EJIMA

CHAPTER 11“You are a spy aren’t you?” The missing toe woman asked. Those crispy voices of hers echoed through the body of the trees. The hoarseness was soul-piercing and could almost chase one’s skeleton out of their skin. If Ejima remembered correctly, the woman’s voice bore a resemblance with that of the Dibia back in the village. The coldness and rigidity in them could not go unnoticed.“And you are the creature with a missing toe?” Ejima asked, not minding the angry glare the woman was shooting towards he

Última actualización : 2020-09-24

The heat of the sun was already soft on her skin by the time she caught sight of the basket again. Perhaps the sun was going to bed, she couldn’t tell for sure. Her hands were burning, and every muscle seems to have turned into water. Fatigue was setting in and she knew it. She also knew that if she ceases using her hands as an oar, she would lose sight of the basket which was floating now at the edge of the river.Confident that the current of the river would not carry the basket away, she stopped beating the waters and immersed her head into the river. Every part of her body seemed to relax as the warm hands of the water massaged the weariness in her muscles. She even gulped some amount and was glad when the natural freshness strolled through her throat and blessed

Última actualización : 2020-09-23

Culture and tradition? They are nothing but twin sisters in a symbiotic relationship. It would be hard to tell which of the two was sucking the virtue and the moral rights of the people. Generations have come and gone. Good and bad people fading with its hood. These traditions that govern the cultures of the people had been enacted by some of the fathers who had lived long before the village had been born. But, thinking about it now, it would be difficult to pinpoint the moment in history when the evil had crept in. The people had lived long enough with the folktales of the fathers to blot the dent in the dough that had swelled in the batch of morality. Perhaps the adage, Ihe ojo gba afo, obulu omenala (If evil remains long enough it becomes a culture), was in play

Última actualización : 2020-09-23

Ejima yawned widely, not bothering to cover her mouth. She rested her weight on the broom and allowed her golden gaze to wander through the place she now calls home. It was nothing close to the size of her husband’s compound, and the dried leaves that carpeted the floor made her want to cuddle under her skin. Bloody cashew tree. She hissed and wiped the sweat drop that had strolled towards eyes eyelid. Leaning away from the broomstick, she continued with her chore, hoping to be done before the sun hangs on the center of the earth.But for the many trees, nothing stood for miles, just her small hut and the grasses. It would take about eight to ten miles before the next house could be seen. Seven weeks have passed since they drove her out of her husband’s place,

Última actualización : 2020-09-23

How long had they carried her? Ejima whizzed, fighting through the rope that gaged her mouth. It was hard to get enough ai

“I don’t think she can make it” Someone was saying. The words were gibberish and echoed in her ears like a multitude of people all saying the same thing simultaneously. Her legs a

The lights of the sun were hiding on the other side of the world and the birds were retiring to their nest by the time Ejima decided that it was time to go home, having fed enough on the bread of a

Ejimmamara wiped away the sweat that walked down the bridge of her flat nose, but sneezed twice when she accidentally sniffed the dust in her hands. She wiped the tears that followed and tried to return to work, but leaned away when a sharp pain strode through her waist. She hissed out