Ikemefuna to fetch his gun, the wife who had just been beaten murmured something
about guns that never shot. Unfortunately for her Okonkwo heard it and ran madly into
his room for the loaded gun, ran out again and aimed at her as she clambered over the
dwarf wall of the barn. He pressed the trigger and there was a loud report accompanied
by the wail of his wives and children. He threw down the gun and jumped into the barn
and there lay the woman, very much shaken and frightened but quite unhurt. He heaved
a heavy sigh and went away with the gun.
In spite of this incident the New Yam Festival was celebrated with great joy in
Okonkwo's household. Early that morning as he offered a sacrifice of new yam and
palm oil to his ancestors he asked them to protect him, his children and their mothers in
the new year.
As the day wore on his in-laws arrived from three surrounding villages, and each
party brought with them a huge pot of palm-wine. And there was eating and drinking till
night, when Okonkwo's in-laws began to leave for their homes The second day of the
new year was the day of the great wrestling match between Okonkwo's village and their
neighbours. It was difficult to say which the people enjoyed more, the feasting and
fellowship of the first day or the wrestling Contest of the second. But there was one
woman who had no doubt whatever in her mind. She was Okonkwo's second wife
Ekwefi, whom he nearly shot. There was no festival in all the seasons of the year which
gave her as much pleasure as the wrestling match. Many years ago when she was the
village beauty Okonkwo had won her heart by throwing the Cat in the greatest contest
within living memory. She did not marry him then because he was too poor to pay her
bride-price. But a few years later she ran away from her husband and came to live with
Okonkwo. All this happened many years ago. Now Ekwefi was a woman of forty-five
who had suffered a great deal in her time. But her love of wrestling contests was still as
strong as it was thirty years ago.
It was not yet noon on the second day of the New Yam Festival. Ekwefi and her
only daughter, Ezinma, sat near the fireplace waiting for the water in the pot to boil. The
fowl Ekwefi had just killed was in the wooden mortar. The water began to boil, and in
one deft movement she lifted the pot from the fire and poured the boiling water over the