1.

The Meeti ng

Chukere Mammanda would forever regret this day. Who was Ninge to look her in the eye and call her
names? Even as she remounted her moped with all the dignity she could muster in the situation, the
middle aged matron of Ule Chukere shivered in rage, as if an icy bucket of humiliation had been poured
upon her on a cold harmattan morning.

Slowly, but not steadily, she meandered her way through the convoluted tracks of a tire-trapping sand
sea they use for want of a road. She wasn’t late for the Executives Meeting, being punctual by habit, yet
she felt slightly late. She had been late in landing the wiry saltwater girl a resounding slap such as would
reverberate in her ear for years to come! And in front of her husband too –let the ram-balled imbecile
say a word!

Macheki of ule Gorgon (Ogorongoron actually, Gorgon is an Anglicization) who bore her husband Alvan’s
name as surname for herself and her children because ‘We don’t know who Gorgon is and he doesn’t
know us, but we know Alvan and he knows us’, was hosting the meeting on that day. Upon reaching
Makechi Alvan’s house Mammanda, as was her habit, honked impatiently on her moped. It is a common
way of announcing one’s arrival in Ogbokiri and, possibly, many other rural communities in Nigeria.

This Honking-on-the-moped meme was a descendant of great forebears, being (as it was held in drinking
bars):

The son of Ringing-the-bicycle-bell-in-front-of-a-house,

Son of Clapping-hands-to-announce-one’s-presence,

Son of Saying-‘kpom-kpom-here!’

Son of Knocking-at-doors-that-don’t-fall-on-impact,

Son of Verbally-announcing-one’s-arrival,

Son of Manners,

Son of Silas,

Son of Etiquettes,

Son of Silas the tanner,

Son of Joseph,

Son of Amadi,

Son of Adamu,

Son of Amun,

Son of Seth,

Son of Tabor,

Son of Nuhu,
The Women

Son of Doeg,

Son of Okossa,

Son of god.

It has its own children too:

Honking-in-the-car and his brother Honking-(at a spot where the meaningless words “Sound No Horns”
are painfully inscribed in bold letters)-in-your-air-conditioned-car-while-the-sales-girl-gets-a-tan-on-her-
ebony-skin-as-she-runs-back-and-forth-under-a-skin-scalding-,-scalp-burning-sun-to-attend-to-you

Father of Simply-being-mean and all his brothers.

When no sun-burnt faces showed up at the farmer’s wife’s door, Mammanda knew the drudge-rats
were buried under a giant heap of cassava their untiring mother had tasked them with.

“Is this house devoid of inhabitants?” she asked in pretended rage.

No response.

‘Didn’t Makechi make any arrangements for the Executives Meeting?’ she wondered. Perhaps the
widowed workaholic had gone on another of her infamous odysseys in the land of hoes and loam and
forgotten the planned rendezvous.

She put her hand into her purse and pulled out a contraption that was invented to deny the women of
Ogbokiri the opportunity to showcase their natural talent at long distance communication, especially
over the rooftops. It failed completely. It was mockery –and pity for the unimaginative inventors –that
prompted every woman in Ogbokiri to own one.

Mammanda dialed Makechi’s number. Even before her assailant had picked the call, three shots rang
out of the caller’s voice box.

“HELLO! HELLO? HELLO!”

She had mistaken the feminine voice from the service operator for Makechi’s voice. She looked at the
treacherous item in bewilderment when it responded with three tired beeps, indicating that the call was
over. In the end she hadn’t needed the airtime she didn’t have, Makechi had heard her loud and clear
over the roof.

“Is that my husband’s wife?” her colleague in the travails of marriage asked over the roof.

“No,” Mammanda replied, “It is your husband-land. Open your creaky door before I knock it down!”

“Oh my beloved husband-land, have mercy on your arthritic wife. Let me call these good-for-nothing
sons you gave me to open the creaky door lest it falls apart.”

“And you must leave the door open, there are more of us coming.”

“So it is our meeting day already?”

“Did you not want the last Friday of this month to arrive in its turn?”

1
The Women

“No, it is welcome. And so too every other last Friday to come.”

