The Place Beyond Her Dreams by Oby Aligwekwe (100 best novels of all time .txt) 📕

a questioning glance. “Ifedi said you collapsed on your bed, and she couldn’t wake you.”

I looked at Ifedi, and she nodded slowly.

“I was too tired,” I protested. “I must have fallen into a deep sleep.”

“If that is all, no problem,” my grandmother said. “I was just about to send for the doctor. There’s no need for that now. Ifedi, find this girl something to eat and make sure she drinks plenty of water. She must be dehydrated.”

I sighed as I watched her walk out of the room with the two women, their large buttocks swaying from left to right as they exited.

I was happy my grandmother had bought my excuse—I didn’t want to share my experience in Luenah with anybody. Not yet, at least. It was too fresh. Too sweet. And no one would have believed me, anyway. They probably would’ve labeled me crazy and taken me to the hospital for an evaluation.

“You were just there, like this,” Ifedi said, placing her hands over her head to mimic a trance-like state.

“Stop,” I pleaded. Her eyes had remained closed for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t bear to watch her theatrics. “How long was it? How long was I gone?”

“It happened suddenly, and it lasted five whole minutes. I called your grandmother after Okem and I tried to wake you, and you wouldn’t budge.”

Five minutes seemed like such a short time considering it felt like I’d been in Luenah for a whole day. Although my grandmother had seen me go in and out of reverie and understood my intuitive nature, five minutes was much longer than anything she’d ever witnessed. She had seemed like the calmest person in the room, but I knew the incident had frightened her, considering she also had to grapple with my grandfather’s passing. If I hadn’t returned when I did, she might have lost control.

“You scared all of us,” Ifedi said, disrupting my thoughts.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

“It’s not your fault. You heard what your grandmother said. Come with me and get some food.”

We passed a multitude of people to get to the kitchen where Ifedi gave me a small mango to eat while she prepared a meal for me. I reminisced about my experience and was tempted to tell her about it but changed my mind each time the idea cropped into my head. My adventure in Luenah was the most spectacular thing that had ever happened to me up until that moment. I was determined to keep it all to myself until it felt safe to reveal to anyone—until the risk of being dragged to the insane asylum no longer existed.

* * *

Papa’s burial was in June. The weather that day had been pleasant. It had rained a little in the morning, but by noon the skies had cleared. The occasion was like nothing I’d ever seen. Hordes of people zoomed into my grandfather’s palatial compound and filled all the rooms and balconies. Others settled down in plastic chairs under the canopies that covered the grounds. Some sought shade under the mango trees, and the market square also became an extension of the house as the massive compound could not possibly accommodate all the people in attendance.

Death was nothing new to me as living with my grandparents gave me the experience of witnessing village elders passing away. My grandfather was always in attendance to support families who had lost loved ones, and I sometimes accompanied him. Unlike the others, his death was more than a passing experience. This was no ordinary man. This was my Papa—a six-foot-six gentle giant, the head of our family. Since my grandfather was a chief, layers of rites were performed in keeping with the tradition of Ntebe. All the other chiefs in the town, twenty in total, lined up in their full chiefly regalia to pay homage to their fallen comrade. For a full twenty minutes, they danced and made ritualistic sounds around the casket that bore the body of my grandfather. I remember being in complete awe of their attires and flamboyant displays.

They placed the casket in the ground at midday. I stood next to my grandmother and my parents at the graveside. My parents had been in Ntebe since the day before. For the first time that day, I saw a physical reaction from my grandmother. Wailing from deep within her lungs, she threatened to throw herself into the six-foot grave if my grandfather didn’t return to her. As the gravediggers worked desperately to cover the hole with a mound of red dirt, a group of men tried to prevent her from jumping in.

“Stop her!” I heard several people screaming.

Since I had always known her to be dramatic, I doubted she was going to carry out her threat. And I was right. As gunshots to commemorate the occasion tore through the air, my grandmother abandoned her display and ran for cover.

After the ceremony outside was concluded, my grandmother, Okem, and I headed upstairs to the parlor. The merriment continued outside and gradually progressed inside. People came and never left, crowding the entire compound. Drinks, food, and more food created the atmosphere of a festival. Everyone settled down to eat their plates of jollof rice and goat meat and consume bottles of beer and soft drinks. The VIPs were led inside to partake of a feast, one worthy of ‘big men’. They were provided a spread with a selection of up to twelve different dishes that included isi-ewu, plantain porridge, rice with stew, ukwa, a variety of meat and fish, pounded yam, and various types of soup. They also had an assortment of drinks at their disposal and were served by uniformed waiters assigned to attend especially to them.

As I walked around observing the festivities, I noticed that everyone seemed to have the same goal: fun. I bent my head in embarrassment as I walked past groups of people fighting for how to share some money or farm animal—chicken, goat, or cow. I remember thinking