes mama.” I replied happily with a grin on my face.
I folded my legs like a village native doctor, preparing to llisten to grandma’s story.
“Long time ago, the people of Agugu found favour in the eyes of the gods. The gods blessed them
with everything beautiful. Women gave birth to handsome young men. Our women were an
epitome of beauty and grace.”
“The gods loved us to an extent they visited us in human flesh during dinner, and ate from the
same table with every single family. They ensured they were pres£nt in full flesh on every festivals
we held too. The walked on the streets and even st©pped to help the young and old who nee-ded
help.”
“One day, during a major festival held in the village, Agundaobi the god of beauty and love, visited
and fell in love with one of the maidens in the village.”
“The whole village was surprised and also excited when they realised that Agundaobi had fallen in
love with his own creation.”
“He loved Ijeoma with all his heart. He paid her annual visits. And when ever he did, he brou-ght
her mangoes- Red soft mangoes. This mangoes were very sweet. They were unique. They were
not like the common mangoes we see on the trees. This mangoes were said to exist only in the
land of the gods.”
“Ijeoma loved the mangoes so much. It was with that mango that he won the love of Ijeoma. As
she ate the mangoes, Ijeoma grew very beautiful. Other maidens bec@m£ jealous and envious of
her beauty. They too wished that Agundaobi the god of beauty and love, will choose them as his
girlfriends too.”
“But something happened. The food of the gods which was meant for the gods alone, was now
being consumed by a mare human. Agundaobi had forgotten the rule of the gods, and fed her too
much mangoes. Soon Ijeoma began to see things only meant for the gods.”
“She began to see spirits. She saw demons. She saw the black ones which had no legs. She saw demons with six black eyes and black smoky w@!st. And at night, she saw the ones with teeth’s on
their feet and tails on their forehead.”
“The curse on Ijeoma could not be reversed. Agundaobi tried all he could to save her but he could
not. This made Agundaobi cry a bitter cry.”
“Ijeoma was going throu-gh pains. She began to live her life in fear and isolation. Agundaobi could
not bear the pains the love of his life, Ijeoma was going throu-gh. One day, Ijeoma begged him to
kill her. It was a really though decision for him. Agundaobi the god of beauty and love, granted her
request and slit Ijeoma’s throat with his own sword.”
“He buried her himself and planted the red mango tree on their favourite meeting sp©t on the
street of Igbuala. This was to serve as a remembr@nce and a gift to Ijeoma’s. Agundaobi swore
that his tears would never dry. He swore never to st©p mourning Ijeoma.”
“Every morning, he comes to the grave of Ijeoma and cries. It is his tears that waters the Igbuala
mango tree. Ikenga, below that mango tree is the b©dy of Ijeoma, Agundaobi first and only true
love.”
“In other to ensure that no other human eats from the tree, he cursed the tree and made it very tall
so that no one clim-bs it. Anyone who eats from the tree would inherit Ijeoma’s curse. And he shall
see the demons Ijeoma saw while she was still alive.”
My heart pla-yed the fast beat of the Ofola drum, while grandma told me the story of the red
mangoes. My eyes bec@m£ soa-ked with tears. My b©dy bec@m£ cold And frozen.
“Grandma, does that mean we would never eat from the red mango tree? The mango is always
fresh and tasty. It never dries up. It is inviting.”
Grandma chuckled and coughed. She pu-ll-ed me closer and dropped her walking stick beside her.
She lifted her right hand and robbe-d my shiny head with her hands.
“Ike, Agundaobi is a fair god. He knew that we would love to eat from the mangoes too, so he
lowers the height of the mango tree once every year. It was lowered low enough for villagers to
climb and plug from the tree, which was also the food of the gods. That way, our consumption
from the mango tree will not be much.”
I grew up knowing about the Igbuala tree. After the first rain of every year, the mango tree was
lowered by the gods for all to come and eat from. The Iguala tree was admired by every man and
woman, boy or girl who walked pas-s the tree. It was a tree which bore fruits every single day.
I hated the green and yellow mangoes. They were popular in the village, and patronized by all. But
the Igbuala tree was the only tree that brou-ght out red mangoes that resembled the apples of
Umubula. It was always admired but never eaten unless the gods lowered the tree.
A single bite brou-ght out sweet red jui-ce that painted thel-ips and ton-gue of the eater in a beautiful
pepper red design. Thel-ips of the eater stayed red for several days before it finally washes off.
I plugged the last red mango from the Igbuala tree and climbe-d down like a village soldier.
I took to my heels, heading back home to grandma.
