It was a time of glory in the little town of Abbazi, a land blessed with Oziza fish and lush green forest land where the birds never seize to chirp their litany in praise to God. Every dawn was a ritual with the trees clapping their foliage as the brightness of day flashed through their windows, evoking the mercy of God in their cozy village setting.
Abbazi was a blessed land. Her soil was very fertile. Farmers made multiple harvests in a year and the early harvest festival was always an occasion for fanfare. Legend has it that Abbazi people were valiant men who
had repelled many invaders but were defeated and annexed by a cunning and amoral group of invaders who had come from across many seas. They called them “Ndi Ocha” which meant ‘the ruby faced jackals’ in the
Abbazi dialect. From that time, the people began making frantic efforts to regain their land. Ndi Ocha desecrated the land with false god and vain worship. Not too long in their glory, people began to notice a sharp decline in their fortune. The land was no longer yielding as before. One thing the Abbazi people did not lose was their skills in commerce and farming. At the advent of ‘Ndi Ocha’, they discovered a special kind of
fish in their river and took to fishing.
Abbazi land was blessed with Oziza fish that grew to a uniformed size at maturity. This special fish abounds in all the many streams surrounding the land. They made good living selling the fish. The king and his cabinet
members held a meeting and took a decision on how to package the fishes and sell to neighbouring towns as an export product to sustain their land. Abbazi prospered; development came to the land. The people worked with one mind: selflessly and tirelessly.
From their export, they built schools in the land. Their children no longer needed to go to other distant villages to receive education. Health centres were also built in all the seven communities in Abbazi
The land waxed wanton. It was a period of glory that was not billed to last forever. Strange sicknesses and disease outbreaks were springing up everywhere. People were losing their hairs. Some started falling sick. The fishes in the stream began dying. It was then clearly believed that an epidemic had broken out, and that the reason for the baldness was due to a strange disease from the water. The birds had long ceased their ritual canticles at dawn, the tree’ foliage stood still. The land wore a mournful look. Abbazi woke up one morning to discover that the river had become festered with rotting fishes. The villagers lamented their fate, for the river
was their main source of wealth for the land. Soon, livestock began dying after drinking from some fingers of the river that found their way into the fields. The king and his cabinet members were worried.
Mazi Ezindu, one of the king’s cabinet members, had travelled to a distant town to visit Obuaju, his primary school friend back in the days. He was baffled by the great wealth surrounding his friend. He wondered if he
had acquired all of the wealth just for himself and his family. “You mean all these belong to you or are they for the community?” Ezindu asked.
“They are mine and mine alone. I’ve acquired all these for myself, my children and generations yet unborn.
Why do you ask?”
“As you know, my town deals on Oziza fish, a very unique kind of fish and it has helped our people immensely.
It’s not owned by individuals. We live a communal life style, so every sale is shared into three parts; one for the
seller and two for the town…” Ezindu added.
“That’s rubbish!” Obuaju cut in, “You mean, your people survive on communal efforts? Is that the way your children and those coming after them will live? That’s nonsense! Open your eyes and be wise. Is this not you,
Ezindu? You, who used to swindle students of their money and live big in those days! A lion has suddenly become a mouse! Well, we are having a meeting today in the next hour to dethrone the existing king, he has
grown weak and I’m vying for his position. Ego ne ekwu uka! (money talks). I’ll be unanimously nominated and
enthroned today as the next king of this land.” Obuaju responded.
“That’s a great news to hear. Remember me in your paradise.”
“My good friend, Ezindu, go make your own paradise and I’ll soon visit as a king.”
“I envy your good fortune, but I must be on my way. The road is very far. See you some other time.”
“Obviously not in this your present state. Be wise. Good bye Ezindu, nwa ochongaloko.”(the son of a troublesome man)
“Good bye Obuaju, stay well.”
Ezindu got home so disappointed in himself, remembering his shtick in his youth days. He began thinking on how to overturn the town and take complete hold of it. That night, he kept drifting into a fitful sleep: seeing himself very rich and commanding people. At about 4.30am, he rose and sat pensively for a while at the edge of the bed, bemoaning his fate. “So, all these were just mere dreams.” He murmured to no one in particular.
He remembered the Owide people who lived by the riverside. They were great fishermen, even though their
fish was nothing compared to the special fish from Abbazi. He decided to start dealing on their fish to outwit the communal business of Abbazi land. Few moons into this trade, he discovered that he was not really making
any progress. The Oziza fish is a very unique fish with unique test, so his success was very slim. For three days and nights he shut himself away in his house. He was sorely tormented by avarice as he pondered over his
plight. On the night of the third day of his self-exclusion, he came up with a dastardly idea- to poison the source of all the streams and kill the Oziza fishes. His evil plan was carried out the next day. Gradually, all the
fishes in the streams died mysteriously, baldness and sicknesses followed. Mazi Eyiuche, the traditional prime
minister, was one of those who fell for the strange sickness.