At this point Mammanda was in the house. Makechi had sent her middle-child Eguro to get the door.
Mammanda feasted her eyes on the lean twenty-year-old as he opened the door for her. If she had any
illusions that the next generation of Alvan’s house would have hope through this one, she was
disappointed. He shot off like a guideless missile without getting her a chair to sit on. She could have
excused him for the fact that he was rushing to break even with his brothers on completing the peeling
of their allotted shares of cassava. Yet hospitality and courtesy are the marks of a citizen (Alali). Alvan
had been an Alali, no one contested his qualification for the Native Title he took: Onoghuo of Ogbokiri,
‘The Man of Honor’.

Mammanda was not impressed by the sight of six grown males who seemed to lack a sense of direction
in life. The oldest son was thirty three. His only achievement in life was getting a girl from his mother’s
maternal ule pregnant. He brought her home to live off his mother without as much as placing the
asking wine before his would-be in-laws! The others would follow soon in tow, including the seventeen
year old she once saw pinching Omarumo’s busty daughter’s side on their way from school. She had
forgotten to tell Omarumo. On a second thought she was glad she didn’t. Let the girl get pregnant. It’s
better than getting another Ninge style insult for interfering with other people’s children. When the arse
is stung by an ant, it learns to avoid getting stung by a scorpion.

“Good evening mamma” they repeated after one another. They all had ugly voices except the youngest
who wasn’t smoking weed; yet.

“Is it evening yet?” she replied coldly.

‘Who said a girl is not a child?’ she mused. She had been insulted for giving birth to three girls and didn’t
have a face in her matrimonial ule until she gave birth to her only son. Her daughters had become some
of the compound family’s most successful progeny.

“Our hands are full my husband’s wife.” Makechi apologized for the shabby welcome. She should have
brought ‘cola’ for her guest as customs demand. She didn’t have any kola nuts but an acceptable
substitute would have sufficed.

“It is nothing my husband’s wife.” Mammanda managed to smile.

‘So Makechi can buy association wrappers but can’t stock even cheap bitter kola for visitors?’ She
brought out the one in her handbag and began peeling it. Makechi felt a twinge of guilt at this. She went
inside and brought a porcelain tray full of fried peanuts. This she placed in her oldest son’s laps without
ceremony and went back to peeling her cassava. The brute that men are, he took half a handful and
pocketed it. He slapped away the one or two hands that reached for some, then rose and presented the
substitute cola on a stool before Mammanda.

“Mamma,” he said, “here is cola.”

“Hmm-hmm.” She acknowledged him through a mouth full of bitterness.

‘Why does Mammanda take offense over small things?’ Makechi wondered.

Mammanda went on chewing her bitter cola. The family went on peeling their cassava.

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The Women

One by one the women announced their arrival through any of the Sons of Etiquettes at their disposal.
Each one exchanged the customary pleasantries with the household, and a few offered to help. One or
two actually laid hold of a spare blunt knife and helped in the peeling process. Mammanda kept chewing
on her bitterness. She hadn’t touched the peanuts.

“I think its nigh time we started.” A lean chocolate woman opined. “It’s nearly four o’clock.”

She was of average height and looked in her sixties though she was just 52. She had a mole on her chin,
under her thin lower lip. The combined effect of that, a sharp nose, and sunken eyes made her look tired
of all the evil things she would do to you. Everyone referred to her as Missus. She was christened Sabina.
Her surname was Ogwuagara. Her husband’s compound family, Ule Ogwuagalara, was one of the
fourteen ule of Ewereku Quarter. Only her father-in-law’s descendants bore a name close to original,
other families of the ule having turned to something much more fashionable like Oggu or Alara (which
incidentally means Weird or Crazy), or simply shorter (if not fashionable) like Ogwuaga, Oguaga and
variations upon that. The choice of name mirrored Sabina’s personality: she isn’t fashionable and
doesn’t like shortening what can be dragged out. She hadn’t offered to help with the peeling.

