Chapter 4: Old Traditions and Wet Regret
Musa voice make me pause.
True. The guy don die.
Ten years ago, day after WAEC finish.
Car accident.
I attend his burial.
For ten years, everything about am don vanish.
Nobody around me ever mention his name again.
Truth be say, my mind scatter just now.
Scatter reach the point where even if I force myself calm, I no fit know dream from reality.
Scatter reach say I no even know why I dey do wetin I dey do.
But now, my head come clear small.
I look the empty parlour, look my rain-soaked dress again.
My throat come tight.
"Rain catch me. If I no bath and take medicine, I fit sick, even die tomorrow."
Everywhere quiet.
So quiet, e be like say na my mind dey form Musa.
But as I hold breath, wan open study door check—
His muffled voice come out.
"Shut up. No dey talk that 'die' word..."
As he talk am, I just remember how for Igbo tradition, dem dey forbid make you dey call your own death. I fit almost hear my grandma voice, "Ifeoma, I ga egbu onwe gi? Tufiakwa!" If Musa ghost dey quote that kind word, e mean say even spirit never forget home training.