Say Walah

19: Half-eaten Mangoes

As the early morning sun filtered through the lush trees the next day, I sat on my porch, methodically sharpening my machete. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone was a soothing counterpoint to the chaotic memories that threatened to overwhelm me. Images of flames, screams, and the acrid smell of burning flesh flashed through my mind, a grim reminder of the family I had lost.

"Orji! How fare you?" Amadi's booming voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked up, my hands never pausing in their work. "Amadi," I acknowledged, my tone neutral. "What brings the captain of the guard to my humble abode so early?"

Amadi's gaze swept over the tidy compound, noting the well-thatched roof, the thriving garden, and the plump chickens scratching at the earth. "Humble, eh? You're living like a small king out here, my friend. Those fruits hanging there look particularly ripe."

My eyes narrowed slightly. "I doubt you came all this way to admire my fruit trees, Amadi. What do you want?"

Amadi chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Always straight to the point, aren't you? No time for pleasantries."

"Some of us have work to do," I replied, testing the edge of my machete with my thumb. "Unlike certain guards who seem to have nothing better to do than admire other people's mangoes."

"Ah, still sharpening blades and words, I see," Amadi said with a wry grin. But the grin slipped, and his eyes darkened. "But you're right, I'm not here for small talk. The Onowu has taken one of the prisoners you brought in. Those women."

My hand stilled for a moment before resuming its rhythmic motion. "And? What does that have to do with me? My duty was to bring them in. What the Onowu does with them is not my concern."

Amadi raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? The great and prudent Orji, scourge of criminals, suddenly doesn't care about justice?"

"Justice?" I scoffed. "Since when has the Onowu been interested in justice?"

"Come now, Orji," Amadi said, his voice lowering. "You know better than anyone. What happens when the Onowu sees something he wants, something fragile. It's like setting a fire and calling it warmth. Is that what you fought for, what you bled and lost for?"

My grip tightened on the machete, my knuckles turning white. "You go too far, Amadi."

"Do I?" Amadi challenged. "Or do I not go far enough? I remember a time when you would have stormed the Onowu's compound for less."

"That was a different time," I muttered. "A much younger me."

Amadi nodded sagely. "Indeed. Well, I've said my piece. What you do with this information is up to you." He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Orji?"

"What?"

With a quick motion, Amadi plucked a ripe mango from a nearby tree. "I think I will help myself to one of these after all. Consider it payment for the message." He took a big bite, juice dribbling down his chin. "Mmmm, even sweeter than they look. You always did have a way with growing things, Orji. Shame you've lost your touch with people."

As Amadi's footsteps faded away, I sat motionless, the machete forgotten in my lap. The cheerful sounds of the morning - birds singing, leaves rustling - seemed to mock the turmoil in my heart.

I had worked hard to build this life, to find peace after the horrors I had witnessed. But Amadi's words had stirred something I had thought long buried - a sense of righteousness, of duty.

I looked down at the machete, its edge now wickedly sharp. I had forged a new life with my own two hands, yes. But at what cost? And could I truly call it living if I turned a blind eye to the injustices around me?

Then again, it is not my problem.

But then again...

The sun crept higher, warming my skin, but it did nothing to melt the chill tightening around my heart. I sat there, machete in hand, wrestling with the ghosts of my past and the sharp sting of my conscience. The half-eaten mango Amadi left mocked my hesitation, a quiet, sticky reminder that turning a blind eye would mean betraying everything I once stood for.

As I stared at the half-eaten mango, the sweet scent brought back memories of a day long past, when the compound was alive with laughter and love. I could almost hear my sisters' giggles as they chased each other around the mango tree, their hair adorned with vibrant flowers. My younger brother, barely able to walk, toddled after them, his chubby hands reaching for the bright fruit dangling just out of reach.

And there, lounging in the shade, was Wago, our pet jaguar. A gift from a traveling merchant, Wago had grown from a sickly cub into a magnificent beast. He watched the children's antics with lazy interest, his tail twitching occasionally.

"Orji," my father's deep voice called. I turned to see him walking towards me, his face creased with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Why aren't you playing with your siblings?"

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I'm too old for such games, Papa."

He chuckled, settling down beside me. "Too old? At ten harmattans? I think not." His eyes, wise beyond measure, studied my face. "What troubles you, my son?"

I hesitated, then blurted out, "The village boys say we're foolish for keeping Wago. They say he'll turn on us one day."

My father fell silent, his eyes softening as he watched Wago swat playfully at my brother's tiny hand, each movement careful and controlled, like a storm held back by sheer will. For all his power, Wago was tender, and in that tenderness, my father found hope.

"Orji," he finally said, "life is full of risks. Yes, Ike could be dangerous. But look at the joy he brings to our family. Sometimes, we must look beyond our fears and see the potential for good in all things – even those that might seem threatening at first glance."

He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Remember, my son, true strength lies not in the ability to cause harm, but in the courage to show mercy. To see the humanity in others, even when they've wronged you."

The laughter of my siblings and the soft growls of Wago faded like echoes on the wind, leaving me alone once more on my porch, the taste of memory still bittersweet on my tongue. But my father's words echoed in my mind, as clear as if he'd just spoken them.

I looked down at the machete in my hands. How far I'd strayed from his teachings. Those women I'd captured – yes, they had stolen from me. But did they deserve whatever fate the Onowu had in store? Had I become so hardened that I couldn't see their desperation, their humanity?

The half-eaten mango caught my eye again. Amadi's parting shot about my lost touch with people stung more than I cared to admit.

With a heavy sigh, I stood up. My father had seen the good in Wago, a wild animal, and in doing so, had brought joy and protection to our family. Perhaps it was time I tried to see the good in these women, to offer them the mercy my father would have shown.

I strapped the machete to my back – not as a weapon this time, but as a reminder of the man I once was and the man I wanted to be again. As I set off towards the Onowu's compound, I silently thanked Amadi for his meddling ways. It was time to right a wrong, to honor my father's memory, and perhaps, to reclaim a piece of myself I'd thought long lost.

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