Ekwenugo stepped forward with a calabash in her cupped hands, the other Umuada women mounting guard at the door. Their noses were tied with cloths to keep off the malodorous smell emanating from my husband’s decaying corpse in the room.
I braced myself for the next torture. This was the final day of my vindication rites.
She handed me the calabash of bathwater used for my husband’s corpse.
I closed my eyes, and gulped down the content, to prove my innocence.
”By the time day breaks,” she whispered to her colleagues, ”the gods must have struck her dead.”