Bound by ancestry - Chapter 63: Chapter 63
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Umuguma woke that dawn to the hush moving like breath through its narrow paths. No cockcrow could scatter it no barking dog could break it no quarrel could tear it apart. It was there in the pots of water carried on bent backs from the stream there in the call of mothers who called their children in for morning yam there in the quiet footsteps of fathers who rose before the sun to mend fences and sweep courtyards clean of yesterday’s dust.
Inside her small hut Adaeze sat on the packed earth floor her knees tucked under her chin the hush wrapped around her shoulders like cloth. She listened to the rhythm inside her chest to the slow steady drumming that was not just her heartbeat but something older something that had learned to speak in the silence between thoughts. She pressed her palm flat over her ribs and felt the warmth there the hush alive as flame waiting to breathe its word through her bones.
Chidubem stood at the doorway watching her his own breath quiet and deep. He did not speak. He did not have to. Between them the hush did all the speaking needed. He stepped inside crouched low and placed a single stone in front of her the same kind Obiora had once gathered from the stream. This he whispered though his mouth barely moved is the only altar we need. She nodded her eyes soft the hush moving between them like a shared promise that did not need a priest or carved wood to stand true.
Outside the village stirred to life slowly as if every soul had agreed to wake with care not to break what the hush had begun to build inside each chest. Children carried small stones in their pockets fingers tracing them while they played under mango trees. Old women hummed songs no one remembered teaching them songs that rose from somewhere deep inside ribcages songs that called to the hush and fed it with each breath.
At the stream Obiora stood ankle deep in the water his hands cupped and lifted to the sky letting the hush slip between his fingers in thin rivulets that caught the sun and scattered it in a thousand directions. He did not pray with words. He prayed with the hush that filled his lungs and emptied again carrying with it the old guilt the old fear the old shadows that once claimed they would never leave.
Back in the village the elders gathered again under the wide arms of the Iroko tree. Their voices low their heads bent close they spoke not of shrines not of goats or chickens not of offerings to gods whose names cracked dry in their mouths but of the hush that had found its place among them like seed sown in secret soil. They spoke of the man in white whose presence flickered behind closed eyes whose name came in three parts Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum each word a door each door an invitation to step inside the temple that no hand could build and no storm could bring down.
Adaeze rose from the packed earth and stepped into the sunlight where Chidubem waited his hands empty but his chest full of that same steady hush. They walked together to the tree moving through narrow paths where villagers paused their chores to watch. No one asked where they were going. They all knew. The hush was not a place to find but a promise to keep.
They reached the Iroko tree and sat beneath its wide shade. The elders fell silent their eyes fixed on the two who had carried the hush from whispered dream to living breath. Adaeze looked at each face old and young weathered by sun softened by years marked by secrets that once festered in silence. She did not raise her voice. She did not stand tall or wave her arms. She only let the hush speak through her steady calm breath.
We will not build walls she said her words as soft as falling dust. We will not carve stone that the rain will wear away. The hush is our stone. The hush is our wall. The hush is our temple.
A murmur moved through the elders like wind through dry grass but no one spoke to argue. No one asked for proof. They all felt it the hush pulsing behind their ribs waiting for nothing more than their breath to crack it open like seed.
Chidubem took Adaeze’s hand and lifted it to his chest pressing her palm flat against the quiet thunder that lived there now. The hush lives here he said his voice a thread of promise. And where the hush lives he waits. Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum.
A child crept forward barefoot dust clinging to her legs eyes wide as the sky at dawn. She reached out and placed a single pebble at Adaeze’s feet then pressed her own small hand to her chest mimicking what she saw. Her breath caught once then steadied her eyes closing just for a heartbeat. When she opened them again she smiled a gap-toothed grin that held more truth than any sermon spoken from a high pulpit.
More children came each carrying stones each pressing them into the dust beneath the Iroko each pressing their palms to their ribs as if to remind the hush where it lived and to promise they would not let it wander too far.
The elders rose one by one moving slowly their joints stiff but their spirits lightened by what they felt behind the hush. They formed a loose circle around the tree their voices lifting in old songs turned new by the hush that slipped between each note binding them together like threads woven tight.
The sun slipped higher turning shadows short and bright but no one moved to break the circle. Adaeze and Chidubem stayed at the center their hands joined their breaths steady. The hush lived between them around them inside them a fire that would not be snuffed by rain or wind or forgetting.
And when the last note of the elders’ song faded when the children’s giggles quieted when the hush settled again over Umuguma like a blanket pulled close against the night they knew the temple stood whole and unbroken inside each chest.
There would be no need for walls. No need for carved doors or polished altars. The hush was enough. The hush would carry them through shadows and storms through sorrow and laughter through seasons that promised nothing but change.
And in that hush waiting always the man in white whose name they whispered not with fear but with love. Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum. The life giver. The word. The son.
