Long before the white man came with stories of Heaven—a place of everlasting peace, joy, and complete bliss reserved for those who lived righteous lives according to the teachings of his holy book—and Hell, the dreadful abode of Satan and the forces of evil where sinners would supposedly suffer unimaginable pain for eternity, the Igbo already had their own understanding of what awaited a man beyond death.
There was also Purgatory, that strange middle ground between Heaven and Hell, where souls were said to undergo purification before earning their place in eternal bliss.
But to the Igbo, death was not the end.
It was a passage.
They believed that when a person died, the physical body remained behind while the spirit crossed the great river separating the world of the living from the unseen world. There, the spirit continued its existence among the ancestors, waiting for the appointed time when it would return to the earth and begin another journey.
Reincarnation was not merely a possibility. It was part of the natural order of existence.
The good man returned as a person of good fortune, prosperity, and favor. A person who had lived according to the customs of the land and honored the gods could return blessed by them. His good fortune was regarded as a reward for the life he had previously lived.
But the wicked had no such privilege. An evil soul could return in a form considered unfortunate or undesirable—a plant, an animal, a cripple, a blind person, a deaf person, or one who could neither speak nor hear. The form depended on the severity of the offense committed in the previous life.
In the most extreme cases, such a soul could return as a child born with two bodies or as a child who developed the upper teeth before the lower ones.
Such children were considered unnatural. They were taken into the evil forest and abandoned to die. The Igbo believed death was therefore not simply a departure.
It was judgment.
And perhaps, in their understanding, Ndubisi had just received his.
*
The compound became as quiet as a graveyard.
Ndubisi lay motionless on the ground.
Okemmiri knelt beside him, placing his fingers on different parts of his body. He checked his pulse, felt his chest, and finally lifted one of his eyelids.
He remained there for a few moments before slowly rising.
"He is dead."
The words had barely left his mouth when the compound erupted.
People shouted.
Some raised their hands toward the heavens.
Others thanked the gods.
The evil one was gone.
The man who had deceived their beloved Nda had finally received his punishment.
But not everyone was celebrating.
Obinwa stood among the jubilant crowd with his arms folded across his chest.
He watched the people celebrate the death of the man they had spent years praising.
He couldn't understand it.
Akidi was beside him, shouting louder than most.
Obinwa turned to him.
"Why are you celebrating?"
Akidi stopped.
He looked at him as though Obinwa had just asked the most ridiculous question imaginable.
"Really?"
He pointed toward Ndubisi's body.
"Isn't it obvious why everyone is happy?"
"I know why everyone is celebrating. I'm asking about you."
Akidi took a deep breath.
His hand went instinctively to his white goatee, stroking it thoughtfully.
"It seems you have been sleeping while all this was happening," he said.
He adjusted his wrapper and continued.
"The special one who appeared from nowhere, the man everyone thought had been sent by the gods to save us, has turned out to be the rat eating our yams from the other side of the barn."
He paused.
"Today, that cunning rat was caught."
His voice rose.
"He was publicly disgraced, made to confess his crimes, and finally put to death."
Obinwa shook his head.
"You sycophant."
Akidi frowned.
"So this is how you now see Ndubisi?"
"How did you expect me to see him?"
Obinwa turned fully toward him.
"Oh, I see."
His voice carried a hint of bitterness.
"Because he is dead, he is no longer your best friend, mentor, teacher, and benefactor?"
Akidi opened his mouth, but Obinwa continued before he could respond.
"That young man loved you more than almost anyone working on this farm."
He pointed toward the departing crowd.
"I remember how you used to speak about him. You praised his intelligence, his strength, and his ability to manage this entire place. And he spoke about you the same way."
He shook his head.
"Do you remember the countless times Ego rewarded the two of you for your hard work?"
Akidi's face hardened.
"He was good to everyone here."
Obinwa continued.
"He never needed to shout before people respected him. Even when someone offended him, he rarely humiliated them."
He paused.
"He helped me countless times. Money for my wife. Money for my children. Food when things were difficult. There were times I didn't even ask, and he still helped."
His voice became softer.
"He brought happiness to many people in this compound."
He looked toward Ego.
"Especially to her."
Akidi scoffed.
"Don't tell me you still see him as a good man."
Obinwa looked at him.
