Chapter 2: Homecoming Without Mourning

As we dey go back to Umuola, I dey look the secret pouches—the 'aju'—wey the Chief Adviser leave for me, my mind no gree rest.

The horse wey I ride dey waka slow, like say e sabi the wahala wey dey my mind. My hand dey tremble small as I hold the 'aju'. For Yoruba land, people believe say secret pouch fit hold man destiny. I press the pouch for my chest, dey pray make ancestors guard me. For my heart, I dey beg Ifa, Sango, or even any spirit for road—make dem just guide me. Mouth dry, spit no gree come out. My eyes dey sharp, dey watch every shadow for bush, in case enemy dey hide.

One month ago, na so I waka enter the world of Three Kingdoms by mistake, come land inside Ifedike body—one war chief wey I dey always like. E shock me well that time. I remember say I dey my papa old house for Surulere dey read big book about Three Kingdoms, next thing I see na darkness, before I open eye for bush, inside battle, arrow just dey fly pass my head. Na Ifedike body I land, and I fit feel the muscle, the wound for him leg, even the sweat wey dey my own skin. I think say na dream, but when I slap myself, the pain real.

At first, I dey hope say I go make name for myself for the Northern Campaign, but I quick realise say I land for the wrong time—the Chief Adviser already dey very sick, e no get hope again.

My plan na to shine, to chop war glory, carry name go home. But from the first council meeting, I see say wahala dey. Chief Adviser dey cough blood, voice no get power again. Even to stand up, dem dey help am. I fear say my own don finish before e start.

Worse still, this world no be the same Three Kingdoms wey I know before. Everywhere just dey somehow, e get as e be. The way this world twist, e pass Nollywood plot—no be the book I read for Surulere at all. The air wey dey surround the camps, e heavy, e no pure. Even when sun dey shine, shadow dey everywhere. The spirit for place dey vex. When rain fall, the ground dey swallow leg as if e dey drag person go under. My own memory of this world and wetin I see no dey match at all. The food bitter, people face dey long, and the soldiers own dey like say dem carry graveyard waka for pocket.

The warriors wey come my camp, all of dem mute, dem don cut their tongue. No be say dem get accident—na deliberate dem do am. The young men, after battle, dem gather, use broken calabash cut tongue, blood full everywhere. For my place, if person wan seal oath, na kola nut or hot gin dem dey use—not this kain madness. I hear say na oath, to no leak secret. But wetin fit make men fear so till dem prefer silence than talk? I feel my own tongue, dey thank God say e still dey.

I even see with my korokoro eyes as one fighter wey just come back from battle begin craze, dey chop the dead body of him fellow warriors. Fear grip everybody that night. For our place, if person dey craze, dem go carry am go babalawo, but this one different. The boy eyes red, saliva and blood dey mix for mouth. He no look like human again. Others try hold am, but e strong like cow. The taste for human flesh turn am to wild animal. Even the oldest warriors never see that kind thing. Night fire dey burn, but all man dey shiver.

After dem drag am commot, the guy still dey bite him own arm, no stop until the Chief Adviser use one cutlass take commot him head. The killing no slow; na one sharp cut, blood splash, head roll. No mourning, no prayer. Chief Adviser just wipe blade for sand, throw away head. Men wey stand watch that night go wash their body with bitter leaf water. I join dem, just to drive fear. For village, dem talk say if you see madness like that, better to run, but here nobody fit run.

But the thing wey pain me pass na the secret pouches wey the Chief Adviser leave—wetin dey inside just turn my head upside down about the Three Kingdoms. The things I read for pouch, na real wahala. Names, warnings, secret paths, and passwords wey I no sabi before. I dey sweat as I reason say everything I believe about hero and villain fit be lie. My spirit dey shake. All the stories wey I tell for pepper soup joint for home, all of them na dust for this world.

Dem say make I shine eye for Oluwa Kenechukwu—even if the Later Lord no sabi anything, e really trust the Chief Adviser. I dey reason why trust dey important pass everything for this place. My mind dey warn me say trust fit kill pass dagger. I dey remember wetin my mama talk: "No be all smile be good heart." I swear for myself say I go dey sharp like razor.

As I dey reason all these things, my horse just stop. When I look up, na so I see say I don reach Umuola already. Umuola gates dey high, palm trees line the road, local hunters dey for bush. The air get smell of smoke and roasting maize. I fit hear faint music from market square. My heart shake, because home no be safe place again. The horse stamp ground, like say e dey fear too.

For the town gate, na Uncle Baba dey wait with all the ceremonial people. Uncle Baba tall, with black agbada, red cap, and cow tail for hand. Women with calabash and local drummers stand for back. All the palace guards dey line up, dem spear shiny for evening sun. Even small children hide for back of their mama wrapper dey peep. Uncle Baba dey smile but e eyes no dey smile at all. One guard hiss, shift leg, eyes quick flash my way—palace gossip dey spread.

“Chief, abeg follow me go palace sharp sharp. His Majesty dey wait for you.” Uncle Baba voice dey carry command, no room for argument.

His voice loud, but e carry warning inside. I see the way e nod, then whisper something to the man for him left. Palace wahala dey wait, but as we dey move, I dey check everybody face—who dey happy, who dey fear, who dey hide something. I remember say for this place, if person greet you too much, e fit be snake under green grass.

I just nod coldly. I no like this yeye man at all. If no be say na tradition, I for spit for ground. I answer am with my nose, dey walk like say my leg dey pain me, but for my heart, I dey ready for anything. Even my ancestors go understand.