Festival of the gods©
A Short Story
Cover Art by Chinedu Odibeli
The festival of the gods was very sacred indeed. It was a week-long event where the people gathered to celebrate the end of a good harvest and the beginning of a new planting season.
And for several days leading up to this festival, they prepared in every possible way because everything had to be done perfectly. The dibias and rain makers separated themselves for days and prayed earnestly. It was also at this time that the gods would reveal the men they chose to be their mmanwu, their masquerades.
It usually began on Ubochi Eke, the first market day, after the harvests had been made. It was customary for every household to bring the very best of the season and offer as sacrifices to the gods and so they did, clad in their finest outfits, dancing as they approached the shrines of their various chis.
Mazi Uzoakoli was one man who particularly looked forward to this year’s celebrations. He sat on a small wooden bench outside his obi, chewing on a piece of stick. He spat to the ground occasionally and then continued chewing.
He craved this time, this solitude that the early morning brought with it so much so that it became a daily ritual for him. It was time away from the rest of his household and the drama that accompanied them. It was time to reflect on the past and plan for the future.
He pulled out his stick briefly to inhale the cool breeze that swept by against his bare chest and then went back to chewing on it. He let his mind wander back to the days of his youth, when his hands were strong and to the reasons why he loved this season.
During a festival such as this one, he would wrestle with men, both from his village and their surrounding neighbours and he would triumph. He could still hear the loud cries of the entertained crowd, chanting his name over and over again.
It was also during this festival that he had noticed her, Uloma, the second daughter of Mazi Ezedinma. It had been on the third market day, when the young and unmarried maidens of the land donned themselves in colourful wrappers that sat high above their knees and nothing but beads on their chests.
He had watched her as she danced, the movement of her hips and her full breasts enticed him and for many nights, when he was by himself, those images filled his thoughts.
Uloma was a beautiful sight to behold, fair of figure and fair of face. She was even more beautiful every day than the day before. It was no surprise why men of different calibre trouped in their numbers to her father’s house to ask for her hand in marriage.
But tradition could not be broken because it should never be heard that the Ulo got married before Ada.
Adaeze, the first child of Mazi Ezedinma was a different tale entirely and even though she had such a reputable character, it simply made one’s eyes tired just to look at her. She watched as men after men came to visit her father, bearing gifts of proposal and all with the same request, Uloma’s hand in marriage.
And she watched as men after men were turned back because her father wouldn’t give Uloma away while she was still unmarried. They often went away, leaving behind prayers for the family that she would indeed get married soon enough. Only so they can come back for Uloma, she imagined.
When he visited their home, with all things necessary for a proposal, he met the same response from Mazi Eze. He had placed his hands on the tip of his chin and had hardly considered what he was about to say,
‘I will marry Adaeze’ his mouth said before his mind could conclude.
So, for Uloma, he had to have her sister and for her, he did. Only now, it seemed like the worst decision he could have ever made. The constant and consistent bickering of the two women was almost unbearable and he tried as much as possible to avoid them both. After all, he was done bearing children.
