Egwu Onwa (Moonlight Play)
–Will there be Egwu Onwa in the city? she thought, will the moon shine as bright as it does here? Will there be a time like this? ……….
Kpankpan ngolo
Kpan ngolo
Udu m ee!
Oghene
Onye…….
Nnenna runs up to the singing children, holding hands to form a circle. Their song has been interrupted by her sudden appearance. In this state, the lead singer; a girl of eleven years with uneven plaits sticking over her head nods towards her. Nnenna makes no move. Unknown to her, her hands have given her away, as they fidgeted uncontrollably by her side.
As if accessing, the lead singer extends her free hand;an offering Nnenna quickly accepts. Both lock fingers and the warmth from the other children travel through their palms, to the lead singer where it finally merges with Nnenna.
Nnenna takes in a deep breath, mustering a smile, she slips into the space already created by the lead singer .The circle has been extended.
The song ; a folklore as old as life has begun again like it never stopped, the lyrics of this moonlight folk song flows freely from the vocal cords of ten children holding hands while leaping into the air, dust emanating from the sand below finds its way up their legs and slithers into the refreshing air of the night. The moon sits up, judging and taking note of every activity of the night. Its illumination kindles a thrill, the type that swirls in the mind of every child in this gathering. Each child takes turns to sing and dance in the circle formed by interlocked fingers.
It is Nnenna’s turn now; she walks into the circle unsure of what to do. The children become still, with ears tingling to hear her song. In their hearts lie a sadness smothered by the effect of an unexpected reunion; Nnenna’s turn up at the playground.
When she utters not a word, impatience spreads through the circle like a ripple effect
“She won’t sing”
“Why did she come here again?”
“To let us know she is now a city girl”
As whispers go back and forth within the children, Nnenna begins to hum, she seems not to remember any song ,not even a melody as they all vanished without warning. Her spirit is dampened. There are no words to describe her state, the guilt of never returning made her uneasy. If you call it betrayal, she just might have done that.
If only if they knew she thought. if only they knew I never wanted any of this. If only if they could see the words I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE scribbled in bold letters across my heart.
The silence is soon shattered by a chant initiated by the lead singer whose frown has given way for a smile. A smile adorned with dimples.
“Sing” she chants.
This chant, the other children chorus immediately. With the pressure mounting, a tune soon find its way into her head. There is a melody brewing in her heart now. A melody that sends her balancing on one foot to the other in a slow dance that suddenly escalates. Nnenna is starting to sing.
Nsogbu nzogbu!
Enyi ba enyi!!
Nzogbu!
Enyi ba enyi!!
Enyi ba enyi……
The children follow suite chorusing every line of the song, a gyration has begun. With their eyes shut, they leap into the air.
The moon above tilts forward and shines even brighter. This Egwu Onwa has gotten its approval. In this small village of Nsukwu, every child is entitled to partake in the moonlight play ,every child who has fully done his or her daily chores and assignments.
Nnenna wishes the play will never end. Throwing a glance at the children playing tag on the far right, her stomach begins to churn. Nostalgia has begun to take its toll. She knows deeply that this will be her last moonlight play in the village. Tomorrow, she will be sitting in one of the luxurious buses at the motor park heading towards the city of Lagos. Tomorrow she will see not Ada; the lead singer, Dozie and Ngozi ; her best friends nor the twins Amara and Amaka whom she taught to crotchet.
Will there be Egwu Onwa in the city? She thought. Will the moon shine as bright as it does here? Will there be a time like this? Will she make friends in this city? Will her departure mean desertion? Will she become a memory in the mind of everyone, blown away and easily forgotten like dried leaves In Harmattan.
Copyright @zinniewrites ’17
