An Erring Woman

The day he was set to be buried, I was not allowed near the body. They told me that it was against the traditions and customs.

A woman must not go near the body of her husband. It will only bring ill omen.

I sat there, my hair scarfed with a black cloth, my head nodding in grief, and my big black boubou gown swaying in the wind as I tried to make sense of what they were saying.

I was just a tool for their use as usual. Nothing else. These men, these people. They surrounded me with stern eyes that showed no mercy, with eyes that took no pity, and they proclaimed their judgment against me. I was numb to my feet, and my mind raced from one point to another as I thought of how I had come to become like one of those women who become victims of harmful traditional rites and practices.

I felt reality rock my body as another gush of tears threatened to blur my vision.

“May unfortunate incidents only visit my enemies,” I prayed within me. The agony was too much for my mind to hold.

It was not always like this. These men did not have a say in my life.

A woman loses her value before the world once her garment is ripped off of her.

“Oh chukwuma, why did you do this to me? You promised. Oh, you promised.”

I was numb from my feet as the thought of my husband’s death flashed back for the umpteenth time: The screams, the sirens, the blasts of the ambulance as the medics approached our house, the chaos, and the final proclamation at 5:45 by the doctor.

“Okorodu Chukwuma has died.”

The day had begun like a typical day, and like the elders often say,

If a man knew the day death would come knocking, he would prepare himself to wait for its arrival.

If I had known that death would have visited my husband on that day, I would have kept my eyes and ears peeled to fight against its unwelcome visit.

I would have fought death and brought it under my feet.

But alas, aren’t we all victims of the universe? Living lives that aren’t ours, lives that we cannot control… we are merely participants in a story being written by one who is bigger than us.

“I want to see my husband, please!” I summoned courage and piped at the elders one more time.

“That is impossible! The rites have begun. A woman’s husband is no longer her husband once he crosses to the other side. You must no longer claim right to him or his body anymore woman!”

“But he is my husband. Do you mean I should discontinue all the affections I bore towards him, even after all of the vows that we made to each other?” I countered with an argument.

“The vows were made to hold until death do you both part,” One villager with a cap that was unnecessarily long with a weird horn, interrupted. His teeth were a bit decayed from eating too much kola. “Death is the final deal breaker. You have no relationship with him anymore. That is the tradition of our land. Even God agrees with this.”

I looked at them with blurry eyes. I tried to tighten my teeth to prevent my wails from spilling out and embarrassing myself. I had shown enough weakness already. Now was the time to speak up.

” But…”

“No buts, you should let his kinsmen take it from here,” Chief akui replied he was the kindest of them all. He looked at me with a kind of pity in his eyes like I reminded him of his daughter or his humanity. “He is no longer yours to own.”

I felt the word sting me like sharp prickly needles.

I only just want to wish him farewell. I want to see him for the last time. How can a woman’s request to bid her lover, and husband farewell, create so much hate and ruckus all in the name of tradition?

“I am not asking much of my elders. If you insist, I would not be present at the funeral. Let me just…let me just…” I suddenly break down with a rent of wails. All my pent-up frustration flooded my eyes and lips. “I didn’t even see him after he was pronounced dead.” I continued, “One minute he was struggling for life, the next, the doctors have proclaimed him dead and wheeled him straight to the morgue. Now I’m here in the village, to lay him to rest. Why won’t you let me just do the needful?”

“Weren’t you the one that killed him, you witch of a woman!” The chief with the kola-stained teeth spat in my direction. “You evil woman, do you think we do not know about your evil intentions to take over your husband’s wealth?” He declared like he just read that allegation from the Bible. His declaration of my supposed intention was mind-boggling.

I winced like a sharp dagger has been pierced through my skin.

“How do you mean? I would never desire to take anything from Chukwuma. He was my husband, and everything we have, we built together.” I fired back.

“Shut up your mouth, woman!! Shut up there. What do you mean, everything you have you owned together? All these educated women and their stupid ideologies from the white man.
Do you not know that a woman does not own anything except given permission by her husband to own it?” The majority of the elders nodded their heads in affirmation to support his claims.

“What is a woman, what does she own? Everything given by a woman can only be bestowed by a man. Take, for instance, the story of the creation. Man, Adam, had to give his rib to eve to make her become a woman. When that rib is destroyed by death, or anything else, a woman becomes nothing but soil. A pitiful soil discarded for anyone’s use.” Blood-stained teeth piped with such enthusiasm as if he had finally found his true life calling.

“Iseeee!”

“Iseeee!!”

The other elders chorused and nodded their heads in agreement as if they had just heard the gospel of Christ for the first time.

I stood mummified as the scorching sun slapped hard on my back and hands, scarring my light skin. I watched them mumble in agreement to themselves. Did that elder just refer to the bible’s story of creation, that too, in a twisted manner that alluded to his pervasive notions? God!

“My elders,” I tried to interrupt them for the umpteenth time, “I did not kill him. I did not kill my husband.”

