Bound by ancestry - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The rain had stopped, but the red mud clung to Chidubem Obinna’s designer shoes like a warning.
He stood beside his black Range Rover, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the cluster of elders seated beneath the thatched meeting shed in Umueze village. The scent of roasted maize lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of traffic from Owerri town. But the silence here was louder than the city noise.
They had just told him no. Again.
"No amount of money will make us release that land, my son," the oldest of them said, his voice calm but final. "That land is not just soil. It holds blood. Spirits. Promises."
Chidubem did not flinch, though his jaw tightened. This was his third visit in a month. He had made his offer. Doubled it. Offered to build a health centre and school for the community. He even brought kola nuts and palm wine, just as tradition demanded.
Still, they said no.
"You are making a mistake," he said, voice low and even. "You do not understand the value."
"We do," the elder interrupted. "But you do not understand the cost."
Behind the circle, a few young men stood watching him, half curious, half suspicious. It was clear the land he wanted was not just owned by the community. It was protected.
Frustrated, Chidubem turned to his aide, Uche.
"Find someone. A local. Someone the elders respect. A cultural advisor, spiritual, whatever they call it." He paused. "They trust their own. Maybe that is what we are missing."
Uche hesitated. "There is one name I keep hearing in the market," he said. "A young woman. Bead maker. They say she dreams things before they happen. Her name is Adaeze Nkemjika."
Chidubem raised an eyebrow.
"Fine. Find her."
He looked back at the shed one last time. The elders were already rising to leave, murmuring quietly among themselves.
As he stepped back into his car, he did not notice the hawk circling above the shed, nor the way the oldest elder cast a final glance toward the hills beyond the village.
Where the real battle had already begun.
Adaeze Nkemjika had never stepped into the world of billionaires, and she had no intention of starting now.
She dipped her hands into a bowl of warm water, rinsing the purple dye off her fingers. Her workshop was a simple wooden space behind her aunt’s house, filled with strings of handmade beads, dried herbs, and pots of natural colors. The air smelled of camwood and lemon leaves, and the soft crackle of a local radio filled the space.
She wiped her hands on her wrapper and stepped outside. The compound buzzed with life. Chickens clucked, children chased each other, and her aunt, Mama Ukamaka, was already tending to a pot of okra soup on the fire.
"You have not eaten," Mama Ukamaka said without looking up. "You think I do not see you starving yourself for your work."
Adaeze smiled faintly. "I will eat soon. I have one more order to finish."
Mama Ukamaka shook her head. "That is how your mother used to be. Always putting others first."
The mention of her mother brought a gentle ache to Adaeze’s chest. It had been ten years since the accident. Ten years since the night she started dreaming in strange symbols and waking with the sound of drums in her ears.
That was when her aunt told her the truth. Her mother had been a guardian. A protector of land no one dared touch. The same land the elders now fought to defend.
"Someone was looking for you at the market," Mama Ukamaka said suddenly.
Adaeze paused. "Who?"
"A man in a clean shirt and tight trousers. Said he was looking for Adaeze the dreamer. I told him to come back tomorrow. You know I do not like strangers sniffing around."
Adaeze frowned. "Did he say his name?"
"Uche. That was the name. He looked like he came from the city. His shoes were too clean."
Adaeze wiped her hands again and looked toward the sky. Something in her chest tightened. She had felt something shifting in the air since last night. A stirring in her dreams. Faces she did not know. A man with sharp eyes and a shadow behind him.
"What does he want?" she murmured to herself.
She would soon find out.
Chidubem rarely went anywhere without a plan, but when Uche confirmed that the girl lived in Umuguma, he made the unusual decision to go himself. Not just send a message. Not just call.
There was something about this project that felt spiritual. And not in the poetic sense. He had started having strange dreams too. His late grandmother’s face, the sound of drums, fire burning through tall grass. It all pointed to one thing. The land was not normal.
So neither could his approach be.
"She works from a small workshop behind a compound near the old Catholic church," Uche said as they drove slowly through the dusty streets of Umuguma. "Locals say she is not just a bead maker. They call her Nwada Mmo."
Daughter of the spirit.
Chidubem gave a short nod. "Let us see what kind of spirit she carries."
Adaeze heard the car before she saw it.
A deep engine hum rolled through the compound, followed by the slow, deliberate crunch of tires on gravel. She turned just in time to see a sleek black SUV come to a stop outside the gate. Her aunt poked her head out from the kitchen and hissed through her teeth.
"City people. Nothing good ever comes with dark glasses."
The door opened, and he stepped out.
He was taller than she expected. Clean-shaven. Sharp in the face. Dressed in a simple white shirt and black trousers, but the way he carried himself was not simple at all. It was controlled. As if every movement was measured.
