After thinking about what may have happened to Izondu, but they could not wrap their heads around any guilt against being a warrior, his people concluded that he must have been involved in war crimes. Isumeh people like other Igbo republics, do not shed blood after peace has been made between warring parties. They consider it as one of the major war crimes any man could commit. This was the angle they were seeing what befell Izondu from.
Udobuaku had insisted on going back to the Evil Forest the same night. Her presence in the jungle used to scare some wild beasts away, and her chickens and pets were safer. She promised her father she would come back in the next two days to have a discussion with him about the best place he could possibly stay and enjoy the remaining days of his life.
Was Ozo Izondu fated to die in his own house? How could life position itself in such a manner that reasons to live keep disappearing? The land he walks on, the air he breathes and the water he drinks have been fair enough for him except for his fellow humans. Whenever he relapsed into deep thinking about the mouth-snipping circumstances around his life, he received some nervous shocks that sent some chilling goose bumps all over his body. When this happened, days-old palm wine came to his rescue. By then, it had become a full-fledged alcohol. A suiting wine made for his troubled soul.
Within those minutes and hours of frequent relapsing, Izondu had made up his mind to go and spend the rest of his life at his father's maternal village, Okanimo, since his own mother hailed from the same Isumeh village that had isolated him. Yes, he had thought about it over and over again, and had come to the conclusion that the best thing left for him was to make a short journey to Okanimo village, from where he would be visiting home to offer kola nuts and libation to the Gods and his ancestors when his health permits.
There is nothing like living in the midst of people who have just but love, respect and honor for you. Izondu's father had earned these privileges for all his children from among his maternal people. This played out during his funeral rites. Okanimo people buried their grandson with a big cow as a mark of respect, and that was a gift from Izondu as his late father had instructed him before he passed on. Thus, the hands of the Okanimo people were wide open to welcome any offspring of Ugboaja alias Itepu, as they fondly called him.
What Izondu saw the next morning would be a constant story he would forever tell his ancestors when he met them. The first person he saw passing across his house entrance early in the morning, after washing his face and breaking kola nuts, was Asika. Yes, his cousin Asika. He looked more closely to be sure it was Asika. It turned out to be the same Asika, whose father was the youngest sibling of Izondu's mother in Okanimo. He was going to Afor market square.
Izondu had screamed and shouted with arms open while closing his eyes that were raining tears down his cheeks, to welcome his maternal cousin. It took like years to notice that nobody filled up his open arms. He quietly opened his eyes to see his own cousin, a flesh of his flesh and blood of his blood, his grandfather figure at Okanimo village, who grew up under his watch when his father, Amakiri, died. What he saw instead was a relative running away at an alarming speed, screaming his whole body into stone frost as he ran back home.
Izondu wouldn't have bothered much if not for those words, those unfamiliar tones he exploited unreservedly while talking to his blood. ''Evil man, must you call me? Must you? You want us to leave Afor market square again today for you? You want all of us to die because you are a grandchild of Okanimo? I am going back home, let only you be seen in the market square again today. Is it not better you take what has befallen you in peace, and die? This will help you to come back to life again with a clearer mind. Since you have chosen to be this evil, make sure you don't reincarnate into my very family. Don't even try to come to Okanimo. We mistook you for a good grandson, but the Gods have proven us wrong'' Asika screamed aloud as he went home.
Izondu had seen the true face of victimization. The isolation was absolute. He had not in his whole life truly faced a war more dehumanizing like a war that had made a warrior a bootie of his own war. And this morning, he was made to see the goodness of death. It seemed no bride could rival the beauty of the lonely path that suddenly unfolded in his thoughts. He had learned so many things about war and much more about the culture of his people but none taught him how to face his life as his archenemy.
Dying is easier for a man whose kinsmen have purchased a kola nut to call out his name from among his ancestors. And when a man is so despised by his people he falls in love with anything and any human that looks different. Such could be the devil still. Yes, there is no closer friend to a despised man like death. Who would bury Izondu beside his father's grave had become a serious concern since his return. But what he could not imagine was his corpse being taken to the Evil Forest when he died, when he was sure that he had survived Hansen's disease. It was indeed a troubled heart out there.
Izondu strolled back to his house with many thoughts. His night was short-lived and night breaking into a new day was one of the toughest exercises his patience had contended with. He would wake up to run to the warm embrace of fermented palm wine to have a clearer view of life, but his relief was only found in his body weaknesses and skips of concentration.
However, one thing remained constant in his mind throughout the night: how to keep his daughter away till a purpose is fulfilled. His son Chime has not yet visited home. Izondu would have gone to inform him that he had recovered, but he was afraid of the commotion and scares his presence would elicit in the minds of people when they spotted him around. And that was not going to be on the positive side of time. So, he chose to remain close, only to himself.
He rose early in the morning and entered into the Evil Forest. His daughter was not around to welcome him. He waited till she returned from a far away market square where she had gone to sell ukazi leaves. A place where she was not known. She greeted her father, exchanged pleasantries with him before she left his side to prepare a meal for both of them to eat. However, Izondu had noticed some incoherent remarks from her, but her meal was as tasty as it used to be. So, he controlled his emotions as he smartly paid deep attention to her activities. ''Nnee, you look and talk like you are worried. Don't let this rejection facing us drive you insane. Please'' Izondu said, beseechingly.
''I have heard you Ozo, Izondu, nna m- my father. I am worried about what will happen to you on the next Afor market day; the day you have decided to go home. It hurts traversing the narrow paths laid by the spirits, meant to guide us home, instead leads to punishment. This breaks me down in shreds. I still don't get it'' Udobuaku replied, sorrowfully as she battled tears that were running wild on her face.
Her words were all strange to Izondu. ''My daughter please, I am going back today. I just came to plead with you to return. We have become wild enough in the wild. Let's go home to teach people what we have learned'' Izondu said. ''What have we learned, if not, how one's own people can suddenly turn around and reject them for falling sick? What have they learned if not how to reject their own? How will you be able to teach people who choose to hate the patient rather than the disease?'' Udobuaku asked, angrily and regretfully. ''Let's go; maybe with time they will understand'', Izondu replied, beseechingly.