The Life of An Exile

     After Ikemefuna died, things carried on as normal for awhile, until one of the oldest men in the clan died. His funeral was fit for a warrior, and it was all it was supposed to be. As the egwugwu were dancing and blessing his body and there was music and food and everything else, my gun exploded. A shard of metal pierced a boy's heart and he lay in a pool of blood. This boy happened to be the 16-year-old son of the man who died that day. The only option of someone who kills another clansmen is to flee the village. There is a female and a male version of this crime. I have committed the female one, since I did not intend to kill him. Therefore, I can return to my homeland after seven years. Until then, I must flee with my family to the motherland, where I will be safe. After I got settled in, my good friend Obierika came to visit me, and it was nice to see him after a long while apart. He brought with him two surviving villagers from Abame. I was curious why they were with him, so Obierika spilled the whole story. He said Abame was taken over by the white men. They were not albinos, but something else. They wiped out the entire village and set up their church there. I was a little worried that they might go to other villages, but I pushed the thought to the back of my head so I could enjoy my visit with Obierika. Two years later, when he came back to visit me, things we're so great back in Umuofia. The white men had arrived, set up a church, and started getting people from the tribe to convert to their religion. The same thing was happening here, and we figured if we gave them a section of the Evil Forest to build on, they would all die off eventually, but nothing happened. The thing that made me the most angry is when Nwoye, my own son, decided he did not want to follow me and that he wanted to be part of their faith. We have been in a constant battle with the white men and their followers. They killed one of our egwugwu, so we burned down their church. Then they imprisoned us and demanded 250 cowries from our people or they would not let us go. Eventually, at a meeting where we were supposed to be working out our differences, I lost it and chopped the district commissioner's head right off with my machete. Things are falling apart in our village, which is why I have decided I don't want to be around to see what happens next. I'm going to hang myself, and this will be the last time anyone hears from me.