“Finally!” Mammanda sighed. She shot the two women who were peeling cassava a murderous look.
They dropped their knives on cue. Not that anyone was afraid of Mammanda. She had the face of a child
and the eyes of a practiced hypocrite. Yet within her heart, she and everyone else knew she couldn’t kill
a rat. Her feigned brutality was for survival. The women obeyed her because she was a matron and they
were junior wives. Also, they belong to her faction, and in Ogbokiri, factions mean everything. Makechi
dropped her knife and joined them.

Few ceremonies are observed before the executives’ monthly meeting commences. They take their
seats and engage in a fierce competition over who would out-do others in saluting everybody present.
They conduct a head count and note any new faces, ascertaining why they came, who invited them and
all what not. Next they ask to know who didn’t come and who would be coming late, not out of any
concern for these, but so as to fine them. Excuses are made for friends. Same excuses are objected to
when made on behalf of a friend’s foe.

Finally everyone shut their eyes. Then someone dares whoever sits on the big chair up in the clouds, the
one who does nothing but watch while the poor among womankind suffer, to come down, if he dares,
and bid her stop disturbing the otherwise quiet country side.

“Amen!” they answer to that.

They had barely taken their seats when a sonic blast, which threatened to tear Alvan’s upholstery,
caused a mini quake that sent them all jumping.

“Ah-ah!” they protested. Many pinched their noses on instinct.

“Madam Okaro this is unacceptable!” Missus protested.
“Please pardon me my husband’s wives,” Grace Okaro of apologized, “There is no toilet built for farts.
No one can resist nature.”
“Is this how you gas your husband’s wives at home?” Ajakpa Jolene Tabor of house Atabor asked. Her
yellow face was ruddy, and she was literally fuming.

3
The Women

Okaro shot her an ugly look. She threw a quick glance at the eponymous wife Elizabeth. The junior wife
did her best to avoid her senior’s gaze. The fly who lives with the toad doesn’t join others in calling her
fat, an ugly squat.
“What is the cause of this insult?” Okaro got up, enraged. Her seat-mate rose also. Okaro’s broad behind
had been right in her face. She wouldn’t take chances.
“Madam Okaro please sit down.” Missus appealed.
“Madam please sit down o?” Seat-mate pleaded in her humblest voice.
“No! I want to understand something.”
“Madam Okaro please sit down,” Missus repeated. “Jolene apologize to her. She’s a Senior Wife!”
The offender did as she was told and seat-mate managed to rest comfortable. For a while.
The meeting began in earnest with a reading of the last minutes and its adoption. Before anyone else
could do so, Mammanda seized the moment.
“My husband’s wives I salute you.”
They responded.
“Yes, what I’m about to say is less of a complaint and more of an announcement. Last Saturday, I and
the other women enforcers received the greatest insult of our lives. Hmm, in short I cannot tell it all.
Betty tell them what happened.”
Betty felt she was being picked on. It was typical of matrons and senior wives to pick on the younger
women, especially those holding side talks while their superiors are talking.
“My husband’s wives I greet you all!”
They responded.
“On Saturday we went to the market in the company of our leader Madam Chukere to sell market
tickets. We were doing so quite successfully until we got to a certain line of shops. There the traders
refused to buy our tickets, asserting that they had already being sold tickets that very day. They even
showed us – myself and Elizabeth my husband’s wife – the tickets. It had Saturdays date on top. We said
‘Ah, Madam Chukere should hear about this’, so we went to report the matter to her…”
Mammanda seized the moment: “They came to meet me. They reported the issue to me.”
She shot Betty a ‘go and seat – and stop the side talks’ look.
“I was going to look into the matter when Soburama and her party came back with even worse
complaint…”
Saburama, knowing it was her turn to narrate what happened, rose to the task. “We were also selling
tickets o! Myself and Happiness, in peace, without trouble…”
“Saburama and her friends came to me almost in tears. I was shocked and wondered what the matter
could be. They said they were stopped from selling tickets by some young men who claimed the sale of
tickets as their prerogative. I said ‘really? Who dares to go against the community law?’ Some good for
nothing had stopped them from selling tickets…”

4
The Women

“And even threatened to beat us up if we ever sold tickets there again!”

