Naturally, life is cyclical. Day fades into night and turns back into the day as the sun rises. One season gradually gives way to the next. Over the passage of time, new generations are born and old ones die. The continuous succession of birth, death, and rebirth permeates nature even though our own lives seem linear. It's no surprise that our forefathers looked at the seeming linearity of human existence and decided that life, like the natural world, was more cyclical than linear. So, there was a strong belief in reincarnation or transmigration. Which is known as Ilouwa by the Igbo. To them, death is but a doorway to a new life. We live today. We shall live again. In many ways shall we return.
*
Mazi Amuneke remained perfectly still.
For several heartbeats, nobody spoke.
The only sound in the Obiri was the faint crackling of the fire and the occasional clink of a kola nut being moved around in someone's palm. The warmth and hospitality that had filled the place moments earlier seemed to evaporate.
Amuneke slowly lowered himself back onto his seat.
"Onwuhara?" he repeated, almost in a whisper.
Ego nodded.
"Yes, Nnayi. That is the name he gave me."
The old man's eyes widened. He exchanged a quick glance with his wife, Adaku, who had been sitting quietly beside him. The woman had suddenly become pale.
"And he said Ndidi?" Adaku asked.
"Yes."
"And the name of his mother?"
"Uka."
The woman covered her mouth with her right hand.
A low murmur travelled through the Obiri.
"Chukwu!"
"Impossible."
"Onwuhara?"
Ego looked from one face to another, her confidence slowly giving way to uneasiness.
"You know him?"
Nobody answered immediately.
Amuneke picked up the horn of palm wine before him but did not drink. His hand trembled slightly.
"Where is your son?" he finally asked.
"He is outside with his nanny."
"Bring him."
Ego turned toward one of her guards.
"Go and bring Osundu."
The man bowed and hurried outside.
Amuneke's wife was now visibly trembling.
"Did he say anything else?" she asked.
Ego nodded.
"He said he lived here before coming to me. He also mentioned someone called Amuneke. That is why I came."
Amuneke closed his eyes.
For the first time since Ego entered the compound, the wealthy-looking old man appeared vulnerable.
"He has returned," he whispered.
Ego's heart skipped.
"Who?"
"Onwuhara."
The words sent a chill through her.
Before she could ask another question, hurried footsteps approached the Obiri.
The guard entered carrying Osundu, who was struggling to free himself.
"Nne! Put me down!"
Ego smiled faintly.
"Come here, Nna."
She stretched out her hands, and the guard handed him over.
Osundu immediately looked around the Obiri.
His eyes travelled from one person to another.
Then he saw Amuneke.
The boy suddenly became still.
He stared at the old man for several seconds.
Amuneke stared back.
Something changed in Osundu's expression.
His playful innocence disappeared.
"Papa?"
The horn of palm wine slipped from Amuneke's hand and crashed onto the floor.
The entire Obiri erupted in gasps.
Adaku burst into tears.
She jumped to her feet and rushed toward Osundu.
Ego instinctively tightened her grip around the boy.
"Please, Nne," she said, confused and frightened. "What is happening?"
Adaku stopped a few feet away.
She was crying uncontrollably.
"That's him," she whispered.
Osundu looked at her for a long moment.
Then he looked at Ego, his mother, and said.
"I don't know her."
The woman collapsed onto the floor. Her cries became louder.
"It is truly him!" She screamed, looking at Amuneke, her husband.
Amuneke sat frozen, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Nne," he said to Ego, his voice barely audible, "where did you find this child?"
Ego's confusion deepened.
"He is my son."
"I know," Amuneke replied. "But where did you find him?"
"I gave birth to him."
The old man shook his head slowly.
"That is not what I meant."
The Obiri fell silent again.
Amuneke wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"My son Onwuhara died four years ago."
Ego's blood ran cold.
Osundu was four years old.
Amuneke continued.
"He was my first son. He had an elder sister named Ndidi. His mother was Uka."
Ego stared at him.
Every piece was falling into place.
"But what happened to him?" she asked.
The old man looked down.
"He died in a fire."
Osundu suddenly buried his face against Ego's chest.
Ego's arms tightened around him.
"What kind of fire?" she asked.
Amuneke hesitated.
"A fire that destroyed the hut where he slept."
"Accidental?"
Nobody answered.
Ego looked at Adaku.
The woman was still crying.
Finally, she spoke.
"No."
Her voice was weak.
"It was not an accident."
Amuneke looked at his wife sharply.
"Adaku…"
"I have kept quiet for four years," she said, wiping her tears. "But if this is truly your son, then perhaps the gods have brought him back because the truth was never buried with him."
A murmur swept through the Obiri.
Ego felt a cold sensation crawl down her spine.
"What truth?"
Adaku looked directly at her.
"Onwuhara was murdered."
The words landed heavily.
"By whom?"
Adaku opened her mouth, but no words came.
Amuneke answered for her.
"We don't know."
Ego frowned.
"But my son said someone in the market was one of the people who burned him alive."
Amuneke's expression changed.
"You said he pointed at someone?"
"Yes."
"Did you know the man?"
"No. I couldn't even identify him afterward."
Amuneke nodded slowly.
"Then perhaps he remembers more than we do."
Osundu suddenly lifted his head.
"He remembers."
Everyone turned toward him.
The little boy looked around the room with an unsettling seriousness.
"I was on fire!"
Ego's heart began pounding.
"Who set you on fire, Nna?"
Osundu looked at his mother.
Then he pointed toward Amuneke.
"Not Papa."
Amuneke's face twisted in confusion.
"Who then?"
The boy lowered his voice.
"I don't know."
Silence.
Ego looked at Amuneke.
"Is there something you are not telling us?"
Amuneke did not answer.
His eyes had become fixed on the floor.
And for the first time since Ego arrived, she noticed something in the old man's face that frightened her more than anything else.
Recognition.
Not a surprise.
Not confusion.
Fear.