He looked around once, eyes scanning the compound, then settled on her.
"Adaeze Nkemjika?"
She crossed her arms. "Depends on who is asking."
He offered a small nod. "Chidubem Obinna. I need your help."
Adaeze raised a brow. "I do not work for people I do not know."
"Then get to know me."
A silence passed between them. The air grew still.
And for a brief moment, just a flicker, Adaeze saw it.
A shadow behind him. Tall, dark, and reaching.
Then it was gone.
She took a slow breath.
"Come in," she said at last. "But I am not making promises."
Chidubem followed her into the workshop, unaware that the moment he stepped inside, the first seal had already begun to break.
And the land, quiet for many years, had started to remember.
Adaeze moved around the small room with an ease that came from routine. She pulled out a stool for him, fetched a clean cup, and poured water from a clay jug. Chidubem sat, silent, his eyes taking in everything. The handmade beads. The soft curtain that fluttered in the breeze. The faint carvings on the wooden doorframe.
"This place is old," he said quietly.
"It belonged to my mother. And to her mother before her."
Chidubem nodded once. "I have a proposal."
"Speak."
He leaned forward. "There is a piece of land in Umueze. I want to build there. The elders will not let me. They believe the land is sacred. Tied to the old ways. They want a voice they trust. Someone who understands both tradition and spirit. They want you."
Adaeze watched him for a long moment. "And what do you want?"
"I want to finish what I started. I want you to help me speak for the land. Convince them."
She stood, her expression unreadable. "And why do you think I can do that?"
"Because they already believe you can. And so do I."
She turned away, placing the cup down. "You are asking me to speak for a land my family died protecting. A land I have never stepped on. A land whose name still echoes in my dreams."
"Then maybe you should see it for yourself."
She looked over her shoulder. "And if I say no?"
"Then I leave. And maybe the land stays silent. Or maybe it wakes without warning. I would rather it wake with someone beside me who understands it."
Adaeze faced him fully. "You do not understand what you are touching."
"Neither do you. But I think it is time we both found out."
And just like that, the deal neither of them truly understood began to take root.
Outside, the wind picked up. A gust swept through the compound, rustling the beads on the doorframe.
The drums in the deep earth stirred.
The land was no longer waiting.
The next morning, Adaeze rose before the sun. Her dreams had been restless again, full of voices that whispered in broken Igbo, trees that bled, and fire that never burned. She sat on the edge of her bamboo bed, holding a calabash of cool water, and stared into nothing.
The invitation to visit the land was still fresh in her mind, but it was not the billionaire's request that unsettled her. It was what she had seen behind him. That shadow. The same one she had seen in her dreams for years but never understood.
She tied her wrapper tighter and stepped outside. The village was quiet, wrapped in the soft stillness of dawn. Chickens stirred in their coops, and the first birds began to call out to the light.
"You are going, aren't you?" Mama Ukamaka's voice floated out from behind her.
Adaeze turned. Her aunt stood at the door, arms folded, eyes heavy with concern.
"I have to," Adaeze replied.
"That land took your mother. I pray it does not take you too."
Adaeze walked over and hugged her gently. "It will not. I am not going alone."
Her aunt sighed. "Then take this." She handed her a small pouch made of red cloth and tied with palm fiber. "Your mother used to carry one like this. For protection. Do not open it. Just keep it near."
Adaeze took the pouch and nodded. She tucked it into her bag and began the walk to the roadside, where Chidubem said he would meet her.
The Range Rover was already there when she arrived. Chidubem stood beside it, dressed in a dark native outfit this time, with black embroidery across the chest. His eyes met hers as she approached.
"You came."
"The land called. I listened."
He opened the door for her without a word. She climbed in, and the door closed with a soft thud. As the car pulled away, Adaeze looked out the window at the morning sky. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, though the sky was still clear.
The drive to Umueze was quiet. Chidubem did not speak, and neither did she. But there was no tension. Only a strange, shared awareness that what they were about to do was no longer just about land or money.
When they reached the edge of the sacred land, the car stopped. There were no buildings here, only forest. Trees so tall they blocked the sun, and a narrow footpath that wound into the heart of the thicket.
Adaeze stepped out slowly. The air here was different. Thicker. Older.
She walked ahead, barefoot now, drawn by something unseen. Chidubem followed her, careful, curious.
"You have been here before," he said quietly.
She shook her head. "Not with my feet. Only in my dreams."
They reached a small clearing where the ground was marked with ancient carvings, half covered in moss. At the center stood a short, twisted tree with blackened bark. Adaeze stopped.
"This is it," she whispered. "This is the root."
Chidubem approached the tree. "There is nothing here. Just soil and a dead tree."