The women gasped in shock. Eyes widened and mouths gaped. Mammanda squinted and tightened her
mouth. Saburama didn’t take a cue. “It was a serious issue o! It could have been worse even!”
“Really?” the women gasped.
“They nearly beat Saburama and Joy up!” Mammanda added.
“What?!” The women got up as one body. They were ready to fish out whosoever had attempted the
abomination and fine him so hard his ancestors would turn in their graves.
“You know how they behave now, the disobedient children. I had told them ‘if anyone resists you, mark
them and report to me’. They went about exchanging words with them and running their mouth.”
The women became divided between those who felt the ladies had brought it on themselves, perhaps
even fanning the flames, and those who felt that regardless of what happened the men were never
justified to threaten the women.
Sabina Ogwuagara belonged to the latter party. She wanted to know: “Who are these young men in
question?”
Mammanda threw a preemptive look in Saburama’s direction. As sure as the fact that Okaro had fart
again Saburama was planning to talk. Mammanda’s eyes threatened to have Saburama drawn and
quatered and burnt at the stake. Saburama turned to her co-accomplice Happiness for psychological
support, but the middle wife was wearing a gas mask made from her own palm. She was Okaro’s seat-
mate and bitterly regretted it.
“Have you lost your voice?” Mammanda asked Saburama, who was surprised the matron had called on
her. The sole purpose of Saburama and her peers sitting in the meeting had been to testify to this
incident. After Mammanda had related the matter informally to some of the executives, they had
insisted on the younger women being brought to the meeting so they could hear for themselves.
Everyone knew of Mammanda’s exaggerations.
“It was Johnny-boy and that his friend, the one with the crooked fingers.”
Everyone knew the one with the crooked fingers, they wanted to be sure which Johnnyboy it was.
“The son of Georgie ‘Palmy’” the corpulent Madam Georgie was explaining. Georgie was not their
original name. It was her husband’s grand-father Jufogha Aradayi who was christened Georgie by the
colonialists. His descendants became surnamed Georgie. Georgie ‘Palmy’ was her husband Georgie
‘Palaver’s cousin, making Johnny-boy her kin-by-marriage. Someone pointed this out.
“How is he my ‘husband’s son’?” Madam Georgie asked the unsolicited genealogist, “We have nothing in
common with animals!”
Some felt she was too harsh about it and so murmured, loud enough to be heard.
“I am not ‘disowning a kinsman because he has fallen into disrepute’,” She willingly sated the gossips.
“See, this young man is no kinsman of mine nor of my husband. He doesn’t greet my husband whom you
people say is his uncle!”
There was a general consternation directed at the absent young man. His fine would be steep. One who
doesn’t greet an older kinsman must have a grave reason for not doing so or else…

5
The Women

“And for what reason?” Georgie continued, “Because the young man’s brothers are all in the city and
have left him in charge of their lands, he chooses not to be gainfully employed, but to subsist off selling
his family’s land! My husband called him once and advised him. What did he do next? As if to spite my
husband, he decided to sell the land on which his late grandmother’s hut had been built! The very place
both herself and her husband were buried!”
The whole narrative had been punctuated by expressions of repugnance. The final line was met with so
strong an outcry that Georgie was compelled to stop and allow the women to noisily process the
abomination.
“…ewoh! Abomination!”
“How can someone sell his father’s grave?”
“The young man would come to nothing!”
“Na wa o!”
“Abomination…”
“My husband couldn’t stand it. An elder doesn’t sit back and watch while a goat labors in tethers. He
called the idiot for the second time and advised him against it. The useless boy told him to mind his
business, told my own husband so. My husband called the compound family and informed them of what
was going on under his own nose. They called the nonentity who squarely insulted them and told them
to eat their shit. Ever since then myself and my husband became his enemies. We don’t worth as much
as used toilet paper in his eyes.”
Everyone digressed to talk about the stupid, animal, good-for-nothing, useless boy, and completely
forgot about Crooked Fingers.
“So that cow-born threatened to beat you?” Sabina asked no one in particular among the younger wives
present. They nodded in consent.
“They even threatened to beat Lady Chukere and the rest of you if you got involved!” Saburama added.
She hated Crooked Fingers because she felt he was a bad influence on his younger kinsman – her
husband.
The whole room arose as one person. Everyone ran amok. They hadn’t been nearly insulted this much
since Madame Waro! Mammanda lost her mind. They had called her by name.
“That imbecile, that pig, that dirty boy! He can’t even stand before my daughters! He’s not ashamed of
himself. Other men are prospering – my first daughter is a doctor, the other one is a lawyer – and he’s
leading a useless life sleeping with his fathers’ wives and selling his mother’s grave.” She paused to
swallow. “Let me see him progress in this community. He’ll know next time how to threaten his
mother’s betters! Let me see him become anything useful, his mates are making it – ooh how my
daughters would surely love to get their hands on him – let me see him make it I say! He’ll know how to
threaten – chai Mammanda Dominica Chukere Wada, daughter of Apuma Bozeman! You have suffered
in no mean way!”
Mammanda kept quiet suddenly. She was the last to sit. She hadn’t heard Missus restore order.
Everyone had been listening quietly to the second half of her rants.

