The Voice of a Serial Killer 2
Leave the pot in the forest, and let the wild beasts devour the twins
“Give me the infanticides at once!” snarled Ukoyo. He dropped the clay pot in front of Mary and extended his reach. Calloused palms weathered by the service to ekpire, the cocoyam deity, and dry by the low humid indoor conditions. There was an uneasy silence afterwards. I looked to Mary, a gazelle stopped in flight by a hideous predator. She stood still, clutching the twins tightly.
“Ukoyo, please, you don’t have to shed blood,” cried Mary.
“Our ancestors forbid the devil child.”
“Your ancestors don’t realize the value of a life compared to custom.”
“How dare you insult our forefathers,” Ukoyo spat, utterly disgusted. “What do you know about the labour of kindred?”
“I know about the love of God. But, if He died for us, that surely must include twins.”
“Your God is white, and we’re black. A tiger hunts the forest alone without the advice of a pride.”
“Yes, but even the mighty tiger cannot outpace the graceful deer. But, a pride salvages effort.”
“Enough of your nonsense. Hand the babies over!”
“Ukoyo, I implore you in God’s name. Have mercy on these innocent twins.” Mary begged like a prisoner on death row, beseeching clemency from a heartless judge.
The babies began to cry, irritated by the loudness in the hut—escalating tension mounting by the white woman’s refusal to comply. Finally, she retreated in response to Ukoyo’s advancement, determined to prevent him from taking custody. But, cornered into the rear end of the hut, where Papa Ekaete sat in a revolving paranoia of profanity—babbling and cursing his ancestors. Mary began shrieking, Ukoyo continued shouting commands, the babies bawled incessantly while Papa Ekaete was in a self-imposed racquet. A din rose to the thatch, the voices of a mixed multitude.
“Anya, mumenye.” The senior mantle bearer heeded Ukoyo’s command, circumnavigated Mary’s blind spot, and barred her movement. Then, he seized her wrists, forcibly, in a bid to undo her grip of the twins. Next, digging his nails and clawing her veins until a perforation and blood oozed from the gash. Mary writhed and winced but held the babies firm.
Ukoyo had had enough of her audacity. Infuriated by her defiance, he picked up the clay pot and struck her head with it. Mary blacked out and collapsed on the dirt in immediate concussion. The children rolled from her grasp in the impact.
Anya picked up one of the babies from the stagnant pool of blood in-between Mama Ekaete’s legs. A corpse was undergoing the rigour of a postmortem dilemma, stiff and motionless. Oblivious and helpless to the ablutions of her children: Anya untied a small keg around his waist and cleansed the child with a libation. Then he murmured an incantation and handed the baby over to Ukoyo. Next, Anya picked up the other twin child and repeated the ritual.
Up to this point, neither Ukoyo nor Anya had noticed me. I flattened out like a plank, concealing my silhouette in the dimness of the hut. My heart pounded in my chest. I was fearful like the stampede of a herd chased by a pride of lions. Betrayal meant death. An ominous cloud loomed and surely a sickle of judgement.
I watched in horror as Ukoyo grabbed the newly born twins, spewed in vernix, and squashed them headfirst into the earthen clay pot. Their tender heads grazed the sides, spilling the blood of the newborns. Then, he closed the lid on their flailing limbs, muffling their desperate cries. The agony was more than I could bear. So, I rose from my hiding place and challenged the might of Ukoyo. My life was a worthy trade for the survival of the twins.
“Eyeneka, imbu men dito,” I told Ukoyo I’d not let him take the children.
“Who is this rat? Ayakpa nfin.” He pronounced the death sentence and began stamping his feet, shaking his head and stomping towards me. Anya followed likewise. My only chance was to fight to the death.
I considered victory remote against skilled warriors of Ukoyo and Anya, but I went for the shot. I let out a battle cry and lunged at Ukoyo. If I could take out his master, Anya might retreat and make away to get medical help. I struck Ukoyo ferociously on the temple and followed up with a combination of punches. Momentarily he staggered. My plan was working. Then, I clasped my hands around the back of his neck, rose into the air and smashed my right knee into his midsection. Ukoyo reeled over in excruciating pain. But, before I could engage in another assault, Anya had pinned my arms in a bear hug. I struggled and squirmed but was helpless to his savage grip.
Ukoyo regained consciousness, licked a trail of blood from a corner of his mouth and sneered at me.
“Nfin, inya pukidem fu.” He threatened to cut my body into tiny pieces and feed me to the alligators.
I was sure of death as they pushed me out of the circular hut, beyond the cracked clay walls and the impermanence of the thatched roof. The harsh harmattan welcomed us. Dry and dusty northeasterly trade winds blew sand particles into our eyes. The sandstorm created a dust whirl and impinging cloud cover. All of us groped in the blinding haze, stung by heavy dust-laden particles.
I seized the moment, grabbed the earthen clay pot and fled for the creek. Ukoyo caught my flight and hurled a dry branch at me. It sliced through my abdomen and ripped my flesh, but I continued in pain until a canoe. As I ran, I could see them on my heels, though in a swirling mist of molecules. But, Ukoyo gave up the chase when he lost all visibility. The fury of the Sahara winds, ultimately, came to our defence.
I sprawled in the boat for the first few minutes until I regained strength. Then, after drifting a couple of feet, I opened the clay pot and lifted the babies out. I held them up and soaked up the tenderness of their brown eyes. Then, I swaddled them with my wrapper, not minding my nakedness. Inexplicable joy filled my heart as I rowed to safety.
Hi, I’m Uwem Daniels! I’m an educator and writer from Nigeria. I share my experiences on Medium, and I’m reaching out to the less privileged. Unfortunately, the Medium Partner Program is unavailable in my country. I’d appreciate it if you could buy me a coffee as a token of support! https://www.buymeacoffee.com/uwemdaniels
