The Masquerade

Ifeoma could not believe it. There she was serving food again. It was her mother’s cooking day and it was customary for her youngest child to help carry the dishes to her husband’s hut. But Ifeoma was not her mother’s youngest child –there were two other children. Nneka was only three so she couldn’t help but her little brother Emeka was 11. However, he was exempt from ‘women’s work.’


Ifeoma was tired of being treated like a second-class citizen. All her life her mother had prepared her to be a good wife. How many times has she been scolded with “Is this how you will act in your husband’s house?” Ifeoma was sick of it. But it was tradition. She just could not understand why tradition was against her. She was intelligent –everybody said so. Even her father’s oldest son Brother Eze had taught her how to read and write up to standard 2 Level. Regardless of that, she wanted to learn more, to become a nurse like that oyinbo man’s wife –Nurse Veronica. She would have liked to be a doctor but even in the oyinbo man’s world, women were second-class. How many times had she implored her father to send her to the oyinbo man’s school? It wouldn’t be too difficult to gain admission because Brother Eze taught there. But her father said he didn’t have enough money to send his daughters to school. He thought it was a waste of money for after all, what does reading and writing have to do with bearing children and serving your husband? He preferred to spend his money on his sons –son’s who would be able to work in the oyinbo man’s world and repay him.

Ifeoma thought it was too unfair. She would be of marriageable age in about a year and she was not looking forward to it. She looked at her mother’s life and wished for something better. All she saw was her mother fighting with her co-wives for Papa’s attention and love. When Mama was not bearing children, she was fetching water from the stream, washing dishes and sweeping the house. If it wasn’t the way Papa liked it, she got a beating. She regarded Mama’s existence with disdain and fantasized of a better life.

She washed the dishes after Papa finished. Mama was already getting ready to prepare Papa’s evening meal and she sent Ifeoma to the stream for some water. Ifeoma went to Mama Okwi’s hut to fetch her ‘sister-by-a-different-mother’ Chinwe to accompany her. The ‘Festival of lights’ was the following day. In addition to the feast, the whole town was coming out for the event and she knew the village would be bursting with life. She could barely contain her excitement.

“So what do you think is going to happen this year?” Chinwe said, between bites of the ripened mango she had just plucked.

“Probably nothing. Does anything ever happen?”

“What do you mean nothing happens? Can’t you remember that Ngozi’s mother and her co-wife ‘fought physical’ last year? It was exciting!”

“It was exciting and embarrassing! Remember how Papa Chidi landed Mama Ekene one slap?!” Chinwe was laughing, “That ended it all!”

Ifeoma was frowning, “But is that fair? Just because he’s her husband, he has the right to just slap her anyhow in public? It is not fair.” She rolled her eyes. “And to think that they were fighting over him.”

Chinwe peered into her eyes, “Listen, it is tradition. Your husband is your master and God is your husband’s master. If Papa Chidi hadn’t stopped them, they would have kept on screaming like market women and we wouldn’t have seen the masquerades.”

“Which masquerades? Did you see them? I certainly didn’t –after all, women are not allowed to gaze upon something so powerful,” she said sarcastically. “It is not fair, what is so special about men’s eyes anyway?”

Chinwe was getting worried. “God gave men the strength to handle the power of the masquerade. He didn’t give it to women. Men are strong and handle the world, women are strong enough to handle their children and care for the homes. They protect us and we help them. That is the law of nature.”

“That is just nonsense!”

Chinwe grabbed Ifeoma’s arm, “Don’t blaspheme like that! Look at the oyinbo man. Even though they are so powerful, the woman always answers to her husband. It is our fate.”

Ifeoma wasn’t buying it. “All I know is there is nothing special about men’s eyes, after all didn’t Elder Ejike go blind for no reason? How many women have been cursed with blindness? I can bet you that if I look at the masquerade, nothing would happen to my eyes.”

Chinwe was getting hysterical, “What?! What would happen to your eyes is the least of our worries. It’s an abomination that affects the whole town. Do you want us all to suffer because of your selfishness? Promise me you wouldn’t do that," she begged. Grudgingly Ifeoma did.

The next morning, Ifeoma and all her sisters had to wake up to help all the women prepare the dishes for the celebration. Yam was waiting to be pounded, vegetables begging to sliced, chicken and goat to be skinned in addition to all the other dishes. As Ifeoma swept the compound, her mind was consumed with thoughts of the masquerade.