Today is not the Igbuala tree plucking day. The rain has not even showed any sign of its coming,
neither have the gods lowered the tree for anyone to eat from.
My name is Ikenga, the true and only son of my father, the lovely grandson of mama, and the
stubborn he goat the kingdom talks about.
As I ran cutting throu-gh the thick bushes, I felt something chase me behind. It was something fast.
Something strange and very scary….
Ikenga- Episode 1
Theme: (The Demon I Saw)
By Praise Chidera Obiora
I st©pped and turned back in terror. I was frightened and was p@n-ting like a thirsty dog. I began to
look into the thick bushes with my eyes shining like that of a newly washed lantern. I walked
backwards hoping to catch a sight of what was chasing me behind, but yet I could see nothing.
The frightening sound seemed to have st©pped. Nothing seemed to be moving throu-gh the bushes any longer. I turned back and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I ran with all the strength I
had. I held ti-ghtly onto my Red ju-icy Igbuala mangoes.
I was not re-ady to loose anyone of my freshly plucked mangoes. At least not after the whole risk I
had taken to come all the way to Igbuala to plug this fruit.
They were four in total, the red mangoes. I had intended ma-king them five but I couldn’t when I
realised that my pockets where alre-ady filled up. I had tucked them into my pockets so that non fell
on the road side while I ran.
“Ikenga…. Ikenga..” A soft voice whispered in my ears as I kept running.
It almost felt like the person was running effortlessly right beside me. I felt the breath t©uçh my
ears softly. I heard the voice clearly.
Like a soldier, I halted and turned round in fright. My eyes hovered around in search of the one
who had called my name. All I saw was the thick push. I saw the thick gras-ses.
“Who are you? What do you want from me? Show yourself. I command you in the name of the
gods of Agugu to show yourself.” I shouted pretending to be bold.
The voice laughed like a tickled child. It was the laugh of a feminine voice. It echoed from the
distance. It sounded like I was in an empty room. I felt my legs shiver. I felt my bones suddenly
grow cold. I turned to run but suddenly collided with a hvge tree.
The tree looked like one which had appeared behind me. I never noticed it. I didn’t even see it
from a distance. It was a fruitless tree with seven br@nches which had green broad leaves and
plenty of sharp pointed thick thorns.
This tree seemed to have been planted right beside me. I hid behind the tree and kept looking at
the far distance in search of the voice. My eyes searched piercingly throu-gh the bush.
It was then I saw something. It ran throu-gh the bushes in a circular form. At first I thought it was a
snake. But when it began to st©p in the bush, and run again, I decided this was something
strange. I stretched my hand trying to reach for a hvge stone that l@ybeside me.
The strange animal which I could not see, headed in my direction. I jumped up, holding firmly unto
one of the br@nches of the fruitless tree.
I quivered in fear when I saw a white rabbit run pas-s me. I heaved a sigh. This rabbit was big. It
was the exact size the hunters sold for four piece of cowries at the Agugu market day. They would
tie it up with the blood of the animal gushing out of its n£¢k. The freshly slain rabbits cost ten pieces of cowries. If a hunter was to bring the rabbits fresh and alive, it would cost even more.
The white rabbits where the most expensive. They were said to be the first creations of the gods.
A hunter who brou-ght white rabbits to the market to sell was going to leave such a place a wealthy
man.
I jumped down from the tree and began to wonder why this rabbit was chasing me all along? If
only I had a spear, a net or a bow and arrow, I was going to strike this rabbit for causing me so
much fear. I will skin it alive, and watch it quiver in fear too. After that, I will roast it and make a
sweet pepper soup spiced with Utazi leaves for grandma to eat from.
I turned round to walk away when the strange voice sounded yet again.
“Ikengaaaa…. Ikeee….” The voice called out in whispers.
“plea-se who are you. Show your face. Show your face now. St©p hiding. St©p being a coward.” I
shouted.
The bush path was a long path to the village it was not even a short cut that could get me back
home. This was a very long cut.
I had opted to take this path back home instead of the normal road the villagers usually took,
because I didn’t want to be seem by anyone. I didn’t want to be seen with the red Igbuala mangos
by any villager.
This was the exact road the seven widows of Agugu, who had killed their husbands were slain by
the gods. Their bodies were rumoured to have been found in this same bush path years ago.
I also heard those stories when I was just a child. Mama had told me the stories of the seven
widows and how they planned to kill their husbands, even before she told me the stories of the red
Igbuala mangoes.
