In those days, marriage did not merely unite a man and a woman—it joined a woman to her husband's entire lineage.
Once a bride entered her husband's family, she was regarded as part of that household. If her husband died, custom often dictated that she, together with his property, passed into the care of another male relative, usually his eldest brother. The practice was intended to ensure that the widow remained protected and that her late husband's lineage continued, though not every widow welcomed such an arrangement.
Following tradition, the responsibility fell to Nnadozie, Nnanna's only elder brother.
Nnadozie resembled his younger brother so closely that strangers often mistook them for twins. Yet there were differences.
Where Nnanna was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, Nnadozie was taller and leaner. His complexion was lighter, his beard fuller, and many women considered him the more handsome of the two.
He was also a wealthy man. Unlike Nnanna, whose fame came through hunting and wrestling, Nnadozie's reputation rested upon the richness of his farmland. Every harvest season, his barns overflowed with more than five thousand tubers of yam, making him one of the most prosperous farmers in Umudibia.
Years before Ego met Nnanna, Nnadozie had sought her hand in marriage.
She refused.
Not because she disliked him, but because he already had a wife, Chinyere, with whom he had two healthy sons, Ekene and Emeli.
Whenever they met after Ego married Nnanna, Nnadozie never missed an opportunity to tease her.
"Our wife," he would joke with a broad grin, "what made you choose my younger brother instead of me?"
"Was it because he became Dimgba..."
"...or because his muscles are bigger than mine?"
Ego always laughed.
"Both."
Then, pretending to study his face, she would add,
"Besides..."
"You are far too handsome."
"I do not wish to spend my life fighting all the young women in Umudibia."
Their laughter usually echoed long after the joke had ended.
He would ask after his younger brother.
She would inquire about his wife and children.
Then they would each continue on their way.
*
After Nnanna's death and the completion of Ego's mourning rites, Nnadozie summoned her to his compound.
She expected to hear what tradition demanded.
Instead, he surprised her.
"Ego," he said gently, "custom gives me the right to inherit you."
He paused.
"But I will not force you."
"You are free to marry whomever your heart chooses."
"If you wish to remain in Nnanna's compound, remain there."
"No one will drive you away."
"And if ever you lack food, clothing, or anything else..."
"My door will always remain open."
Ego lowered her head in gratitude.
For the first time in many months, someone had offered her kindness without expecting anything in return.
*
Although still young and admired by many, Ego never remarried.
Several men approached her family asking for her hand.
Some were wealthy.
Others were respected.
She rejected them all.
No man, she believed, could ever love her as Nnanna had.
No one could replace the laughter they had shared beneath the iroko tree.
No one could fill the emptiness he had left behind.
So she chose solitude.
She remained a widow.
Poor.
Childless.
Alone.
Life was especially cruel to widows in those days.
Without children to support her and without a skilled trade, survival became a daily struggle.
Yet fate had not finished writing Ego's story.
A new chapter was about to begin.
Whether it would bring salvation or ruin...
Only time would tell.
*
To survive, Ego entered a trade few women dared to pursue.
She began gathering medicinal herbs from the deep forest and selling them in the village market.
The work was dangerous. But it was honest.
Among the plants she searched for were nti ngbada, akidi mmụọ, utaba ani, and ahịhịa ebisango—herbs prized by traditional healers throughout the region.
Of them all, nti ngbada was the most valuable.
It was believed to treat measles, headaches, stomach ailments, dysentery, intestinal parasites, and venereal diseases. Traditional healers also regarded it as a powerful antidote against certain poisons.
The leaves were commonly boiled, thoroughly drained, and later added to soup as both medicine and food.
Because of its many uses, buyers willingly paid a good price for it.
The little money Ego earned from selling these herbs barely sustained her, but it was enough to keep hunger away.
Unfortunately, the most valuable plants were not found near the farms or around the village.
Like gold hidden beneath the earth, they grew only in the depths of the wilderness.
And there was one place where they flourished more than anywhere else.
Ajọ Ọhịa.
The Evil Forest.
*
To the people of Umudibia, Ajọ Ọhịa was no ordinary forest.
It was a place spoken of only in hushed voices.
A place where the boundary between the living and the dead seemed dangerously thin.
It was believed that evil lingered there.
The forest served as the final destination for those who committed grave abominations against Ala, the Earth Goddess.
Such offenses—known as Nso Ala—included crimes like killing one's own father, incest, stealing sacred property, bestiality, witchcraft, deliberate abortion, suicide by hanging, and the killing of animals considered sacred.
These acts were believed to pollute the land itself.
Unless properly cleansed, they could bring calamity upon the entire community.
The wrath of Ala might appear as famine.
Pestilence.
Poor harvests.
Barrenness.
Defeat in war.
Or sudden, mysterious deaths.
Some offenders were abandoned inside the Evil Forest, left to perish far from human settlement.
Those considered too wicked for honorable burial were taken there after death as well.
Instead of resting among their ancestors, their bodies were left for vultures and wild beasts.
Victims of certain highly contagious diseases often suffered the same fate, for many believed such illnesses marked divine punishment.
Even some members of the Osu caste who possessed no ancestral land were buried there.
Over time, terrifying stories surrounded Ajọ Ọhịa.
People believed the spirits of those denied proper burial wandered endlessly among the trees.
Unable to join their ancestors...
Unable to find peace...
They drifted through the forest, restless and angry, waiting for the foolish traveler who dared enter their domain.
Whether those tales were true or not, few villagers cared to find out.
For the forest held dangers far more tangible than spirits.
Bands of robbers often hid beneath its thick canopy.
Slave raiders used its hidden paths to ambush unsuspecting travelers.
Leopards, pythons, wild boars, and other dangerous animals made their homes there.
Now and then, one of those creatures wandered beyond the forest, attacking livestock—or worse, villagers fetching water before dawn or farmers walking alone to their fields.
Even the bravest hunters entered Ajọ Ọhịa with caution.
Yet on this particular morning...
With nothing more than a woven basket strapped across her back and a small harvesting knife in her hand...
Ego walked toward the Evil Forest.
Not because she was fearless.
But because hunger often demands a courage that comfort never will.