Meanwhile, Mazi Ezindu began making good sales. His fish was in high demand and his profit was increasing while Abbazi’s fortune went down. The elders of the land gathered and consulted with the king and his cabinets members to find out how to save the land.
Many people made positive contributions. Mazi Eyiuche, who was one of the wealthiest farmers in the land gave up one of his choice piece of land located at the heart of the town for sell to support the land. Despite
being infirm, he did not wait for the meeting to end before dragging his body to his house to collected the land documents and handed them over to the king. On the king’s part, he gave up half of his sheep and goats for
the welfare of his people.
All retired government workers who receives pensions and also salary from the king as cabinet members decided to support their people. Some gave up their pensions, and some the salary they get from the king to
make sure the people of Abbazi live. Abbazites knew it was time to make sacrifices to salvage the land.
When Mazi Eyiuche got home that day, he wasn’t in the best of health, but he managed on. After dinner, he called his only daughter and said, “my daughter, our land is in peril and we all must do something, or else we’ll
all perish. I’ve given up our land at Eziama to support our town. Please my daughter, I’ll like you to understand. We have many others and we can manage with them.”
“No problem, Papa. I’m only a female child, what will I be doing with all the plots of land we have. One day, I’ll get married and the community will take everything.”
“Don’t say that my child. Everything I have belong to you and no one will take them away from you.”
Olanma smiled with the side of her mouth and then bent over with her hands supporting her jaw. “Papa, if only…, well nothing Papa.” She had wanted to talk about how she wished she had a brother, but kept it to herself, not knowing how her father will feel about it in his present condition.
“What is the problem, my daughter?”
“Nothing, but just a bit worried about the tradition of our people and what future awaits me.”
“Do not look down on yourself, you are a good child and greatness awaits you, my daughter. “
“I desire such, Papa and with you by my side, I’ll be great.”
“You’ll indeed be great, and you’ll bring greatness to this land someday. I can see great light in you.”
She looked straight into his father’s eyes and then again, she bent over. Her father knew there was something in her mind and so began to tell her his usual stories about life and its relation to death.
Olanma, groggy with sleep, her eyes barely held open by sheer force of will, quietly took her place on the floor of their mud house on her sleeping mat. As the night grew older, she began to shiver with cold. Her sick father,
who had always appeased ‘Ala’ the goddess of the land by passing water in a raucous puddle beside the Uha tree every night, saw her shivering, so, he ponderously dragged his wearied body to the corner of the house,
gathered pieces of firewood to make fire close to the wall of the hut. Gently, he fanned the amber of the dead fire into life, and a thick smoke arose, almost choking him with the fumes. But he was used to the acrid smoke
of dry firewood. Soon the heat from the fire spread a warm sensation around the dreary mud house. Oblivious to the world around her, Olanma slept and dreamt in the warm embrace of innocence.
As the dark hours of the morning crept in, unannounced, a furious chatter of rain pelted the hut with vengeful intensity, snuffing out the fire. The raffia thatched roof of the mud hut could not hold off the rain from sipping through its several openings into the house and unto her sleeping mat. She woke up with a start, chilled to the bone by the cold, and struggled to get up, but lost her footing and crumple on the wet floor. She
scrambled gingerly to her feet, holding on to the wall for support. Now, fully awake, she moved in the direction of her father’s bamboo bed to wake him up. The room was too damp and dark, and the leakage from
the roof had made the floor wet. She desperately needed his father to rekindle the fire so as to chase away the
cold and also use polythene sheets to cover the leakage and stop the rain from dropping into the house.
Standing at the foot of the bed, she called out in a soft but hollow voice to the form of her father on the bed, “Papa, Papa!” Usually, her father would be sitting propped up on the bed on rainy nights, but this night, he lay motionless, fully stretched out on his bamboo bed as if nothing in the world really mattered
anymore. “Nnam, please wake up”, she whined again in desperation. Suddenly, a gust of wind whistled through the cracks in the wall, threatening to lift the thatch off the mud house. Her father had passed away
quietly in the night. Unknown to the daughter, the furious wind and the ominous clap of thunder were protest by the elements against his peaceful passage. She had an eerie feeling of foreboding.
“Why is Papa still lying prostrate? He has not moved a limb since I woke up, which was unusual. He never slept so soundly. The whizzing sound from his congested respiratory tract has ceased. He no longer breathes with difficulty.” She thought. She moved closer and listened, but he was not breathing at all. A flash of lightening illuminated briefly his frozen face. A scream of horror was torn from her lip, and she took an unconscious step backwards. Her father was stiff, still and very dead. The grim set of the lips and the glassy rock-hard eyes told an
unmistakable story of death……