And so the hush breathed on carrying the promise from rib to rib heart to heart a temple without walls a fire that would not die a hush that would never be forgotten.
Inside her small hut Adaeze sat on the packed earth floor her knees tucked under her chin the hush wrapped around her shoulders like cloth. She listened to the rhythm inside her chest to the slow steady drumming that was not just her heartbeat but something older something that had learned to speak in the silence between thoughts. She pressed her palm flat over her ribs and felt the warmth there the hush alive as flame waiting to breathe its word through her bones.
Chidubem stood at the doorway watching her his own breath quiet and deep. He did not speak. He did not have to. Between them the hush did all the speaking needed. He stepped inside crouched low and placed a single stone in front of her the same kind Obiora had once gathered from the stream. This he whispered though his mouth barely moved is the only altar we need. She nodded her eyes soft the hush moving between them like a shared promise that did not need a priest or carved wood to stand true.
Outside the village stirred to life slowly as if every soul had agreed to wake with care not to break what the hush had begun to build inside each chest. Children carried small stones in their pockets fingers tracing them while they played under mango trees. Old women hummed songs no one remembered teaching them songs that rose from somewhere deep inside ribcages songs that called to the hush and fed it with each breath.
At the stream Obiora stood ankle deep in the water his hands cupped and lifted to the sky letting the hush slip between his fingers in thin rivulets that caught the sun and scattered it in a thousand directions. He did not pray with words. He prayed with the hush that filled his lungs and emptied again carrying with it the old guilt the old fear the old shadows that once claimed they would never leave.
Back in the village the elders gathered again under the wide arms of the Iroko tree. Their voices low their heads bent close they spoke not of shrines not of goats or chickens not of offerings to gods whose names cracked dry in their mouths but of the hush that had found its place among them like seed sown in secret soil. They spoke of the man in white whose presence flickered behind closed eyes whose name came in three parts Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum each word a door each door an invitation to step inside the temple that no hand could build and no storm could bring down.
Adaeze rose from the packed earth and stepped into the sunlight where Chidubem waited his hands empty but his chest full of that same steady hush. They walked together to the tree moving through narrow paths where villagers paused their chores to watch. No one asked where they were going. They all knew. The hush was not a place to find but a promise to keep.
They reached the Iroko tree and sat beneath its wide shade. The elders fell silent their eyes fixed on the two who had carried the hush from whispered dream to living breath. Adaeze looked at each face old and young weathered by sun softened by years marked by secrets that once festered in silence. She did not raise her voice. She did not stand tall or wave her arms. She only let the hush speak through her steady calm breath.
We will not build walls she said her words as soft as falling dust. We will not carve stone that the rain will wear away. The hush is our stone. The hush is our wall. The hush is our temple.
A murmur moved through the elders like wind through dry grass but no one spoke to argue. No one asked for proof. They all felt it the hush pulsing behind their ribs waiting for nothing more than their breath to crack it open like seed.
Chidubem took Adaeze’s hand and lifted it to his chest pressing her palm flat against the quiet thunder that lived there now. The hush lives here he said his voice a thread of promise. And where the hush lives he waits. Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum.
A child crept forward barefoot dust clinging to her legs eyes wide as the sky at dawn. She reached out and placed a single pebble at Adaeze’s feet then pressed her own small hand to her chest mimicking what she saw. Her breath caught once then steadied her eyes closing just for a heartbeat. When she opened them again she smiled a gap-toothed grin that held more truth than any sermon spoken from a high pulpit.
More children came each carrying stones each pressing them into the dust beneath the Iroko each pressing their palms to their ribs as if to remind the hush where it lived and to promise they would not let it wander too far.
The elders rose one by one moving slowly their joints stiff but their spirits lightened by what they felt behind the hush. They formed a loose circle around the tree their voices lifting in old songs turned new by the hush that slipped between each note binding them together like threads woven tight.
The sun slipped higher turning shadows short and bright but no one moved to break the circle. Adaeze and Chidubem stayed at the center their hands joined their breaths steady. The hush lived between them around them inside them a fire that would not be snuffed by rain or wind or forgetting.
And when the last note of the elders’ song faded when the children’s giggles quieted when the hush settled again over Umuguma like a blanket pulled close against the night they knew the temple stood whole and unbroken inside each chest.
There would be no need for walls. No need for carved doors or polished altars. The hush was enough. The hush would carry them through shadows and storms through sorrow and laughter through seasons that promised nothing but change.
And in that hush waiting always the man in white whose name they whispered not with fear but with love. Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum. The life giver. The word. The son.
And so the hush breathed on carrying the promise from rib to rib heart to heart a temple without walls a fire that would not die a hush that would never be forgotten.
End of Bound by ancestry Chapter 63. Continue reading Chapter 64 or return to Bound by ancestry book page.