* * *
He awoke hearing the happy Sunday morning chatter of his mother, his auntie Ugochi, and uncles Egbe and Inno from downstairs. He lay there. The air in his room was clear, smoke-free. No one was screaming. Everything was fine. He was holding his breath. He opened his mouth wide as he let it out.
“Just a dream,” he muttered. “Thank goodness.”
Nnamdi came down the stairs to find his mother and auntie in the kitchen, huddled around the Kaleria Sun newsletter on the table. Nnamdi greeted them and sat down, wondering what was for breakfast. He was starved and he smelled fried eggs. He peeked at the newsletter headline and immediately lost his appetite.
The headline read: “Three Days’ Journey Thwarted in Three Seconds.”
There, on the front page, was a picture of a grinning woman, the very woman he’d saved last night.
Tina Adepoju, a mother of three who drives a silver Mercedes, had stopped when she came across a spiked log lying in the road. Before she knew it, the infamous carjacker Three Days’ Journey set upon her car. He threw her door open and tried to drag her out, but not before she could lay on her car’s horn. As she struggled with Three Days’ Journey, something happened. “This enormous . . . man! He just came out of nowhere,” Adepoju said. “He was tall like an iroko tree, very dark-skinned, and very strong. He threw Three Days’ Journey to the ground like the rubbish he was!” Whoever this man is, I hope he’s from Kaleria. And if he’s not, let him come and live here.
Three Days’ Journey was given his name because it’s believed that he drives the cars he steals to a secret chop shop “three days’ journey” from Kaleria. He first . . .
Nnamdi sat back with wide eyes. He felt an odd tingle in his throat. The news story was not very accurate about what he’d looked like and he didn’t remember hearing a horn, but it told him one clear truth: He’d done something terrible yet wonderful. Him. He had caused this woman to gush with happiness to reporters. He had saved someone from being yet another victim of Kaleria’s crime problem. His mother, aunt, and uncles were smiling. His father would be proud.
“The story sounds as if Nnamdi’s father was out there last night!” Auntie Ugochi said.
Nnamdi’s mother nodded. “Especially the part about throwing Three Days’ Journey. Egbuche really disliked that man,” his mother said with a chuckle.
“Mommy,” Nnamdi said, getting up. He needed some air to clear his mind and think. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be too long,” she said. “Your food will get cold.”
My father, Nnamdi thought as he quickly watered the garden. Did he really come back? He felt like going to his room right now and touching the Ikenga once more and imagining he was touching his father’s hand through it. He paused, looking at the garden. He’d pulled most of the weeds, turned the soil around the yam, and planted some sunflower seeds Chioma had given him years ago. He’d purposely not told her, because he wasn’t sure if they’d grow. Plus, he wanted them to be a surprise, if they did. He’d been tending to the garden for days, and already the garden looked in better shape than it had all year. His eye fell on the yam and he grinned. Several new leaves had unfurled from the snaking vine.
He would tell no one about what had happened last night. Not yet. Not even Chioma. Only his father knew his secret, and it was nice to share a secret with his father.
Beneath the Palm Tree
IT SEEMED AS if everyone were reading a copy of the day’s paper. People standing on the side of the road waiting for the bus, market women, people on their porches. When Nnamdi got to school, it was more of the same. Teachers stood in small groups, newsletters in hand, giggling and smiling and quoting sections of the story.
“The man is such an idiot,” one of the teachers said. “Serves him right. I hope that man knocked Three Days’ Journey’s teeth out when he threw him aside.”
And the story wasn’t just in the Kaleria Sun, either: Ruff Diamond said it was also in newspapers from neighboring towns. “My uncle brought a newspaper from Aba and it was even in there!” The story had traveled far! Nnamdi put his chin to his chest and rushed off to the palm tree that grew in the middle of the school grounds. As usual, Chioma was there. She was sitting, reading a newsletter with a big grin on her face. She laughed loudly and pushed back her untidy braids. “This is crazy,” she whispered.
“Kee ka ịmee?” Nnamdi greeted her in Igbo, leaning against the tree.
“You read this?” she asked, pointing to her paper.
“Who hasn’t?”
“It’s hilarious! Three Days’ Journey getting tossed like a sack of dry grass?” She giggled again. “This is the best news Kaleria has had in a long time!”
“Heh, yeah,” Nnamdi said. His lips felt chapped as he smiled.
Chioma squinted at him and folded her newsletter. “So are you going to tell me what happened last night? Come on, Nnamdi. I know you. You’re hiding something.”
“No,” he said, looking out at the other students, who played and chatted nearby.
“No, what?” she asked. “No, you’re not going to tell me what happened or no, you’re not hiding something?”
Nnamdi sighed heavily. Chioma shielded her eyes against the sun and looked up at him. “Talk. You tell me everything. I’m not enjoying this new secretive side of you.”
Nnamdi frowned.
“You didn’t tell your mother you passed out, did you?” she said.
“No,” he said, sighing loudly. “She has enough to worry about. Look, Chioma, I’m fine. Stop asking.”
After a pause, she said, “Okay, o. So about the incident last night . . . it had to have happened close to where you were. You were lucky you didn’t run into Three Days’ Journey.”
“Yeah.”
“I told you not to leave the gate.”
“I know.”
She paused, again. Nnamdi bristled, sure that she was going to start badgering him about what had happened last night or about the Ikenga.
“Why do your fingers look like that?” Chioma asked.
“Like what?” he asked, looking at his hands.
“Dirty.”
“Oh.” He laughed, picking at them. “I’ve been . . . I’ve been working in my father’s garden.”
They both paused.
“Have the butterflies returned?” she asked quietly.
Nnamdi shook his head. In all his time weeding, watering, planting, and pruning back there, he hadn’t seen one butterfly. He hadn’t really thought much of this until Chioma pointed it out. Now it made his heart ache.