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The Women

“We don’t blame them,” Sabina took charge of the situation. “Do you know why? The bee stings he who
chooses to get stung. We don’t blame them at all. If the elders had not come to us with their burdens,
will small children who cannot toilet properly have the words to throw at us?”
“No!”
“No. We were living quietly, loving ourselves,” she was fond of this line, “and then men brought their
corruption and laid it on our tables. We, being women, - and women will always be women. We are like
mothers. They are like children, always bickering and never coming to a consensus except to do evil. So
they conspired and brought to us a mask that Agiri Okigbe, the mighty forester, cannot bear to wear on
our heads. This same market due is the reason why they poison one another. I had thought they have
finally seen wisdom – I had my doubts too – but it was a trick!”
“And I warned you!” Okaro felt justified. She had taken advantage of the commotion to empty her gas
tank. Happiness had taken advantage of the uproar to bully her way out of Okaro’s side, forcing
Elizabeth, Okaro’s nephew’s wife to sit beside her senior wife.
“Oya!” she slapped Elizabeth’s laps, “Up! Go and enjoy your fried beans!”
“This is not the time to apportion blames!” Georgie stepped in.
“Tell her o!” Makechi adjoined. She had witnessed and egged on the removal of Elizabeth, saying to
Happiness “Before she chokes you with gas.”
“Please let’s have one house,” Mammanda had recovered her poise, “the junior wives are watching.”
“Tell them o!” Makechi pretended not to have taken sides.
“Okaro what was that supposed to mean?” Sabina asked, just when everyone thought the case was
closed.
Okaro weighed the situation. She had run out of ammunitions and was short on allies. Yet she forged
ahead, the sword of her tongue raised high.
“It means that when the head hits a wasp’s nest, the head is stung by wasps.”
Sabina stood up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Okaro, who was fond of threatening others with her height and size, being over six and half feet tall,
stood too. She kept pointing her index finger at Sabina as she spoke,
“I warned you to stay out of the market collectors issues. I warned all of you. It is a man’s thing – this
market toll collecting thing – and they’re ready to kill one another for it. We should have some decency
not to involve ourselves in certain things. But you said ‘They’re our husbands, when husbands mess up,
we the wives tidy things up.’ Now they’ve wifed us into threats. Or do you think the young bullies have
no backing to dare threaten us? Who does that?”
No one dares threaten the executives as a body. In truth the young men hadn’t done so. Saburama was
as infamous as her matron for exaggerations.
“Madam Okaro, we all deliberated on the matter before accepting to collect market dues for the men,”
Sabina defended her stance, “Don’t make it seem like I took that decision alone.”
“Missus calm down!” Makechi pleaded. She wasn’t looking at Okaro and definitely didn’t want the giant
to knock down her Alvan’s chandelier.

