Killing of Him

I tried not to think about Ikemefuna on this sleepless night. But the more I resist, the more I thought about him. He lived with me for three years and he even called me “My Father:. He was so wholly absorbed into my family until I had forgotten he was not my own son. Nwoye and Ikemefuna spent all their time together like brothers. They sat in the hut and listened to my manly stories of violence and bloodshed. I loved to tell them how I stalked my victim, overpowered him and obtained my first human head. I am regarded as one of the greatest and well-respected warrior in my clan. I wanted them to become like me, fearless and brave. That is how a man should behave.

After Ikemefuna’s death, everything was bitter. The image was still vivid and my thoughts returned again and again to the boy who was like a son to me. I could not forget how he approached me and I drew my machete and slashed him with one blow. At that moment, I felt ashamed and I knew nothing could be changed but I was afraid to appear weak. Ikemefuna is indeed a son that I never had. I am now haunted by guilt. Men do not grief. Not over a mere boy. I could not show sorrow in public because that was a sign of weakness. Crying is not what a man should do.

Ezinma, my favourite daughter brought me some dishes. When I looked at her, the only thing I regretted was Ezinma should have been born a son because she has the right spirit.

I knew that man should not grief but the lost of Ikemefena has brought such a  big impact into my life. I  will never see him again.