I LIKED TO CALL OBIAGELI DEMEANING NAMES. I called her an eater of children, a barren tree, and even a wombless hen.
I warned my children never to eat from her hands, telling them she was an eater of children.
And when I woke up every morning, I unnecessarily called the names of my children in order of their birth. I wanted Obiageli to hear my voice—the proud voice of a mother calling her many children.
I called Adure first, Obi second and Ozobia third.
And each time I sent Adure to the stream, I threatened to snap her neck if she ever helped Obiageli fetch some water.
My husband, Ogbuefi, complained, moaning about the fact that I treated Obiageli with hostility. Of course, he would complain; he had always loved Obiageli. He would never have married me if his mother hadn't forced him to marry a woman who would conceive right away.
And Obiageli, out of pity, chose her sister who was in search of a husband to be the second wife. She chose me.
And to make her swallow her pity, I covered her womb in a calabash, and hid it in a bush, close to the path that led to Ulo stream.
But despite my hostilities, Obiageli shocked me on a blazing Eke market day. That day, the air in Udu boiled, and I was set to go to the market.
“As I leave for the market, go into the hut and rest. And make sure you take nothing from your stepmother,” I said to my children, my eyes particularly fixated on Obiora. Still unsatisfied with my warnings, I added, “Anyone who dares disobey me, I will cut off his ear, and use it as meat in tonight’s Onugbu soup.”
“Nne, please could you get me some cocoyam in the market? I am not feeling too well,” Obiageli asked, as I strode out of my hut. Her fair skin glowed under the sun, reminding me of how partial Mama was to me when she gave Obiageli her fairness and allowed Papa to give me his mud-coloured skin. She stood close to the door of her hut, looking downcast.
“I can’t!” I replied, walking away with my basket on my head, not looking back.
Eke market was full. It welcomed the air of edibles and the noise of haggling.
“Ego kedu?” Nwanyi Ozo asked me. She was a plump woman with a small stature. And she was the one who took me to the abode of the powerful priestess, back when I told her of my intention of making Obiageli barren.
“Nne, I am fine,” I replied.
“And how is your household?”
“We thank the gods. We still eat our white yam with enough palm oil; the gods are kind.”
Nwanyi Ozo smiled and inched close to me. “Hope the medicine is still safe?” she whispered, scratching her back.
“Yes, it is. I check it every day,” I replied in a whisper too.
Just then…
“Nne Adure! Nne Adure!” a voice called from behind.
I turned to see Udo, the son of the village drunkard, scampering towards me. Their hut was seven long strides away from ours. Udo's chest heaved furiously, and he bent his head, placing both hands on his knees as he tried to catch a breath.
“What is it?” I asked, frowning.
“A snake has bitten Adure, and...”
Before Udo could finish spitting out his words, I flung my basket and dashed to my hut with my heart in my mouth, ready to fall off.
When I arrived at my compound, a wave of fear struck me. So powerful. My husband, alongside Udele the medicine man was in the hut. Obiageli lay on a mat, her face pale. Udele rubbed some leaves together and gave her to chew.
“What happened? Nna Anyi what happened?” I asked, moving to my husband.
Ogbuefi said nothing. His arms were crossed and his eyes, red with fear, were settled on Obiageli.
“Where is Adure?” I asked.
“Nne, I am here,” Adure replied from begin. Relieved, I rushed to hug her.
Around her legs was a white piece of wrapper.
“What happened to you?” I asked, gaping with worry.
"Nne, a white snake bit me.”
“Chi! I thank you. I thank you for saving my daughter,” I cried, offering my hands and head to the illusory sky in the room.
“Nne, it was stepmother that saved me. She got poisoned by sucking out the venom from my snake bite,” Adure said, her voice exuding admiration.
My eyes bulged. Could that be true?
“I have told you not to call her stepmother. Call her Nne!” Ogbuefi bellowed, pointing at Adure.
I couldn’t believe it. My eyes couldn’t unbulge. Obiageli almost lost her life for the sake of my child’s? I turned to look at her, my sister. A sister whom I had made my enemy. I couldn’t hold it. Warm tears trickled down my cheeks.
And as I stared at Obiageli’s pale face, I recalled our late mother. I remembered her fair skin, her perfect face, her innocent eyes, and her full laughter. Obiageli was indeed her daughter, not me.
“Nne, thank you,” I said, moving towards Obiageli. I clasped her hands and more tears trickled down my cheek.
“Why are you thanking me? Are they not our children?” She replied, her voice shaky with weakness.
And for the first time, I acknowledged her innocence. “Biko, please, forgive me. Forgive me,” I said, crying louder.
“I have never held a grudge against you. You are my blood and my younger sister. I knew you did all you did in ignorance.”
I wanted to hit her and tell her to call me names, to say I was evil, to say I did not deserve to be her sister.
But I didn’t. Instead …
I let go of her hand. Dashed out of the compound, scampering down the path that led to the Ulo stream. Yes. I wanted to set my sister free.
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