Seeds of Ruin

The battlefield is not the only place where wars are won.

There are darker deals in darker rooms when the celebrating's done.

Zara... Ojukwu's wife... and a woman I once knew too well.

A barn beyond the camp, rain drowning out the sound,

Zara in the shadow where the horses stamped the ground.

"We can talk in the dark," she said. The voice came before the frame.

She stepped out — braids and fire — Ojukwu's wife. The ember I should never name.

"It feels like a lifetime," she murmured in the glow,

"Just yesterday," I said. "I saw you at the parade."

"That isn't what I meant." Her smile like a slow drawn blade.

She knew exactly what she asked. She knew exactly what I know.

"I need your voice on the Council," I told her outright,

"Push the Ezes to the front. I need them in the fight."

Her eye narrowed. "Since when does your wife decide what you do?"

"The plan bears Ijele's name. Suicide by night."

I dismissed. "Persuade the others. That is why I called on you.

Get them to agree."

She smiled. "I'll do it." But nothing from Zara comes for free.

Oh, the seeds of ruin. Oh, the games we play with fire.

One rejection, one refusal, turns a lover to a liar.

When a woman's scorned, the strongest walls get torn —

Wahala! Look the storm before e born.

She let the coat fall from her shoulders, bared herself to me.

"You denied me long enough — tonight we will be."

Every nerve caught fire. Every wall I built came down.

Koca ci!

But Ijele's face flashed through my mind and brought me to the ground.

If I had her, no one would know - No - I would know.

"I can't. I'm married. And so are you." I turned to go.

She whispered, "Ijele go understand what you have to do."

My fists clenched tight. "How dare you speak her name —

there is no 'us.' You and Ojukwu. Me and Ijele. End of game."

Oh, the seeds of ruin. Oh, the games we play with fire.

One rejection, one refusal, turns a lover to a liar.

When a woman's scorned, the strongest walls get torn —

Wahala! Look the storm before e born.

Years before the war. Ijele already my wife.

Zara already Ojukwu's. Two marriages. And one lethal knife.

We met in barns and back-rooms where the rain forgives a sin,

Whispering of a life I had no right to begin.

I swore I'd leave Ijele, that together we'd run free,

Fleeing to Sine like my brother, when the youngest died on me.

I painted her a sanctuary that Ojukwu could never reach,

I gave her every empty promise. I gave her every speech.

Then I went silent. Left her without a word.

I went home to Ijele and buried what had occurred.

Zara carried that betrayal. She carried it for years.

Tonight she stands inside this barn, her dreams sharpened into spears.

Oh, the seeds of ruin. Oh, the games we play with fire.

One rejection, one refusal, turns a lover to a liar.

When a woman's scorned, the strongest walls get torn —

Wahala! Look the storm before e born.

I should have told her plainly: "Zara, I no go leave Ijele."

But I stayed silent. I went home. And the promise dey still play.

Seeds of ruin. Wahala.