That day, I sat down right beside grandma and watched as she struggled to finish her bitter cola
first. She loved bitter cola so much. She said bitter cola helped control her blood pressure. She
would chew it every morning and night like chewing gum. It served as her chewing stick when she
woke up in the early hours of the morning, and her companion in the afternoon.
Grandma says there is so much lesson to learn from chewing the bitter cola. She said the first
lesson was to realise that nothing last forever. Not even the bitterness from the cola would last
forever. The second lesson was to know that at the end of every bitter cola, comes the sweet taste
at the back of the ton-gue. She said their is always a sweet p@rt of life behind every bitter taste.
I didn’t un-derstand what she meant. I had never chewed a bitter cola before. But from the name,
“bitter Cola” I could tell that it was bitter.
When she was done, she dusted her hands and spat the shaft of the bitter cola on the floor. She
lifted her falling wra-pper up to cover the t©p of her fallen br£@st and coughed to clear her throat.
“Ike are you re-ady for my story now?” She asked.
“Yes mama. Tell me about the seven widows who killed their husbands.”
“Once upon a time, there lived seven proud beautiful married women from the seven tribes of
Agugu. They were proud and very boastful. Because they were proud, they were also very
stubborn.”
“It was a tradition to hold a wife picking festival for the single maidens in the town. This festival
was graced by the rich and handsome men who c@m£ from far and near, hoping to pick a wife
back home. Their bride price was paid in full, and their beautiful wife taken with them
immediately.”
“This seven beautiful women, whose beauty was given in abundance by Agundaobi the God of
beauty and love, felt that their husbands where ugly, poor and not deserving of their beauty. They
women also wanted to p@rticipate in the wife picking festival, so that they could marry rich and
worthy men from other great kingdoms. And so, they thought on what to do as the festival drew
closer.”
“Each of them made up their minds to kill their husbands, so as to be able to p@rticipate in the wife
picking festival. There after, they shall mourn their husbands for a short period, and finally be
qualified to join in the picking festival. They all planned different strategies of death which was
executed.”
“Their plans were executed successfully and their husbands died a painful death. Months after
mourning, they joined in the wife picking festival and danced with all their hearts. Flaunting their
waste, and shaking their br£@st to draw the attention of men towards them.”
“Agundaobi the god of beauty and love, who had watched in silence as these events took place
was annoyed with them. He struck them with madness and made the widows run into the bushes.
It was there that the gods struck them dead and buried them himself. But no one knew how or
where he had buried them.”
There was still something missing in the story grandma had told me. I wanted to know how they
both killed their husbands. I wanted a vivid picture of how this women looked like. But grandma
ended the story just like that. I knew she was hiding something from me. It was something she didn’t want me to know yet. Her story was rushed and didn’t sound like other stories she had
always told me about. Grandma had only told me the exact bush they were buried.
This was the bush. This was the place. But no one knew the grave of this widows were buried.
I brou-ght out a red Igbuala mango from my pocket to eat. I was hungry and now very thirsty. I
leaned on the fruitless tree with seven br@nches. I bit a mouth full of the red mango, and su-cked
the sweet jui-ce from it.
I chewed the mango in delight and closed my eyes so as to savour the sweet taste coming from
the Igbuala red mangoes. This was the sweetest mango I had ever eaten. No other mangos in
Agugu tasted like this one. No wonder Ijeoma could not get enough of the sweet fruit.
I was about taking the next bite, when I suddenly felt the rou-gh tree I was leaning on, suddenly
grow soft. Its softness was very comforting but yet strange. I felt the tree move slowly and dance
on my back as I chewed the red Igbuala mangoes.
I lifted my head to find one of the thick thorns that la-id beside me, now metamorphosed into a
baby snake. I skrie-ked and shifted.
I lifted my eyes up to find the seven br@nches of the tree turn into a snake with seven giant heads.
Each of the seven heads had two hvge horns and very sharp teeth’s. The many thorns on the
b©dy of this giant snake with one b©dy, now looked like warms folding up against each other.
I stood up to face it. When I had caught the full sight of this dre-adful creature, I screamed in terror
but fell backwards almost immediately.
I threw the last red Igbuala mangoes into my mouth and chewed it hurriedly while I struggled to
crawl away from the snake.
The snake tree grew taller but could not uproot itself from the floor. Its seven head extended
towards me and rounded me up. I swallowed the red Igbuala mangoes in a hurry and shouted in
terror.
“Leave me alone. Leave me alone. I have done nothing to you. Leave me.”
“Ikengaaaa… Ikengaaa” the strange voice spoke again in echoes.
My Heart beat increa-sed as I watched the seven heads of the giant snake crawl towards me.
To be continued….