"I see him as a man."
"A murderer."
"A man."
"A rapist."
"A man."
"A thief who destroyed the very woman who trusted him."
Obinwa sighed.
"I didn't say he was innocent."
"Then what exactly are you saying?"
"I am saying people change."
Akidi laughed bitterly.
"People don't change."
"They do."
"No."
Akidi pointed toward Ndubisi's corpse.
"A man who kills once will always remain a killer."
Obinwa shook his head.
"That is where you are wrong."
He looked around the compound.
"We are too quick to divide people into good and evil because it makes life easier. We want villains to remain villains and good men to remain good men. That way, we don't have to wrestle with complicated questions."
Akidi stared at him.
"What complicated question is there here?"
Obinwa took a deep breath.
"Whether the man who killed Nnanna was the same man who later became Ndubisi."
Akidi frowned.
"What kind of foolish question is that?"
"The same man can be both."
Obinwa paused.
"He committed terrible things. Nothing will change that. But he also helped people. He loved Ego. He worked hard. He gave people money. He saved lives."
He looked at Ndubisi.
"Does doing good erase evil?"
"No."
"Does doing evil erase every good thing a person has ever done?"
Akidi remained silent.
Obinwa continued.
"We all carry darkness inside us."
Akidi shook his head.
"Not darkness like his."
"You don't know that."
"I know myself."
"You know the life you have lived."
Obinwa's voice became firmer.
"But you don't know what you would become if life stripped you of everything you loved."
Akidi looked away.
"What if you were banished?"
"What if your parents were murdered?"
"What if everyone you trusted turned against you?"
"What if you were starving?"
"What if the only people willing to accept you were criminals?"
He paused.
"What if you were given no good choices?"
Akidi scoffed.
"There is always a choice."
"Perhaps."
Obinwa nodded.
"But sometimes every choice carries blood."
Akidi shook his head.
"Well, thank the gods I was never placed in his position."
He turned away.
"And I pray I never am."
Obinwa watched him leave.
Akidi called over his shoulder.
"If you don't mind, I have a celebration to return to."
Slowly, the compound began to empty.
The spectacle was over.
The confession had been made.
The villain had been exposed.
And the villain was dead.
But for Ego, there was no celebration.
She remained seated on the ground, staring at the place where Ndubisi had fallen.
Her tears had stopped.
Not because the pain had disappeared.
There were simply no tears left.
The truth had finally settled inside her.
Ndubisi was dead.
He was not coming back.
She had spent the last few moments hating him.
Now she found herself wishing he had survived.
She hated herself for it.
How could she mourn a man who had murdered Nnanna?
How could she miss a man who had violated her when she was helpless?
How could she still remember the warmth of his chest, the sound of his laughter, and the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching?
She pressed both hands against her face.
"Why?"
Her voice was barely audible.
"Why do the gods keep doing this to me?"
She had thought her suffering was finally over.
She had believed the gods had finally smiled upon her.
She had lost her husband, survived poverty, discovered Nwaza, become wealthy, and finally found a man who made her feel loved again.
But every time she reached for happiness, something came to take it away.
She looked toward the heavens.
"Am I cursed?"
Her voice cracked.
"Why does everything I love die?"
Her mind immediately went to her children.
Osundu.
And the unborn child growing inside her.
What would she tell them?
Who was your father?
What answer could she possibly give?
Your father was a good man?
A lie.
Your father was a bad man?
That would also be incomplete.
Because Ndubisi had been both.
A murderer.
A thief.
A rapist.
A liar.
A survivor.
A worker.
A lover.
A friend.
A man who had helped countless people.
A man who had brought laughter back into her life.
And now—
A corpse.
Ego slowly lowered her hands.
She looked around the compound.
For the first time, she noticed how empty everything suddenly felt.
Who would manage her farms now?
Who would make the decisions Ndubisi made effortlessly?
Who would wake before everyone else and inspect the farms?
Who would sit beside her at night?
Who would make her feel like a woman again?
She closed her eyes.
A painful truth settled in her heart.
She still loved him.
And that frightened her more than anything else.
Because how could a woman love the man she had every reason to hate?
Yet somewhere deep inside her heart, beneath the anger, betrayal, and grief, one unbearable thought remained:
If only the gods had given me another ending.