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Christiana Eze
Christiana Eze

Christiana Eze @Bestlove $0.58   

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Title: “When the Talking Drums Fell Silent” Chapter One: The Return Adaeze had not been home in over a decade. London had given her a new name, a new accent, and a new way of life. But when the news came that her grandmother—Mama Nneka, the last priestess of their ancestral shrine—had passed away, Adaeze felt a tug from the past that she could not ignore. She landed in Enugu, her soul heavy, the air thick with the scent of red earth and roasted corn. Her uncle Chibuzo picked her up in a rusty Peugeot 504, grumbling about how she had become a “white woman in black skin.” Her village, Umuokoro, hadn’t changed much. The huts still leaned slightly from years of harmattan winds, children still ran barefoot chasing lizards, and elders still gathered under the udara tree to sip palm wine and discuss the foolishness of politicians. But the shrine… it was empty now. Silent. Chapter Two: The Shrine Keeper’s Daughter Mama Nneka had raised Adaeze after her parents died in a car accident when she was eight. She remembered sitting beside the sacred ọfọ stick, watching her grandmother pour libations and speak in chants older than memory. “You are the next,” Mama Nneka would always say, “The land will choose you.” But Adaeze never believed in the spirits. She believed in degrees, fashion design, and Wi-Fi. Now, the village was in confusion. Without a priestess, no one could speak to the gods. The yam harvest had failed. Two children had fallen ill from a strange sickness. And the elders whispered that Ala, the earth goddess, was angry. Chapter Three: The Drums Speak The talking drums had not been played in years. They were sacred, used only when the gods needed to speak. That night, during the village council meeting, the drums began to echo from the shrine. Boom. Boom. Boom. Everyone ran. They found Adaeze kneeling before the shrine, eyes closed, her hands trembling. She didn’t remember walking there. She didn’t remember anything—only that she felt something enter her, something ancient. The eldest chief, Oforji, said, “The land has chosen.” But Adaeze refused. “I’m not a priestess,” she cried. “I have a life. A career. I came to bury my grandmother, not replace her!” Chapter Four: The Broken Calabash In her dreams, Adaeze saw her grandmother walking through fire, her voice warning, “You cannot run from your blood.” When the sickness in the village worsened and the local doctor fled, people began to look to Adaeze not with suspicion—but with desperation. A child died. The next morning, the sacred calabash on the shrine cracked in two. “The gods are closing the door,” the old women wailed. Adaeze stood at a crossroads: return to London and forget her people, or stay and become what her grandmother always knew she was meant to be. Chapter Five: Fire and Rain On the day Adaeze accepted her role, the clouds broke open. She entered the shrine in white cloth, her hair wrapped, her face bare. The talking drums played on their own. The winds howled. Thunder roared. She performed the ritual cleansing with words that came not from memory—but from spirit. The sickness faded. The yam sprouted. The people danced. And Adaeze, once a stranger, became Adaeze the Restorer. Book Cover Idea: Background: A clay-colored village landscape at dusk, a shrine glowing faintly under a large udala tree. Centerpiece: A young Black woman in white traditional attire, one hand touching a glowing talking drum, her eyes closed in trance. #documentry #story
Christiana Eze
Christiana Eze

Christiana Eze @Bestlove $0.58   

8
Posts
1
Reactions
1
Followers
2
Following

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