"Is that me?" Ekwefi called back. That was the way people answered calls from
outside. They never answered yes for fear it might be an evil spirit calling.
"Will you give Ezinma some fire to bring to me?" Her own children and
Ikemefuna had gone to the stream.
Ekwefi put a few live coals into a piece of broken pot and Ezinma carried it
across the clean swept compound to Nwoye's mother.
"Thank you, Nma," she said. She was peeling new yams, and in a basket beside
her were green vegetables and beans.
"Let me make the fire for you," Ezinma offered.
"Thank you, Ezigbo," she said. She often called her Ezigbo, which means "the
good one."
Ezinma went outside and brought some sticks from a huge bundle of firewood.
She broke them into little pieces across the sole of her foot and began to build a fire,
blowing it with her breath.
"You will blow your eyes out," said Nwoye's mother, looking up from the yams
she was peeling. "Use the fan." She stood up and pulled out the fan which was fastened
into one of the rafters. As soon as she got up, the troublesome nanny goat, which had
been dutifully eating yam peelings, dug her teeth into the real thing, scooped out two
mouthfuls and fled from the hut to chew the cud in the goats' shed. Nwoye's mother
swore at her and settled down again to her peeling. Ezinma's fire was now sending up
thick clouds of smoke. She went on fanning it until it burst into flames. Nwoye's mother
thanked her and she went back to her mother's hut.
Just then the distant beating of drums began to reach them. It came from the
direction of the ilo, the village playground. Every village had its own ilo which was as
old as the village itself and where all the great ceremonies and dances took place. The
drums beat the unmistakable wrestling dance - quick, light and gay, and it came floating
on the wind.