They were surprised to wake up one morning to see hundreds of thousands of Indians dressed in simple white cloths tied across the right shoulders like Ozo initiates would, and sat down all day long at the town square. He was meant to understand that they were carrying out a non-violent protest under their leader called Ghandi. It did not take long before political discussions became the most important topic among the black soldiers. Some even added the name ‘Ghandi’ to theirs to form some sort of solidarity with the Indians and their fight against the British. But to Nnamdi, it was confusing. They had come all the way from Africa to India to help the British fight the Japanese who were in league with the Germans and Hitler to take over the world, starting with India, and the Indians were not fighting, but were busy agitating for independence. It did not make sense at all. More worrisome was the general attitude of the average Indian man and woman who did everything possible to see or touch their buttocks. Their brazen attitude had amazed him until they were informed that the Indians believed they had tails like monkeys. While other black soldiers laughed, Nnamdi did not find it funny; and he took his revenge. A smile crept on his face as he remembered the horror on people’s faces when, in a flash, he had dropped his military pants to his knee and bent down double, showing his exposed backside to the horde flocking about them on one of their free days in the city. It had merited him a near-court martial, he ended up spending three solitary nights in detention, but for the rest of their stay in Calcutta, no Indian disturbed them again. He also got a new Hindu name, Kale Gadha – Black Ass.
…“Soldiers, get up; get up, or are you going to sleep through the rest of the war?” The voice repeated over and over in his dream until he got a vicious kick on the sheen and woke up with a jerk, instinctively grabbing for his rifle. He looked at a smiling face and realized he must have dozed off. He muttered under his breath and took the extended can ration from the porter and started eating. They had gone without food for days and he was famished. It was already mid day and he remembered that last charge against the Japanese was late evening the previous day. Apart from one face he recognized from his platoon, the other faces were not familiar to him. Since the jungle war, soldiers ending up far from their platoon had become accepted. He had a curious feeling that a pair of eyes was boring at him, and he raised his face from his canned meal to be confronted by a face that looked like what always confronted him anytime he looked at the mirror in his mother’s hut when he was a child. It was an eerie feeling, especially when the other face also grinned at him.
“You must be the man my friend mentioned that he mistook for me,” he said gingerly, trying to break out of the confusion that engulfed him. The other fellow shook his shoulders in acknowledgement and smiled.
“You sure look like what I see in my dressing mirror each day. I am Christian E-king from Haiti,” he said, extending his hands for a shake.
“I am Nnamdi Kamalu from Nigeria. I think we really look alike,” he replied, relieved and laughing as Christian joined him. He noticed the dimples on Christian’s cheek which was like his and had been a source of embarrassment to him while growing up. His age mates never lost any opportunity to torment him, often calling him a girl anytime they wanted to rile him.
“Is Hitler also trying to kill Haitians?” He asked.
“Pure propaganda, do not mind the British. However, it was my only means of escaping old London; so I took the chance.”
“I hope your wound is not serious, it looks like fresh blood.”
“It was from my platoon non com. He took a bullet on the guts and his blood splashed all over me when I tried to stop it with my kerchief,” he replied, opening up his cammo buttons to remove caked blood. His necklace dangled out from the effort and Nnamdi stood transfixed for a moment.
“What’s wrong? Are you ok, Kam-lu?” asked E-King with concern written all over his face.
“What is that pendant on your necklace?”
“Oh this?” he took hold of the dangling medallion and eyed it. “It’s my good luck charm and a family heirloom. I got my name from it – E-King.”
“That is Ikenga, Amadioha
Obowu, what am I seeing?” exclaimed Nnamdi as he reached out for it for a closer look. “This is Ikenga with its raised machete and miniature human head. Where did you get this from?”
“It is from my mother, of course. It’s a heirloom and has been with us for generations. My mother said so, and you can guess what I think; all my luck and near-escape I attribute to it.”
“Didn’t you call yourself a Christian just now?” sneered another soldier listening in the trench. “And you have a juju round your neck?”
“How does that concern you, soldier?” E-King snapped back.
“Don’t mind him, he does not want to mind his business. Let’s get out of here,” said Nnamdi.
“Is it because of this fool from Africa? No way!”
“Not because of him, just follow me.” Nnamdi hopped out of the trench, his hunger forgotten momentarily. E-King followed. They sat on a trunk probably felled by an exploding bomb. E-King resumed his eating while Nnamdi fidgeted with his trouser belt, extracting a tiny string with a wooden carved Ikenga tied at the middle, and placed it on E-King’s lap. One glance, he jumped up shocked to the bone marrows at the near resemblance of the two carved objects. He dropped his food can and gingerly retrieved his necklace from his neck and held the two effigies at arm’s length. The resemblance was shocking; “now where the hell did you get that from? “
“My father is the guardian of Ikenga at Obowu in the heart of Igboland in Nigeria. He took over the job from his father who did the same from his own father, and it has been like that as far back as time. He gave me this to ward off evil and to protect myself.”
“As I said, my mother told me that she was given this by her mother who also got it from her own mother, and that it came from our ancestor so many decades ago, who came from a royal lineage in the Eboh country of Africa. What tribe did you say you were?
“Igbo,” replied Nnamdi.
“Are you kidding me?
Can this be true? Can this be happening? Are we by heaven related? Impossible!” The questions were unsettling. The blast of the bugle intervened and they moved back to the new muster point. E-king rejoined his platoon and their brigade moved in pursuit of the retreating Japanese while Major Templefoot, commander of Nnamdi’s brigade, had a new instruction to move south.
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