"It is not dead. It is sleeping. And it is watching."
A wind blew through the clearing, sharp and sudden. The tree creaked, and the ground beneath them trembled slightly. Chidubem took a step back.
Adaeze placed her palm on the tree's bark. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her lips moved silently. She was no longer in the clearing. Not fully.
She was standing in a wide field, the sun high, the grass golden. Her mother stood across from her, dressed in white, smiling sadly.
"You have come late, Ada," the vision said. "But not too late. He must not claim the land in anger. He must remember."
"Remember what?" Adaeze asked.
But the vision faded, and she was back in the clearing, on her knees, breath shaking.
Chidubem was beside her in an instant, helping her up. "Are you alright?"
She nodded slowly. "We need to talk to the elders again. And this time, you must come with a different heart."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"This land does not respond to money or pride. It answers to memory. To humility. It remembers your grandmother. And it remembers what was promised."
He looked around at the ancient markings, the air now still once again. "Then tell me what I must do."
Adaeze held his gaze. "We begin with truth. And truth begins with you."
The trees around them rustled again. Somewhere in the shadows, something stirred.
The land had spoken. And now, it was waiting for Chidubem to answer.
by Ancestry
The next morning, Chidubem stood at the balcony of his hotel suite in New Owerri, watching the sun rise behind the rolling clouds. He had not slept well. Visions haunted his dreams. The twisted tree. Adaeze’s trembling voice. And his grandmother’s face, younger than he remembered, whispering words he could not fully understand.
There was something about Adaeze that unsettled him—not in a bad way, but in a way that forced him to question the foundation of everything he believed in. He was used to power. Logic. Deals made across polished tables and sealed with signatures. But this... this was a different kind of negotiation.
He had come to build a legacy. Instead, he had stepped into a story that began long before he was born.
Uche knocked lightly and entered. "The elders have agreed to meet. Noon. At the village square."
Chidubem nodded. "Prepare the kola. And tell Nkem the linguist to come. He understands how to speak with them."
"And Adaeze?"
Chidubem looked down at his phone. A message from her had come in an hour ago. Just one sentence.
I will be there. But the land must speak first.
By noon, the sun hung heavy over Umueze village. A small crowd had gathered as word spread that the billionaire and the spirit girl would be speaking with the elders.
Chidubem arrived first, dressed in a plain white kaftan, holding the tray of kola and a flask of palm wine. Adaeze arrived moments later, barefoot, her wrapper patterned with ancestral symbols, her hair tied back in a simple scarf.
The elders sat beneath the same thatched shade where they had first rejected Chidubem. But this time, their eyes were not cold. They were curious.
Adaeze bowed and spoke first. "I greet you, fathers. I come not to ask for the land, but to ask for memory."
The oldest elder leaned forward. "And whose memory do you seek?"
"Mine. Yours. And his," she said, gesturing to Chidubem. "The land remembers a promise. The blood remembers. But the mind forgets. Today we remember."
Chidubem stepped forward and knelt, surprising even Uche.
"I did not come to buy this land with money," he said. "But to honor my grandmother. Mma Anyanwu. The woman who taught me the meaning of soil. I have forgotten her ways. But I want to remember."
The elders murmured quietly among themselves. The air shifted.
"Then let the land decide," the eldest said. "Tonight, you will sleep there. Alone. If you are truly her blood, it will accept you. If not, it will send you away."
Chidubem’s eyes flickered to Adaeze, who gave a single, solemn nod.
That night, Chidubem stood alone in the sacred clearing, the moon high above, the stars bright and watching. No phone. No lights. Just a mat, a bowl of water, and the twisted tree.
The air grew cold as midnight approached. He sat cross-legged, waiting.
Then it came.
Not wind. Not voice. But presence.
A woman stepped out from the shadows. Not Adaeze. Not any elder. She wore white. Her face was familiar. She was younger. Beautiful.
"Mma Anyanwu," he breathed.
"You want to build on what you do not understand," she said. Her voice echoed like many voices. "You want to lead where you have not walked."
"I am ready now," he said. "To learn. To remember."
She came closer and touched his forehead.
Images flooded his mind. War. Peace. Births. Deaths. The planting of trees. The binding of oaths. A time when land and spirit were one. And then... betrayal. A breaking of a vow by a man who looked like him.
His ancestor.
He gasped and fell back. The vision faded. She was gone.
The wind rose sharply. The tree’s branches bent toward him, then eased.
He knew what had to be done.
At dawn, he returned to the village.
Adaeze met him at the gate.
"What did the land say?" she asked.
He looked tired, but peaceful.
"It said it would not be bought. But it will bless what is built to heal."
She smiled faintly. "Then we begin."
They walked toward the elders together, side by side.