But apart from the few of us who were still living in Uwani, I found no other human life in the other cities.
I decided to expand my search. I moved from Enugu City to nearby towns. I headed towards faraway Ninth-Mile, at the other end of Enugu State. Dominated purely by Igbo tribes, the indigenes there had been converted to Christianity, like those who had lived in Enugu. The difference was that, in other towns in Enugu, apart from Abakpa, there were also non-Igbo tribes and Muslims.
I stopped along the way to fill my tank. When I reached a filling station, it was deserted. I remembered, just a few years ago, how boisterous the place had been. I could still recall how I had maneuvered to get my tank filled first, especially during times of fuel scarcity. Such actions usually elicited howling and shouting from other drivers. I lusted for those times now.
There was no attendant to refill my tank. It occurred to me that, if the fuel was exhausted, there was no one to ask for more. There was also no electricity and I soon found I couldn’t refill my tank. I looked around, hoping for a lucky break.
Some parts of the roof of the filling station had been blown down by wind. The white paint of the walls had been washed by the rain. Green lichen had started to grow on the side of the building.
I went into the building and pushed a door open.
I was surprised that the door wasn’t locked. I had been thinking I would have to break it down. Under the dust and cobwebs, the pink paint on the wall remained intact. I guessed that it was the manager’s office, because, sitting with his head bent on a table, was the decaying, stinking corpse of a man. Beside his head were bundles of money. “Igbo and money, just like bread and butter!” I murmured, as I quickly closed the door.
The next door was locked and I had to search for the key in the manager’s pocket, holding my breath. Inside a small room sat the station’s generator. Thank God it functioned, as did the fuel pump—a miracle. I got my tank filled and drove off. The road was lonely. Not a surprise. I knew it would demand another miracle for another car to drive by. If that ever happened, I would celebrate.
When I reached Ninth-Mile, I had to slow down, peeping through the windshield. No one was in sight. I then took a path that led to the heart of the town and parked at a village health center, a house with green walls. In the old days, the place would have been crowded with people waiting for a doctor. By now, tall, elegant grasses were already overtaking the area.
I left the building and followed another path. The only sounds in the town were the cries of wild animals: monkeys and, sometimes, hyenas and carrion birds like the kite and the owl.
The path brought me to a primary school. Beside it stood a market already in ruins. The shops seemed like anthills of the savannah, telling the new grasses about last year’s bush burning. I entered the school building, painted yellow outside and white inside, and moved from one classroom to another, praying for luck. Each door I opened, I either saw lizards playing or rats making love.
I looked at a board in the last classroom. Despite water damage, ‘Class Five’ could still be read, although faintly.
There was a noise. If I hadn’t been fast, I wouldn’t have seen it. A long, coiled black snake, at least four feet long, nested among the empty desks. It raised its head. Its neck was dim white with black stripes. A cobra. The type our villagers called “Tomorrow is far,” because you would not live to see the next day, once bitten by it. It seemed to say, Who is this man who is treading on my territory? Before I could leave the room, it came at me.
I backed away quickly, unsure if it was attacking or defending. It recoiled itself and sprang, throwing itself at me. I managed to dodge and it missed the target.
I saw a broom lying nearby. I picked it up.
The snake sprang erect, spat its venom. But I was far from it, so all the saliva poured on the ground.
It was now my turn to attack. With my stick, I reached for it. It then recoiled itself and threw itself on me another time. I dodged again. It landed on the ground and my stick was on it. I never gave it a chance. I kept on striking till it was dead. Then I walked away, sweating. I was breathing heavily and I was sure my blood pressure was high.
I wanted to go home.
I ran through the town, shouting, asking for someone to come out. I found myself on the path again. Part of me kept telling me to just get in my car and drive back home. The other part insisted I continue with the search. Perhaps someone remained in the village. I listened to that part.
I went through the village. Most of the buildings were intact, though with peeling paint. At every house, I shouted, “Is anybody there?” Getting no result, I moved on. I hoped that, if anyone survived, they would answer me. However, due to the encounter with the snake, I was afraid of entering any house.
I gave up. On my way back to my car, I heard a voice.
A child stood in a doorway, a girl of about thirteen. I ran to her and held her tight. I was overwhelmed with joy. A joy that knew no bounds. She was weak and looked famished. She began to weep. I consoled her and took her to the car, kept her at the back.
Back home, we had a celebration as never before. One of us, I can’t remember who, said that this was a sign that God had not abandoned humanity yet. But amidst the celebration, some were skeptical of her. They wondered how a little girl could be the only survivor in her village. What did she have that others didn’t?
Rumours began, the most popular being that she was a witch. I think Mrs. Chioma, a woman living across the street, originated this version of the story.
Mrs. Chioma claimed to be a witch doctor. According to her, she never knew that she had the gift until a crisis rocked her family. It began when she gave birth to her fourth child. She had employed a nanny to help her look after her baby, so that she could still meet the demands of her housework. But unknown to her, the nanny was a blood-tasting witch.
A few months after the nanny arrived, Mrs. Chioma’s children got sick. Her first child died. She was still recovering from this shock when the second one also died, just six months later. As if that were not enough, the two children left were critically ill. None of the seven hospitals they were taken to could diagnose the problem.
Then a friend advised her to try a native doctor. The native doctor told her that she had the power to heal herself and her children, and that he could help her learn how. He gave her some herbs, which she was to boil and mix in her meals. Three days later, her inner eyes opened. She then saw how her children’s nanny turned into a big mosquito at night to suck her children’s blood, which she would, in turn, transmit to other witches in their nightly meetings as their meal. She had to exorcise the nanny before sending her packing. She had since lost her husband and remaining children to the disease.
I heard Mrs. Chioma, more than once, telling people that the little girl had a big tooth on her forehead. She even said it was the girl who killed her parents, not the disease.
I asked her, “If the little girl was truly the cause of her parents’ death, what of the rest in the village? Was she also responsible for that?”
She retorted, “The girl helped the disease in escalating the death rate in their village.” According to her, “When the girl saw what the disease was doing, she availed herself of that opportunity and started sucking blood as much as she could.”
If people had only seen her as a gossip among those of us who were living on Nnaji Street, I wouldn’t have considered it a problem. The problem was that she instigated people.
At first, it began with people being afraid of the girl. From that, it escalated to direct verbal abuse. I can’t now precisely remember the person, but I can still recall hearing somebody, one day, exclaiming to her that she was a witch who had come to kill us all, as she did to her people. The peak of the whole thing came when an angry mob stormed my bungalow. They needed to exorcise her. Unsurprisingly, the mob leader was Mrs. Chioma.