Chapter 2: Hungry Ghost, Hungry Girl

I no believe say even as spirit wey dey waka up and down, person fit still see me.

Na wah o! After all these years, even night watch dogs no dey bark for me again. Yet this girl, she see me clear as market morning.

The shocker be say na the real daughter of the chief’s house wey see me.

For spirit world, nobody dey glance my side. But this pikin, her eyes strong pass old women wey dey see vision. If dem born her for shrine, I for no doubt.

Half a year ago, when dem bring her back to the chief’s house, their keke pass the land wey dem bury me.

As the keke tyre jam pothole near my grave, my soul feel am, like my whole body dey rattle for coffin. Even ancestors for this place go remember that sound.

The keke stop under the crooked-neck mango tree wey grow from my grave. One old maid, wey nor fit hold herself, rush enter bush, squat, begin piss loud.

The old woman wahala and her way of doing things na normal gist for these compound people—no shame, just pure agbalumo style.

Somebody fall from the keke. Na the daughter, Morayo, wey dem just carry come back to chief family.

She land with soft thud, wrapper shift, sand touch her skin. Even the earth seem to welcome her, or maybe warn her.

Her small face look me straight. Fear catch her, she pale like yam water.

Ehn, her fear get shape, like she see ogbanje or abiku wey waka wrong road.

My death no sweet at all.

The pain and disgrace still dey my marrow. Sometimes, I fit still hear my own scream echo inside ground.

That wicked Kudirat dig comot my eyes, scatter the pretty face wey once make Seyi craze.

Na that same beauty bring wahala for me. If I get chance to come back, I go tell all girls—fine no dey pay sometimes. Na who fine, dey attract wahala pass.

Even my hands, wey sabi blade work, dem cut am comot, throw inside the fish pond for the prince mansion.

Those hands, strong like blacksmith own, now dey inside water dey feed catfish. E funny, abi?

My skeleton, dem nail am here for this mass grave, make I just dey rot dey wait.

They say mass grave, but for this place, na only the forgotten dey rest.

Every day, I dey hang upside down from the mango tree, dey swing like small pikin for swing.

Sometimes, breeze go blow, I go remember those days I dey dance for festival. Now na only my bones dey dance.

If ghost wind blow, my blood-stained head go drop down, land right for Morayo face.

For night, when moon full, na so my head dey tap her forehead, like spirit dey greet pikin.

Her black eyes go wide, fear go dey her body.

Na that kind fear wey fit make person forget their own name.

My invisible blood go drip for her cheek.

She go shiver, but never run. That one dey surprise me pass.

I go show my teeth, blow cold breeze for her face.

Sometimes, I fit hiss, just to see if she fit jump. But she go stand, shake, then still remain.

"Abeg, make I smell your food, I no go do you anything."

Hungry ghost nor dey get pride. Smell of food na the only way I fit remember say I once be human for this world.