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The Women

“Why am I being told to calm down,” Sabina Protested, “I didn’t take the decision alone, did I?”
“And now it’s clearly not in our favor – hold on Okaro, you have your points – you don’t think we should
scrap the decision and tell the men to take their shit and eat it?” Jolene Tabor made her first tangible
contribution. She always came in at critical points, a point for which she took great pride.
“We can’t just tell the men to ‘take their shit and eat it’,” Georgie offered, “They came to us,
respectfully, and offered us to collect in their behalf. We had options but chose to eat fried beans. Can
we at least go to toilet honorably, not complaining about the consequences of our diet? We should also
return to them and honorably decline. Until then we must collect the dues!” Okaro sat down.
There were dissensions and agreements, Sabina worked hard to calm everyone down.
“Is it until they beat us up that we will learn something?” a tiny voice intoned.
“No one is beating anyone up!” Missus was still standing, “They wouldn’t dare lay a hand on anyone!”
She was so fierce everyone actually paid attention. Even Okaro was pacified.
“Listen, those boys just want to threaten us into submission. Fear! That is the enemy’s tactics. Fear! But
fortunately for us, we don’t pray for strength to defeat someone we are stronger than! We are greater
than those boys. So on Saturday we will collect the tolls as usual. If anyone tries to stop you, report
them. Do not resist them. On Tuesday I will attend the men’s meeting and give them a piece of my mind.
They have to put their foot down and rein in their wild boys if they expect responsible due collections.
Does anyone have any contrary opinions?”
Almost no one spoke. Sabina had her way of pacifying them. They could trust her to do what she says
she would, unlike Dame Joelyn Omaram, who would say one thing before the women and another
before the men, betraying her gender to garner favors. The old wretch was still alive. Madam Waro was
also like Missus but the two were bitter rivals. The Pharisees were the only Jewish sect to survive the
Great Jewish Wars, modern Judaism is essentially Phariseeism, the Sadducees have been written off.
Same was true about Missus and Madame Waro. Bamaram was glad Waro had been paid in her own
coins and return to active public life at 85 years of age.
“We won’t wait.” Mammanda said at last.
“What did you say?”
“We won’t wait for the men to act. We the women have our traditions and if any man insults a mother
on this soil…” Mammanda had gotten worked up. “We need to revive some traditions to teach these
little ones. Hmm, no child will insult me o.”
“Don’t worry Lady Chukere,” Okaro said, “We will fine them so dearly they will run out of town!”
“Do you think they have money to pay with?” Makechi asked and everyone gave their lighthearted
opinions as to the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of the matter.
Makechi turned to Georgie. It was about Johnnyboy “My dear nowadays no one advises other peoples’
children. They don’t take kindly to it.”
“It is indeed so!” Mammanda adjoined, and for the benefit of everyone there present she narrated the
story of how Ninge had insulted her.
“Ninge who we just married yesterday!”

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The Women

“And that useless husband of hers!” Saburama hated her husband’s associates. She was certain they
were the reason why she worked herself bald to cater to four children while supporting his alcoholism
and addiction to marijuana.
“My dear it is not to be married,” Georgie added inconsiderately, “it is to be well married.”
“Speaking of which,” Joy seized the moment, “Awuye’s daughter is getting married.”
“Which of them?”
“How many daughters does Awuye have?”
“Which of the Awuyes I meant?”
“How many Awuyes do we have? The one from your ule.”
“I wasn’t informed.” As if that mattered.
“She’s inviting us to the wine carrying ceremony.”
Everyone cheered except the one who wasn’t informed.
Makechi interrupted her cheers to add: “But Awuye isn’t properly married herself. So it would be
improper to invite us to her daughter’s wine carrying. How many of you drank her wine?”
“Don’t talk like that,” Missus protested. “Awuye is properly married.”
“Eh-hen-en? I didn’t know. So you drank her wine?”
“Don’t talk like that…”
Everyone goes on to talk about the roles expected of them during the wine carrying. Someone brings up
the case of Amah Osama, Ninge’s mother-in-law, who hadn’t turned out for a kinswoman’s daughter’s
wedding.
“…and she’s not just her husband’s wife, she’s her kinswoman. Both of them come from Rebesi!”
“Too bad! Too bad!”
“However if we take a different perspective on the matter…” Mammanda was the only one to defend
her action, standing her ground against everyone else and doing so quite effectively. “…one does not
pursue rats when the house is burning. I said so!”