When they had harvested a sizable heap they carried it down in two trips to the
stream, where every woman had a shallow well for fermenting her cassava.
"It should be ready in four days or even three," said Obiageli. "They are young
tubers."
"They are not all that young," said Ekwefi. "I planted the farm nearly two years
ago. It is a poor soil and that is why the tubers are so small."
Okonkwo never did things by halves. When his wife Ekwefi protested that two
goats were sufficient for the feast he told her that it was not her affair.
"I am calling a feast because I have the wherewithal. I cannot live on the bank of
a river and wash my hands with spittle. My mother's people have been good to me and 1
must show my gratitude."
And so three goats were slaughtered and a number of fowls. It was like a
wedding feast. There was foo-foo and yam pottage, egusi soup and bitter-leaf soup and
pots and pots of palm-wine.
All the umunna were invited to the feast, all the descendants of Okolo, who had
lived about two hundred years before. The oldest member of this extensive family was
Okonkwo's uncle, Uchendu. The kola nut was given him to break, and he prayed to the
ancestors. He asked them for health and children. "We do not ask for wealth because he
that has health and children will also have wealth. We do not pray to have more money
but to have more kinsmen. We are better than animals because we have kinsmen. An
animal rubs its itching flank against a tree, a man asks his kinsman to scratch him." He
prayed especially for Okonkwo and his family. He then broke the kola nut and threw
one of the lobes on the ground for the ancestors.
As the broken kola nuts were passed round, Okonkwo's wives and children and
those who came to help them with the cooking began to bring out the food. His sons
brought out the pots of palm-wine. There was so much food and drink that many
kinsmen whistled in surprise. When all was laid out, Okonkwo rose to speak.