The Moonlight Dance

“Tufia kwa!” Mama Nkechi said to Nkechi as she pounded pepper to make soup for the family’s dinner, “no daughter of mine would dance naked before anyone under a full moon.”

“But that was what the Chief priest said. If I’m to stop taking ill I would have to dance naked…”

“I have told you Nkechi, no daughter of mine would dance naked in front of anyone” her mother cut in.

Enraged, Nkechi dropped the pestle she was pounding with, “What is it mama? I never knew you hated me so much? Why don’t you want me to get better?” she asked as she came close to tears, “We’ve gone to meet several priests and you’ve vehemently refused us from doing what they’ve asked us to do. Why mama?”

“Don’t be naughty, can you hear yourself? I don’t hate you, you’re my daughter. But how can I stand and watch you drink the urine of a dog, or swallow a live cockroach? Or now to dance naked before the High priest under a full moon, I mean these things are absurd and though I do not know what the solution to this problem is, I know deep in my guts these can’t be it.”

“So, you’d rather watch me die mama.?

“You won’t die, help would come. I’m sure of it.”

“Like you were sure of it when our only brother Chibuikem died? Nkechi said and stormed out of the kitchen leaving her mother to battle with the wounds her last words had opened up.

That night, Nkechi refused to eat dinner even though it was her favourite, Ofe-oha with snail among other bush meat that was cooked, but what bothered her the most was the silent treatment she was giving her. Nkechi had refused to talk to her or even reply when spoken to. What was wrong with children of nowadays? Didn’t she know she could pull her up by her ears and give her the beating of her life? But even if she did, what would that solve? She would have to find another way to get through to her. She blinked her eyes to stop the tears from coming when she remembered what Nkechi had said about her son Chibuikem. Chibuikem had been funny. lively and daring, well, when he wasn’t ill anyways for he was always ill, just like Nkechi. But they had one major difference though, he always had a smile on his face even though in pain and as for pain, he had plenty of it. She wiped her tears off her cheeks for her eyes were tearing now and there was no stopping them. Was she really to blame for his death? The chief priest had asked them to boil a centipede and give him the water to drink. I mean, who does not know that centipedes were poisonous, let alone drinking the water one was boiled from. That was like killing her son with her own hands and as such, she had stamped het foot and refused to bulge. Well, he died that night, he was only ten years old. That was the only night she hadn’t seen a smile on his face as he writhed in pain. Her husband had gone on a hunting trip and her daughters were spending the night at their cousins’ place and so she all alone with him. As she sat on his bed side holding his hands he looked at her, his eyes pleading as if to let him go. Many had said that he was her favourite and she had denied it openly saying she loved all her children equally, but in her heart, she knew they were right. I mean, who wouldn’t love an always smiling and cheerful boy as against grumpy and disrespectful Nkechi and Lazy Ngozi. There was also another thought in her heart that she had never dared voice out. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wished Nkechi had gone and left Chibuikem.

“What are you doing here?” her husband’s voice jolted her back to reality.

“Hmmm. Nothing.” She cleared her throat, “have you finished eating?” she asked as she tried to gain her composure.

“I have. Are you crying?”

“No, dust entered my eyes” she lied.

“dust? your two eyes?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, Nnayi.”

“Okay, if you say so.” He turned to leave but she called him back.

“Nnayi, we need to talk.”

“Uhmmm, about what?”

“About our daughter Nkechi.”

Slowly he came and sat beside her, his hand still smelled of the fufu he just ate, “What is there to talk about?” he said.

“It’s about the ritual, I don’t think she should go through with it” she said.

“why not?”

“Because I don’t see any connection between being sick and dancing naked before the chief priest. I think all he just wants is to see the nakedness of a maiden.”

“You don’t see… are you now the gods that you want to see a connection?” he asked her.

“Nnayi, but...”

“Ihuoma, I have just two questions to ask you. First, do you have any other solution besides this that the chief priest has given?”

Slowly, she bowed her head, “No I don’t.”

“Secondly, do you want our daughter to die just like our son?”

