Just this morning, Okopi, our eloquent town-crier squeezed life out of the young day when he announced the death of Okpani. “With a heavy heart and unquantifiable sorrow, ….” came the young man’s ear-piercing voice as it penetrated the thickness of the foggy morning.
“….I want to let you know, ….” He went on, “…. people of Amichii community that Okpani has joined our ancestors. He was found hanging from the roof of his hut earlier this morning.
And I…..” Okopi continued.
I couldn’t listen any further as my thoughts whisked me away; my once bubbling day suddenly became pale with grief. I laid aside the hoe and cutlass I had been cleaning in preparation to set out for my farm which was a few miles away.
“Okpani?” I soliloquized as my mouth involuntarily went agape. “….suicide? Hanging from the roof of his house?” I sighed to absorb the shock that was threatening to throw me off my feet.
Okpani, he was the Goliath of Amichii village. Not only did he make wrestlers from other villages kiss the dust, he fed their mouth with sand at the consummation of all feats. His wrestling prowess brought him fame and conveyed him to his highly esteemed position as the leader of the warriors in Amichii.
Up until now, no one has ever thought that a small village as Amichii would produce such a strong man. From all indication, Amichii would win the wrestling match which the immigrant white men organized annually. We all looked forward to the match, which often made the winning community stand a chance of getting a feeder road, usually named after the representative wrestler.
The chief in Akunu community, who had in subsequent years being the prime benefactor of this arrangement, must have seen this as a threat. And he appropriately responded by subjecting his wrestlers to rigorous fitness training sessions.
It was Odah, Amichii’s representative spy in Akunu that informed Okpani about these developments. In the light of this information, Okpani diligently worked round the clock to ensure that he left no stone unturned.
And now, only one day to the big day, the man walked into the arms of death like a mere weakling. This seems to be another tale or one of those dreams that early morning snooze delivers to the hungry eyes of a lazy man.
“Somebody, wake me up!!!” I yelled in a bid to dissipate the blazing sorrow in my heart. Okpani, how could you have ushered in defeat at this eleventh hour?” I said as I found my way to the village square which was already dense with the dirges of women and other mourners.
As I drew nearer, I heard the thunderous voice of the village chief priest. “Ordinarily, it is not appropriate to suffer autopsy to speak, if a man was not only found dead but visibly hanging from his roof. But my dear people of Amichii village, we know that a champion does not die like a coward! No doubt, someone must have stolen his thunder.” “Yes!” all the villagers said in one voice.
And we know…” The aggrieved spiritualist continued, “…..that the maggot that sucked life out of the guinea corn plant is most times in its root. Because, the house rat may not be responsible for the disappearance of the smoked fish but we can be sure that he showed the bush rat where the house owner kept the fish.” He said emphatically.
For this reason, we all will drink a mouthful of this sacred kunu…” He said pointing at the large earthen pot in front of him. No one objected, everyone came in their age group, accompanied by the group leader who confirmed the presence of all his members. They all took a mouthful of the sacred kunu.
Not long after, the concoction got the culprit talking, “I helped them! We did it! Forgive me….” Falling on his knees, he wept, putting both hands on his head. “….the Akunu chief gave me some money, asking me to kill him. We suffocated him and hung him to the roof of his hut. We stole his thunder, we… we… ki..lled O…kpa..ni.” Odah stammered in confession.
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