“That is what a witch would also say until proven guilty.” Chief Akui replied. “That was what Nkiru’s wife said until the oracle made her confess that she was a witch who had eaten her blind husband in the coven the previous night before his mysterious death!”

“Women are all witches! Including you woman. Why else would your husband have died mysteriously?” Blood-stained teeth interrupted again.

“I do not know,” I continued to insist, “please do not do this.”

“It has been decided, and there is no longer any say in this matter.” The kola-teeth elder continued, “we have decided on this woman. You shall not see your husband, neither shall you be present during the funeral, nor be permitted to go near to his body, or touch it. If you do so, may the curse of the ancestors be upon you, for you would have become a deterring woman.”

“Iseee!!!”

“The words of the elders are the words of our ancestors. May it come to pass. May the erring woman be punished, and may the curse of the ancestors visit the erring woman.”

“Iseee!”

I watched them echo “ise” as they bounded out of the compound one after the other. These elders have done the most, and I fell on my face and wailed at God. What is a woman’s place in such a harsh traditional climate after all? Who shall set her free?

Who shall set me free?

***

The night I decided that I was not going to let the proclamation of some hungry power drunk village elders stop me from saying goodbye to the love of my life, to my husband, which the cruel hands of death had snatched away from me, that was the moment I signed my first pact with the devil.

The night had been stark dark, and the moon had gone into hiding as if in fear of the shadow that accompanied death. I had heard the pallbearers mention that Chukwuma’s body would be laid somewhere near the outhouse in the small building across from my room.

It was 2:00 am, and everyone was asleep. The entire compound was as quiet as the grave. Only the crickets and night frogs seemed to make sounds to cheer me on— to remind me that I was not alone.

I looked at the time and wondered why a stupid rule with no logical explanation would be able to stop me from bidding my lover and husband farewell for the last time.

It was easier for them to dismiss me, but I could not possibly dismiss my husband of 10 years just like that. I had to say goodbye properly. Even if that meant defying the elders, and doing so, that too, in the dead of the oddest hour of the night.

I was a woman determined to uphold her will and damn the consequences.

I hurried towards the outhouse and watched as the building loomed closer, every step heavier than the first, daring me to stay far far away from defying the elders.

A large bird flew past with a loud shrill that startled me.

I almost bit my tongue in fear, as the bird flew past making that loud noise.

“Nneanzi, gets yourself together, it’s only a bird,” I said to myself trying to pacify myself. I wondered why a bird would make such a loud shrill sound at such an odd hour of the night.

I moved towards the door and pushed it aside. Surprisingly, the door gave way easily like Chukwuma was expecting me, like he knew his wife was here to see him.

I walked into the dark of the cold room and lit the lamp I had brought with me.

The oil lamp cast an eerie shadow around the room that was set up like a local makeshift morgue. I felt shivers move around my spine as I wondered at my movement at such a time in the night.

It felt like I had stepped into the grave, the land of the dead. The silence was mind-numbing.

I noticed the white cloth that was draped over his body and hurried quickly in that direction.

“Oh! My God!” I exclaimed in shock as I moved the white cloth aside.

Chukwuma looked nothing like the man I had known as my husband. He was a shadow of his original self. Less of a man, shrunken and shriveled. His skin color had a pale repulsive cast, and his hands and feet had become dark and ashy like they had been burnt in a fire.

I touched his face and felt chills as his skin felt like paper in my hands.

“Oh Chukwuma,” I sobbed quietly, letting the tears blur my vision. “Why did you do this to me? This was not what you promised. You lied! Chukwuma, why? Why did you leave me in this dark and lonely world? Alone to suffer!”

I moved the cover cloth a little and leaned my head into his shoulder. It felt cold and uncomfortable but I did it anyway. This was my final farewell to my husband.

Chukwuma would rest well in peace now.

***

The next morning, before the cock crowed, I woke up to shouts and loud confrontations from outside my apartment. They were calling for me aggressively.

“Woman!”

“Woman!!”

“What have you done?”

The elders were crowded in the compound in their numbers, brewing trouble as usual, and demanding that I be brought out.

I hurried out of my room with a loose wrapper tied around my chest and wondered what must have gone wrong again.

Kola teeth chief was the first to greet me with an accusation.

“You sacrilegious woman! You have defiled our orders, and you would pay the prize. Even your white man’s education and wisdom would not be able to save you.”

“Yes!” Feather hat chief piped in support. “You’d face a consequence worse than death.”

“Woman, what have you done?” One of them asked. “We warned you that the gods would be against you if you defiled us.”

“Why did you go to see your husband?”

I stared at them in shock wondering how they had found out.

“The pronouncement from the gods has been given.” Kola-teeth declared the penalty for my action. “You shall be raped by 20 elders to purify the land of the sacrilege of what you have committed. The gods do not lie. The gods have spoken.”

I fell on my knees in wails and tears as I felt my wrapper being dragged away from my body in a shameful manner.

What is a woman if her rib has been taken?

An erring woman must be punished.

All images are sourced from unsplash.com

*The events are in this story are purely fictional and should be taken as such.
*ise means Amen in the popular Nigerian tradition.