Ifeoma, and her siblings went to the town square to participate in the festivities. As she watched the show, her mind drifted to the masquerade and what it might look like. She tried to convince herself to forget about it by reminding herself of the consequences. But her curiosity had been piqued. The horn warning of the Masquerades imminent appearance was sounded.
Automatically, all the women closed their eyes and turned their faces in the opposite direction. Another horn would indicate its passing. The nearer it was the louder his musicians played. As it got closer, the will to view it got stronger and stronger. Eventually, Ifeoma decided to find out how strong her eyes really were.


To her disappointment, the sight was less than magnificent. It was nothing like she imagined. She expected an intimidating figure and instead, he looked quite small –very familiar in fact. She peered into the mask and immediately recognized its wearer - Chuma the palm-wine tapper. Chuma the palm-wine tapper? She thought. How was that possible? How could he be the imposing figure that blinded all women? In addition to being rather scraggly he was also poor and a member of the ‘Chins.’ The ‘Chins’ had the lowest status in the society, and were virtually ostracized. Even if they became prosperous, no one in a higher status would marry them. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was more affirmed in her position that society was unjust.


This episode bothered her so much that she had to talk to someone about it. She decided to talk to her mother. Her mother came from a line of High Priestesses and even though she wasn’t one, she was well versed in dealings with the high spirits. She decided to broach the spirit one afternoon while her mother was cleaning. She pretended to aid in the chore and after some small talk she asked her mother the burning question.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, shouldn’t the masquerade, the person that all men should bow to, be a person of great power in this life?”

Her mother could tell that this was something of great importance to her daughter. She postponed her chore, pulled up two stools and beckoned her daughter to sit.

“Why do you ask this?”

“Mama, I am just interested. The Festival got me thinking. The masquerade blinds women. Doesn’t this mean the masquerade must be a powerful man?”

“Of course it does.” Ifeoma hid a smirk. “Just remember that this masquerade is only powerful because his body has been occupied by the gods. His body is merely a vessel.”

“So why can’t we look at it?”

“We cannot look at it because the god’s strength is too much of our delicate eyes. We cannot handle it.”

It took great pains for Ifeoma to stifle her laughter. “Can women be masquerades?”

“No. But as you know, my grandmother was a High Priestess. Even though a god has not been known to choose a woman as his masquerade, women have been possessed by spirits –just like my grandma.”

“What about a Chins?”

Her mother looked at her curiously. She pulled her daughter’s face to hers and looked into her eyes. “Where are these questions coming from?”

Ifeoma averted her gaze. “I am just curious.”

Her mother wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?” She nodded. “If there is something else, you had better tell me!”

“There is nothing Mama.”

“So can a Chins be a masquerade?”

Her mother sighed loudly. “Well, many believe that Chins are unclean so it would make no sense for a god to choose such an unclean vessel. Theoretically, I guess it would be possible but I sincerely doubt that any powerful god would make such a choice."

For weeks, Ifeoma was armed with the knowledge that her tradition was merely words with no fruition. Her sight was still in perfect condition and as her mother had stated, it made no sense that Chuma the palm-wine tapper would be oh-so-powerful. A Chins? She questioned everything. Was there a God? The fact remained that everything was going smoothly. Why were women second-class? She had decided that all the stories invented in her so-called tradition were created to make women appear weaker. She couldn’t understand it but its knowledge made her bolder in her dealings with people –especially men. She felt equal to everybody. But then slowly but surely, things started changing.


First of all, her little sister got sick and then died, then there was a drought and all the crops were suffering. No one could understand what was wrong –they prayed everyday. Then, out of nowhere, there was an epidemic. It got so bad that they had to consult the oracle. After numerous visits, the only message they received was, “Appease the gods.” In droves, the town went to the shrine with gifts, ranging from the finest cloth to goats and cows. People spent all their money on appeasing the gods. They didn’t even know why he was mad at them. They consulted the oracle again. This time the message was, “Someone has committed a serious abomination against the god of light and till that person is punished, there will be no peace in the town.”

At community meetings, the elders begged all citizens to confess their sins. Every kind of abomination was told, from Mama Junta’s affair with Joseph the Barber to Mama Uzo’s poisoning of Ogo –her husband’s heir. Yet, the pain did not subside. Ifeoma didn’t know what to think. On one hand, she was too ashamed to confess to her crime but on the other hand, she felt that hers didn’t constitute a crime because she would have been blind otherwise. The townspeople could only see one solution –a human sacrifice.


On one hot afternoon, the whole town watched as he was held in chains. It wasn’t hard finding a martyr because the god of lights had his own slaves he was the successor. So there he was, immobile, chained at the feet, staring at the altar, envisioning his impending death and trying to avoid the hundreds of eyes peering at him. Not more than 100 yards away, leaning against a mango tree, Ifeoma watched as Chuma the palm-wine tapper was being cleaned in preparation for the sacrifice.