When she raised her eyes to meet his, they were shimmery with unshed tears, as were his. Gently he moved closer and held both her hands. “I know Ihuoma, I don’t like it any more than you do but I also would not like to see our daughter go the same way our son did. If the gods have said that they would cure her this way, then by all means why not give him a try. If it saves her, that is what we’ve hoped for, but if it doesn’t, then we know we’ve done our best…” He caressed her hair… “and you won’t have to carry around the burden of guilt. I see you Ihuoma, I know his death still eats you up.” Gently he pulled her closer, kissed her forehead, and got up. “The ritual is in three days,” he said, “do all you can to make her and yourself ready.’ Then he left.

……………..

It was the night of the ritual and the trio began to walk the narrow paths that led to the village square carrying with them all that would be needed for the ritual; a white cock, a keg of palm wine, some alligator peppers and a calabash filled with water. They got there to meet the Chief Priest and those that would beat the ritual drums already waiting for them. They dropped all they had come with and without any word said, the drummers began to beat the drum and Nkechi quickly stripped and began to dance to the beat. She danced so hard she felt the gods would stop whatsoever they were doing and watch her. Maybe then and only then would they cure her, she danced not minding the pains that were coming up on her waist and her legs, she danced even harder, the gods had to know she was here. When the beat became faster, she increased her speed. She was determined to give it all she had. She had to be cured, she couldn’t go the way Chibuikem went. After about an hour, the beat finally slowed down and then stopped, it took all of her strength to not have fallen. Her mother came then and poured the water on the calabash over her to cleanse her.

“You did well my daughter,” she said, “Let’s hope the gods were not asleep.” And Nkechi gave a soft chuckle for that was all she could muster, how could they be, she was sure she had woken them up with her dance.

When they got home, she slept at once knowing that the pain she was feeling on her waist was the last of it, that by the time she woke in the morning, it would all the gone, but by the time she awoke, a headache had joined the waist pain and by evening that day she was shivering all over with a fever which worsened over the next few days despite all the herbs her mum had made her drink.

It broke her mother’s heart when she saw her cry one of those evenings, “But I danced hard Mama, I gave it all I had, I swear.” She said.

“I know my dear, I know.” her mother replied cuddled her.

This is what she avoided, for she didn’t see the connection between being sick and dancing all night naked. Now, what were they going to do?

………….

The next week, Mama Nkechi was at the market square when she saw the crowd gather. Some people from the big city had come and with permission from the king, they were giving some sort of, what did they call it? Sentisi…..

“Sensitization.” her neighbour corrected.

“Wasn’t that what I just said?” she said rolling her eyes. “But what are they even talking about?”

“It’s on health, but I don’t know all the details.”

On hearing health, everything in her stood still. If it was health, then she wanted to hear all of it. She left the noisemakers and went closer. They were talking about blood groups and genotypes. Something about the alphabets that were used made her not understand completely. She had always loved to see how things connected and how they worked but grouping blood as A and B, but she listened still. They talked about genotypes too, they say some don’t match especially in marriage, they say it may affect the children negatively and that intending couples need to check their compatibility before getting married. But she and Nnamdi didn’t, in fact, this was the first time she was hearing about blood and all of that. They asked for volunteers to be tested and she was on the stand before anyone knew it. They had said the killer genotype SS but AS was the one that carried it about and that if two AS were to marry and have children, then one or two might have SS and that would be bad, could make the child fall ill constantly. Could that be the reason why Nkechi was always ill? Why Chibuikem… Well, she had to find out first and not jump to conclusions. A small amount of her blood was drawn, after which she wasted no time in going to find Nnamdi where he sat with his colleagues after tapping palm wine. When they were done, they were told that the results would be out in a few days time.

“What if peradventure we have this carrier blood and our daughter now has the dangerous one, can anything be done?” she asked.

“It cannot be cured, but it can be managed.” They replied.

Five days later they returned with the result of those that were tested and true to her suspicion, they had the carried blood. No one, therefore, needed to tell them that their daughter was suffering because of their mistake and that Chibuikem had also died because of it too. It pained her, but she was thankful now, that at least now they knew. Saying she was sick because of her blood made more sense to her than telling her to drink dog piss or to dance naked.

Also, she knew she would make it her duty from now on to advise anyone intending to marry to get their blood tested, she only hoped they would listen and not be blinded by ‘love’. It was only a fool that would want to learn from his own experience instead of from someone else’s.