Amalinze had no child.

In the season of the cold northeasterly wind, when the leaves become weak and dry and fall to the ground, littering the market square and the path to the stream and all the compounds, the women and children of Umu-orji get creative with palm fronds, making heavy brooms to gather the leaves together and burn them. At cockcrow every morning, the sounds of the brooms along with the rustling of the leaves form a rhythm that makes one forget the bite of the cold harmattan wind and feel something almost euphoric.

But Amalinze never felt such euphoria. In fact, he felt great grief in his heart for the gods failed to give him a child.

Amalinze was a hunter. Not a great hunter by any standard but a hunter nonetheless. As a matter of fact, in his twenty years of going into the bushes in search of game, Amalinze had never for once caught an antelope. In a village where four men in recent history had slain lions and quite a number had brought home leopards, he can very well be described as an underachiever. But that was not Amalinze‘s biggest problem- he didn’t even consider it a problem. What greater problem could a man have than the lack of an offspring to bear his name? So no, Amalinze was never sad because he had no leopard skins hanging in his obi, or deer horns to drink special wine from, but because he had no child.

Amalinze had no child.

Yet, in the season of the cold northeasterly winds when all the leaves were weak and dry, Amalinze‘s compound always stayed clean. Isn’t that just a surprise seeing that as Amalinze left for the bushes every morning, so did his wife, Ugonwanyi, to the neighboring village to sell her husband’s bush rats? Who then cleaned Amalinze‘s compound in the season of the Northeasterly wind?

And then the sun set and Amalinze would head home with his catch for the day. Perhaps he would walk home briskly like a man if the gods had only given him a child. Perhaps he wouldn’t drag his feet so much if he had children waiting to greet him at home. But he didn’t. So everyday after work, Amalinze dragged his feet and whistled his favorite song. Every child in Umu-Orji knew Amalinze‘s favorite song. In fact, whenever they saw him they mumbled this song amidst muffled giggles.

Amalinze e weghi nwa, Uwa
Kee ife Amalinze ga-eme, Uwa
Amadioha a chi gbuo m, Uwa
Ala a chi gbuo m, Uwa
Amalinze e weghi nwa, Uwa

But whenever Ugonwanyi prepared Amalinze‘s meals and left them in the pot to go pluck Utazi leaves at the farmland on the outskirts or whatever other endeavors the evening brought to her, the cold wind blew and the food would go cold before Amalinze dragged his feet home. Yet he never ate a cold meal even in the cold season. Who then kept warm Amalinze‘s meals in the season of the Northeasterly winds?

And the grief in Amalinze‘s heart caused him to act foolishly. Perhaps if Amalinze had a child, he would remember to cover the gourd of drinking water properly to keep it from drying up. Perhaps if Amalinze had a child, he would not fall asleep in drunken stupor outside in the cold season and not wake up with a runny nose the next morning. Perhaps if Amalinze had a child, he would remember to oil his skin with Ude Aki or palm kernel oil and not go around looking like an nmuo or spirit.

And Ugonwanyi ignored her husband’s foolishness for in her heart, she had come to realize that she married a stupid man.

But the gourd of drinking water never dried up and Amalinze‘s skin glowed with oil when his daughter Adanma nursed him. As the cold turned into a fever, Amalinze kept cursing the gods for his childlessness even as Adanma nursed him. For years unending, Amalinze looked into the eyes of his daughter, Adanma and saw not a child but a girl. Of what use is a girl, he thought, except to sweep the yard and warm meals and close the gourd of drinking water and oil his skin during the season of the cold Northeasterly wind?

And in that season, Amalinze passed away in the arms of the child he did not have, and not a tear was shed for him, for, of course, Amalinze had no child to grieve him.

Chioma Nnanna