My grandmother had returned to her position on the sofa, and women wearing aso-ebi, uniformed attires, surrounded her. They barely spoke. Unlike the visitors outside, making merriment and eating, tradition prohibited her from touching a drop of food—not while his body was warm in the ground—a show of respect for her dead husband. People came by, each whispering a few words at a time and then placing an envelope I assumed contained money onto the plate in front of her. She neither smiled nor nodded throughout.
“When will all these people leave?” I asked Ifedi as evening came, and it became rowdier.
“Not for another three days.”
“Three days!” I exclaimed.
* * *
As I looked at the sea of faces in our home—people here to support my family as my grandfather once supported theirs—I heard their voices of sympathy, wonderment, laughter, and hope and wondered how they really viewed him. What memories did they conjure when they thought of him? My heart was heavy as I pondered this question before my eyes finally rested on Okem.
“Ona,” Okem called, cutting through my reverie and taking my hand.
We walked into my grandfather’s parlor, where several people were seated, and found a corner to ourselves.
“Are you missing your grandfather,” he asked, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
I nodded furiously. No one had cared to ask me that important question, not even my parents, who were fully engrossed in the activities themselves. I had spoken to them over the phone three times since my grandfather passed and saw them for the first time in seven months when they arrived for the funeral.
“I miss my Papa,” I said, sobbing.
“Don’t cry,” Okem said. “You’re not alone. The three of us will make a good team; me, you, and your grandmother.”
I turned slightly to glance at him. The look I saw in his eyes was so warm, so sincere, and so genuine. I knew I could trust him.
“And grandfather,” I added.
“Yes. Your grandfather, too. He can be part of our team.”
“Do you really believe that?” I’d asked, looking at him incredulously, certain he had said that just to appease me.
“The chief was not my father, but I loved and admired him for taking me into your family. He took care of me as his own. Of course I want him to be part of our team. I only avoided mentioning him because he’s gone, and we’ll never see him again.”
“I have seen him,” I blurted out.
“Where?” he’d asked, staring at me with his mouth agape.
I sighed and hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to throw all caution to the wind and trust him completely.
“In Luenah,” I said.
I was already convinced that Okem loved my grandfather almost as much as I did. Since I’d been itching for an opportunity to tell someone that I’d seen him in Luenah, I took the bait.
“Where is Luenah?”
He spoke loudly.
“Shh!”
I told Okem about my experience in Luenah—everything that had happened from the moment I got there to when I left. I described the shrine, the carriage, the towns, the people, as well as the many traditions I witnessed there. I even shared with him the valuable lessons I’d learned from my grandfather. By the time I finished, he was grabbing my arm, a bit too tightly, with astonishment written all over his face.
“Ouch!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing my arm.
“Promise to never breathe a word about this to another,” I said, looking deep into his eyes.
“I promise,” he responded, crossing his fingers.
* * *
Okem, my grandmother, Ifedi, and I lived in peace from then on. The bond Okem and I developed at my grandfather’s funeral grew stronger. Love for my grandfather and the secret we now shared connected us more than I could ever have imagined. He accompanied me everywhere—church, sports games, and even birthday parties, and he protected me with every ounce of his being. Once, we were at a birthday party where the host’s dog chased me down the gate. Okem ran after the dog to get it to stop. After pushing me to the ground, the dog turned away from me and jumped on him, barking and scratching his face while he fought hopelessly to defend himself. I remember screaming for someone to save Okem. It was barely one year after my grandfather died, and the pain of his loss was still too fresh. I couldn’t bear to lose another person I cared about. Nothing else mattered at that moment, not my leg, which was bleeding from scraping on the concrete floor, nor my hair, which was now in shambles, and not even the fact that other kids were staring at us with terrified looks on their faces. I screamed at the top of my lungs, and within seconds, two men and two women ran towards us. The men subdued the dog and set Okem free. One of the women pulled me off the ground as the other smoothed my clothes and wiped the tears running down my face. Amidst all that chaos, Okem lifted me with both hands and walked in the direction of the house. Everyone stared at us in amazement. Okem had grown from the scrawny child that came to live with us a few years back to a strong teenager. I couldn’t believe it was the same person who had irritated me so much the first time I met him that sacrificed his own life to save me.
* * *
Before long, Okem became my greatest friend, confidant, and teacher. My grandmother sent Okem to the community secondary school in Ntebe, and I moved away from home to attend the private co-ed in Ajidi, the big city. Okem’s school wasn’t highly ranked, but it was relatively good. It had produced some high caliber individuals that went on to become successful leaders in the community. In contrast, my school was one of the highest-ranked schools in Ajidi. It was reserved for the brightest and the most privileged pupils—the children
