HiveComb

The sky over the Port Harcourt port was thick with unshed tears. The smell of the salty sea, rust, and anticipation filled the air. Gathered around the dock were different humans with hopeful eyes. Old men and women were waiting for their sons shipped off to the war. Wives were waiting for their husbands, and children were waiting for their fathers.

I stood away from the crowd, just by the wooden rails that demarcated the port from the dock. And looked into the sea just like everyone else.

I still couldn't believe it. It was true.

Just last night, the young officer from the village command rode around on the back of a white horse, waving a white handkerchief, yelling at the top of his voice.

"The war is over," they said. "The men are coming home".

I had dropped my bowl of garri (cassava flakes) and run barefoot across the compound like a child served her favorite meal. I didn’t care. Obinna was coming home. I couldn't wait to be in the arms of my husband again. It was a feeling I had dreamt of for years after our first night together as a couple. The only night I had gotten to be with him as a married woman before he was shipped away to the west to fight the white man's war.

Obinna was not just any man. He was the only man who lightened up my soul in the darkest times. A man whose laughter fills my heart with warmth that no other man has ever done. The only man who made silence in the dark felt safe. The only man whose face I could draw with my eyes closed.

Now, with the passing days and distance, it feels like I am losing memory of what his face looked like. The only memory that stuck with my mind was the way he cupped my face with his hands at the port. Looked me in the eye and said

“No matter how far the war takes me, I will find my way back to you.” I had memorised his words the way a child memorises her favourite lullaby. And replayed it every day in my head like my favorite song.

That morning, I had worn my favorite dress. The one he had bought me a few days before our marriage. It was a bright yellow dress with blue flowery designs. Obinna said it matched my skin so well. Then I smeared my legs with my best oils, coloured my lips with uhie (local lipstick), and my eyes with tiro (eye liner), pressed some fragrant powder on my face. Then I washed myself with the last bit of my favorite perfume that smelled of rose and lavender. A scent Obinna had personally selected for me while we went shopping a few days before our marriage. He had bought himself one too.

“Now, I'll have your soft scent with me even on the battlefield." He had said. "Make sure to wear it when you hear of my return,”

Soon, we saw the ship sailing in from afar. Our eyes lit up with hope and happiness. Silent murmurs and jubilation filled the dock. The village army band started playing their celebratory fanfare.

The ship pulled into the dock with a groan of an old woman. The doors opened and gradually the soldiers began filing out. Each with horror stories and scars of the war etched on their faces and bodies.

I pushed through the crowd, my eyes scanning every face, smiling and yelling at the top of my voice. “Obinna!”

My heart was beating in anticipation. I saw mothers reuniting with their sons. Wives reuniting with their husbands. Children reuniting with their fathers. But I was yet to reunite with my Obinna.

Gradually, my smile began to wane. But I didn't give up, I kept scanning, searching for that smile that's brighter than the sun. But I couldn't find it.

Instead, I saw Amaka and her husband hugging like the world had paused just for them. I saw Mama Uche and her son. She was on her knees and giving thanks to God with tears in her eyes. Even though her son has lost both feet.

I looked over to the ship, hopeful and praying. Maybe he was still on the ship. Maybe he would be amongst the last to come out. I watched as the last man stepped off the ship. I watched as the crowd began to thin. I watched as families walked away with their loved ones, laughter on their faces. I watched as joy began to fade from the dock, leaving the few remaining with pains in their hearts.

My heart began to pound. My legs wobbled.

I saw a dock officer and ran towards him with fear in my heart.

“Excuse me, sir,"  I called out to him with a trembling voice. “My husband. He was supposed to be on this ship.”

"What's his name Ma'am?" He asked.

"Obinna, Obinna Nwankwo."

I watched as he quickly pulled up his list and checked with the tip of his pen. Then his eyes turned into pity as he shook his head.

"What?!" I asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Obinna Nwankwo... he didn’t make it.”

I blinked. My head felt light and spun. The world went silent. All I could hear was the loud beating of my heart.

“No. Tell me you're joking.”

“I wish I were Ma'am. There was an ambush on their way back to the coast. He… he died protecting a group of civilians. They said he was brave.”

I looked at the man as if he was speaking in the language of the God's. My legs felt weak all of a sudden and couldn't carry my weight again. I sank to the ground before I could find balance. And in what felt like solidarity, the sky released its tears it had been holding back just like my eyes.

A hand quickly rushed me before I could hit hard on the ground. I turned to see Ada. She had come back for me.

"They said he was brave." Was all I could say to her.

But she didn't reply. She only held me in her arms and sat there on the ground with me.

I looked at the sea, at the deserted dock, and at the ship as it sailed away. It was supposed to bring me my own happiness, but I watched as it sailed away with the little laughter left in me. Leaving me with no joy in my heart and no song in my mouth.

Will I ever live again? I know not. But today, allow me to mourn that part of me that died in the war.

[Image Source](<a href="https://pixabay.com/photos/destroyer-marine-warship-ship-navy-800662/ "https://pixabay.com/photos/destroyer-marine-warship-ship-navy-800662/"">https://pixabay.com/photos/destroyer-marine-warship-ship-navy-800662/).

***PS***: After seeing the movie The last ship years back as a teenager, I've always wanted to do a story with it. To me, that name alone is filled with many creative and imaginative stories. I hope you like this one.

And uh, expect more stories with the same name. If only it's permitted on @theinkwell. Thank you.