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Mathmagicians
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer “… Mathematicians have made …
The Cycle of Things
Author: Sandra Paul
The birth of things.
The beginning and the end,
All intertwined
In a cycle called LIFE.
She danced under the plumeria tree, swirling like a creature born arthropod—graceful and wild. The cold air kissed her bare skin, and the tiny bumps rising along her delicate frame hummed in response to the melody of birds chirping. She moved to the left, then forward, arms raised, her feet matching the rhythm of an imaginary ogene– It felt like a dream.
On an ordinary day, this might have been a nightmare—but today, the wind washed away every trace of fear. This place was far removed from the world of chaos, where poverty birthed hunger and shame.
In the real world, today would have been a day closer to Eke market. Men would be trekking the Anuofia path to their farms, their hoes and cutlasses glinting in the sun. Chants of harvest would fill the air as cassava and yams were unearthed, and sweats teasing the soil. Women would gather by the field edges, tending vegetables, swapping stories about their husbands’ kindness and strength.
On such days, the one known as Ndemli would stroll past the workers, heading toward the Idemili river. There, she would sing praises to the goddess, pleading for her only son, Nnameka, to be blessed with a child. Nnameka had been married for ten years. His wife had not conceived. After five childless years, he stopped visiting Ndemli, staying back in the city. The villagers whispered cruel names about his wife—ogbanje, they called her. But Ndemli knew, as her son did, that his wife was innocent.
So she cried to the goddess of the stream. If the goddess could not bless her with a grandchild, could she at least soften her son’s heart so he would return and let her see his face again?
The goddess answered—but with her own sense of humor.
Her son’s visit came, not in joy, but at the body’s grave. The tombstone read:
NDEMLI
Loving Mother and Daughter.
As her spirit danced on, light enveloped her. She was pulled into a realm beyond, where pain became song, and screams dissolved into the rush of blood and birth. A child emerged—eyes flickering open for the first time—and met a familiar gaze.
She knew those eyes. She had seen them when she once carried her stillborn son to the river and pleaded with Idemili:
“If you restore him to life, I will give you anything.”
The goddess restored him—at a price. She took the boy’s fertility.
Even then, those dark brown eyes had looked back at her with defiance. And now, years later, they stared down again—gentler, softened, filled with wonder.
His brows creased, his gaze shifting from the baby to his wife.
“We will call her Ndemli”.