The sun had already begun its slow descent when Ego finally decided to leave the forest.
The day's search had taken far longer than she had intended, and if she delayed any further, darkness would overtake her long before she reached Umudibia.
Balancing the raffia basket on her back, she followed the narrow bush path toward home.
She had not gone very far when she noticed someone standing ahead.
An old woman.
Even from a distance, there was something unsettling about her.
She was wrapped in a tattered black cloth that stretched from her chest to her ankles. Her long grey hair hung in tangled clumps, dirty and neglected, as though it had not been washed in years. Deep wrinkles carved strange patterns across her pale face, making her hooked nose appear even more crooked. Her thin legs looked too fragile to support the rest of her body, and her large, piercing eyes watched the path with an intensity that sent a chill crawling down Ego's spine.
"What a strange-looking old woman," Ego thought uneasily.
What could someone her age be doing alone in the Evil Forest at this hour?
Beside the woman lay a tightly bound bundle of firewood—far too large for someone of her frail appearance to carry.
Where are her children?
Why is she here alone?
Stories she had heard as a child rushed back into her mind.
The elders often spoke of wicked old women who died but refused to leave the world of the living. Their restless spirits, people claimed, wandered the forests, appearing before unsuspecting travelers.
Could this woman be one of them?
Ego instinctively tightened her grip on her cutlass.
As she drew closer, she forced herself to remain calm.
"Biko, Ndaa, good evening," she greeted respectfully.
The old woman slowly turned toward her.
"Thank you, my daughter," she replied, her voice thin and raspy, almost like dry leaves rubbing together.
"I have been waiting for someone."
She pointed toward the bundle of firewood.
"Would you help me place it upon my head?"
Ego looked from the heavy bundle to the woman's frail frame.
"You can carry this?" she asked in surprise.
The old woman nodded.
"I have always carried my own firewood."
Ego smiled kindly.
"No, Nne."
"I cannot watch someone old enough to be my grandmother carry such a heavy load while I stand by."
Without waiting for permission, she bent down, lifted the bundle onto her own head, and balanced it carefully.
"I will carry it home for you."
The old woman's eyes widened.
"You would do that for me?"
She touched her chest in disbelief.
"Of course."
"Lead the way."
For several moments, the old woman simply stared at her.
Then a warm smile slowly spread across her weathered face.
"May the gods reward your kindness, my daughter."
"May blessings follow you wherever your feet carry you."
She reached down and picked up Ego's basket instead.
As they walked, Ego glanced sideways at her companion.
"Nne," she asked gently, "why are you gathering firewood by yourself?"
"Do you not have children who should be helping you?"
The old woman remained silent.
Instead, she asked her own question.
"What brought you into this forest today?"
"I came to gather medicinal herbs for the market."
The old woman looked into the basket she carried.
"It seems your search was not very successful."
Ego smiled knowingly.
"I actually found quite a lot."
The old woman raised an eyebrow.
"Then why is your basket almost empty?"
"Or are these old eyes failing me?"
Ego laughed softly.
"No, Nne."
"Your eyes are still sharp."
"I used most of the herbs to treat a wounded dog I found deeper in the forest."
The old woman nodded thoughtfully.
"That was kind of you."
They continued walking.
After a while Ego asked,
"How much farther is your home?"
"We are almost there."
"Do you often come into Ajọ Ọhịa?"
"Only when I need firewood."
That was all she said.
The conversation faded into silence.
Only the sounds of insects and distant birds accompanied them as they continued deeper along the winding forest path.
*
Nearly twenty minutes later, the old woman stopped.
"We have arrived."
Ego looked around.
A lonely hut stood hidden among dense trees.
She frowned.
She had lived in Umudibia all her life.
Yet she had never seen this place before.
The clearing looked abandoned.
No footprints marked the ground.
No chickens scratched beneath the trees.
No goats wandered nearby.
The remains of what had once been a farm lay swallowed by weeds and creeping vines.
Outside the hut stood only a large clay pot filled with murky water and a crude stone stool buried beneath layers of dust.
Cold air hung heavily over the clearing despite the warmth of the evening.
Even the silence felt unnatural.
The walls of the hut bore faded black-and-white patterns painted many years ago, their meanings long forgotten beneath age and weather.
Ego shifted the bundle of firewood uneasily.
"Is this really where you live?"
The old woman nodded without speaking.
"How can anyone live in a place like this?" Ego wondered.
The entire clearing felt forgotten by both man and nature.
She carefully lowered the firewood beside the entrance.
When the old woman pushed aside the woven door covering and stepped inside, Ego followed.
She stopped in surprise.
The inside of the hut felt completely different from the outside.
Warm.
Orderly.
Alive.
The single-room dwelling was built of woven bamboo walls beneath a neatly thatched roof. There were no windows, and the doorway was so low that Ego had to stoop before entering.
At the center of the room, a small fire burned steadily.
Its warmth chased away the damp chill outside while thin streams of smoke curled upward, darkening the rafters that had turned almost black over the years.
Against the far wall stood a simple bamboo bed topped with a smooth wooden log that served as a pillow.
Animal bones, carefully cleaned and polished, hung from wooden pegs beside several large strands of red coral beads and neatly folded fishing nets.
Nearby, clay pots and calabashes were arranged with remarkable care inside a woven basket.
A mortar and pestle rested beside a carved wooden stool polished smooth from years of use.
Everything was humble.
Yet everything had its place.
Nothing inside suggested neglect.
In one corner stood a large earthen water jar.
Floating upon its clear water was a calabash gourd used for drinking.
Judging from the freshness of the water, Ego guessed it had been fetched that very morning from the Nworie River, which flowed near the outskirts of Umudibia before joining the sacred Ọta Mmiri River.
The people believed that Ọta Mmiri was watched over by a powerful river goddess whose waters eventually found their way into the mighty River Niger before emptying into the great Atlantic Ocean.
Ego slowly looked around the room once more.
Outside, the hut appeared abandoned by the world.
Inside...
It felt as though someone had been patiently waiting for her.