'The Wish' by Marycynthia Chinwe Okafor

The night before the morning Onyemma threw herself into River Eke, Nkirimma wished her mother away. They were both in Onyemma's kitchen preparing dinner when Onyemma asked her daughter to go fetch water from the communal pot. The harmattan cold had descended with the darkness and Nkirimma wasn’t keen on moving away from the fire.

She replied, “Eeh?”

Onyemma snapped, “Do I have water in my mouth?”

“Nne,” Nkirimma whined, “it’s cold outside. Have your servant girl fetch it.”

Onyemma turned slowly on her stool and eyed Nkirimma.

The look told Nkirimma that Onyemma would spank her with whatever was handy. Presently, it was her ladle. Nkirimma grabbed a bowl and shifted out of her mother’s reach, muttering, “Every time you'll be disturbing somebody.”

“Say it loud,” Onyemma threatened.

Nkirimma huffed. As she approached the large pot from where she would draw water, her path illuminated by the moon more than the lanterns in their compound, her eyes shifted to the udala tree. The tree stood at where a path forked into two other paths behind their backyard. Her father had warmed her and her step-siblings never to stare too long at the tree at night or the mmụọ would carry them off.

She saw shadows dancing around the tree as if to the music of the wind. Her skin broke out in goose bumps and her head swelled.

Frozen, she fumed. If her mother hadn’t made her go out into the cold, she wouldn’t have forgotten and looked at the tree. Neglecting to be aware of nightly wishes made close to a forked road, she said, “I wish Eke will swallow Nne so she never sends me on stupid errands again.” She filled her bowl and carried it back to Onyemma not noticing the mmụọ lift her wish away.