He Spat Out the Sacred Pill / Chapter 2: Suspicion and Secrets
He Spat Out the Sacred Pill

He Spat Out the Sacred Pill

Author: Joseph Reyes


Chapter 2: Suspicion and Secrets

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I notice as him behave somehow.

I rub my beard, mind no calm. For our kind place, every move dey get meaning. I dey reason—why pikin no jump for joy? Na so I dey sit for veranda, dey watch moon, dey think as palm wine dey cold for calabash.

Make you understand, this spiritual elixir na something even kings and big men no fit get for their whole life. Anybody wey receive am suppose dey thank me dey go.

E no easy to make that kind thing. Even people wey rule for palace dey beg for am, dem go offer cow, gold, kola nut, just to touch small power. Some even travel from far, waka barefoot, come mountain, but still no see. If Ooni of Ife hear say I dash this thing to small pikin, e fit send envoy come ask question. So, I dey expect big celebration.

So, after he waka comot, I send my spirit make e secretly follow am.

For Yoruba land, if person dey behave somehow, elders go say, "Spirit dey watch." Me, I send my own shadow—one kind eagle-eye spirit wey no dey tire, follow the boy waka from back. For night, spirit go waka light for air, no person fit see am, only animal go shiver. I warn the spirit make e no disturb the boy, just watch am like hen dey eye hawk.

Na so I see as soon as he reach him room, he force himself vomit, break the pill wey e vomit, come throw the pieces inside charcoal stove to destroy am well well.

Na real abomination! Even elders wey dey quick vex for small matter, no fit do that kind thing. The way he break am, press am for fire, make sure say no small piece remain—e show say the boy serious. I hear the hiss as pill burn, the charcoal smell mix with small spiritual smoke. My spirit nearly fall from sky, body cold. Na so I realize say this boy dey hide bigger thing.

My body shake small.

Abi this pikin sef don see wetin dey happen for this world…?

I think of my own days, the old gods, the war wey scatter land before Oke Idan get peace. Maybe this boy spirit old pass him body. Sometimes, ancestors dey reincarnate come find trouble again. E fit be say the child don see darkness, no trust easy gift. I touch ground, whisper small prayer, make Sango and Ogun show me true road.

I know say he dey different.

Even when other disciples dey laugh, this one dey always quiet. E dey look mountain like person wey dey remember home. E never mix with people; na only Ayo e dey follow talk. I even see am for one night, dey trace old carving for wall with finger, eye far. Spirit people say special child dey always get sign—this one own too much.

But after all these years, I don see too many hopes wey just scatter.

For this mountain, hope don come, hope don waka. I don train children wey get big promise, but some fall for half-road. Some, na greed finish dem. Some, na curse from old people. Sometimes, as master, e dey pain but you gats let disciple follow him own road.

You see, even though dem dey call am “sacred pill,” truth be say na just sugar-coated insect egg. We call am sacred, cover am with honey, but inside na small parasite, old as the world. Our own ancestors collect am from spirit people, bind am with juju, say na path to power. E dey work, but e get cost. For those wey fit survive, dem turn strong, but many no know say na spirit dey eat from inside.

Even as he vomit the pill, that foundation building wahala still dey there.

If you like throw am for river, the foundation building problem go still dey. E be like person wey run from home but shadow still follow am. For our power, you must cross that stage; no short cut. My mind dey heavy—how this boy go take dodge wahala?

If he swallow the “sacred pill,” e go turn to one of us. If he no swallow am, e no get reason to still dey the mountain.

I dey watch am—if e join, e join; if e no join, e must comot. No be by force, but mountain no be place for half-spirit person. Custom get rule, like masquerade no dey dance anyhow for market.

So I no rush decide him matter. I wan see how he go take break this gbege.

I cross leg, close eye, tell myself, "Make spirit guide this boy." For Yoruba land, we dey believe say every pikin get him own road. Sometimes, person wey break tradition fit open new door for everybody. I dey patient, I dey watch like old tortoise.

As the wall open, cold pass through my bone. Trouble don land, true-true.

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