The rains came after a long spell. The heat was intense, the scorching Sun hovered like a curse over my village, Umukoka. Oracles were consulted by the elders, sacrifices were made to the gods of fertility, to appease their anger and send the rain to water the Land.
Then one late morning and without any sign, the heavens heaved and the clouds split open with a roar, pouring forth a rain so heavy it seemed the earth itself would drown.
I still remember the smell of the earth that late morning, warm and wet, like the sky had finally broken down in tears after holding it in for too long. Everyone celebrated and even the old men and women danced in the rain.
"The gods of our land have finally answered our prayers and sent down the rains." They all chorused as they danced in circles.
"Now our farmlands and crops would rejoice." Amadi cried as he raised his hands to heaven, in gratitude.
It was one of the most joyous moments for the community.
But It was the most tragic for me.
His name was Amobi which means “No one knows the heart.” He was born with a head too big for his tiny shoulder but he was one jolly good fellow whose laughter always echoed across the compound, like bells in an empty church.
He was my brother.
I was ten when he turned five.
He loved following me everywhere that I hated it then, but I loved it now, wishing I could reverse the hands of the clock, and hold his hands once again, to guide his every step.
That morning, Mama had gone to the market very early and Papa had traveled to Nnewi for some carpentry work.
The rain started unexpectedly, thick, impatient drops that soaked the dry earth in seconds and while everyone was reveling in the euphoria, Amobi was outside, chasing a red rubber ball. He always loved the rain and loved bathing in 'heaven's water', as he popularly called it.
“Come inside before you fall sick!” I yelled from the doorway as I dried my body with a towel. Almost everyone had gone inside but not Amobi.
He grinned at me, in that very sweet way that one finds irresistible, water running down his face like sweat from a race. “Let me just play this one more time!”
What could possibly go wrong?
I rolled my eyes and turned away for just one moment. Just one moment. Not two, just one.
That was all it took.
A deafening crack tore through the sky.
Lightning and then thunder.
It found Amobi.
When I looked back, he was on the ground, the ball rolling away, his body still, his tiny frame crumpled in the mud like discarded cloth.
I screamed until my throat tore. Neighbours came running from different directions but it was too late.
Amobi was dead.
I just slipped onto the wet ground as his body was being carried into the hut. I was numbed by the pain and the guilt.
"I should have just dragged him inside instead of letting him play some more...... I should have just grabbed him and forced him inside...... I should have been the one hit, not him........" Hot tears slowly rolled down my face as I sat outside, hugging the very ground where he breathed his Last.
Auntie Oby slapped me when she couldn’t stop crying.
“Why did you let him stay in the rain?!” she screamed.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Mama fainted when she saw the body, she kept calling his name days after he was buried, waiting for him to run into the room and say it was all a joke. But no, this wasn't a joke at all.
Papa didn't cry but he started drinking himself to stupor. He drank until the silence drowned him.
And me?
I couldn't stop blaming myself.
For weeks, I would lie awake at night, whispering, “I’m so sorry, Amobi, I should have done something, I should have pulled you in, I should’ve screamed.” Then the tears would start rolling down.
Nobody blamed me out loud, but the way everyone stared at me, even Papa and Mama, it was so obvious that everyone charged me guilty of his death.
I kept his small red ball under my pillow, to remind me of him always, as if I could ever forget. I whispered Apologies and prayers for the repose of his soul.
Years passed.
Now, I’m grown and live in the city.
As a teacher, I see Amobi in them, the pupils I teach. I see their eyes, the wonder, the noise, the messy joy and the stubbornness.
And whenever it rains, especially when thunder strikes across the sky, I stand by the window and feel ten years old again. I see a little boy laughing in the storm, one foot on a red ball, playing under 'heaven's water.
I cry quietly, just quiet tears.
Just like the rain.
All images are AI generated.
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