Chapter 1: Rules of the Market Seer

Setting up a stall for seeing vision and reading people’s fate na how I dey take survive.

If you waka come our market square for Akokwa, you go hear market women dey shout price, smell of fried akara and dust full everywhere. My small table dey covered with faded Ankara cloth, cowries arranged for pattern, one old calabash wey I dey use see vision. Some days, rain go nearly soak my wrapper finish, but my hustle no dey slack. Dem say as you dey do your work, spirit dey watch. Sometimes, small children go waka pass dey laugh, but sometimes I go hail dem back—"Una no go fear spirit?"—dem go run, still dey laugh. Everybody get e own for this life.

But every hustle get e own rules. As dem dey come, na so wahala dey differ—na eye go judge price.

E get as some people go show, you go just know say their matter get weight. Sometimes na the way dem take stand, or the kin cloth wey dem wear, or even the type of sweat for their forehead. Na all these small things dey tell you as a seer make you adjust your price. Street smartness no be by age.

If na chief or politician, charge am well—dem sabi dash extra. If na hustler, collect small. But abeg, no ever do am for free.

My grandpapa dey always warn me: if you too dey do free work, na your own spirit go begin suffer. Even the gods wey answer prayer dey chop sacrifice.

But one kind person dey wey I no fit ever collect money from—person wey death don near. As elders dey talk, "No use dead man bread take chop soup." If you see the sign—maybe e dey for person face, or na their shadow wey short—no chop their money. For we side, the elders talk say, if you try am, na you and your people go carry the wahala. Person wey still dey among the living no suppose chop the money of person wey don dey close to the other side—na so the elders talk am. If you like, say you wise, if you try am, na you go chop problem. My grandpapa yarn me this one reach ear full, so I tie am for heart.