Chapter 2: Chisom’s Ritual and Baba Aro’s Warning

Fifteenth of July. Underworld office dey hot, everywhere just dey scatter.

This underworld office na correct government ministry—queue everywhere, spirits dey hustle, some dey ask for favour. The way old spirits dey waka like dem dey late for market, you go fear. Even small pikin spirit dey drag position for line. Spirit messengers dey share puff-puff for queue, aroma mix with incense for air.

Old spirits dey rush go cross over, new spirits dey queue to go house. Some dey complain about exchange rate for sacrifice, others dey gist about the last masquerade festival. E remain make dem open joint for inside.

Na only me dey squat for Baba Aro palace steps, bored die, dey watch spirit queue long like Lagos traffic. Mosquitoes for spirit world no dey bite, but the boredom fit kill pesin twice. My wrapper don dey dirty for ground, but who dey look?

Baba Aro come sidon beside me. E just collapse beside me with that slow, ancient swagger. If to say na living, e go smell of tobacco and camphor.

“Ngozi girl, today na Ancestors’ Night o. You no get any wish?”

E voice gentle but carry warning like market woman wey don tire to dey price fish. The way e call me ‘girl’ get small affection inside. Baba Aro add with im signature proverb, “Stubborn goat dey learn for old shrine.”

Before I fit answer, ground begin shake. The earth tremble reach my bone. For here, ground no suppose shake unless juju matter dey involved.

My head begin pain me. Earthquake no dey land of ancestors—so na only one person fit cause am. Sharp sharp, I reason say trouble don land again. I rub my forehead, just dey pray say e no be wetin I dey think.

“Chisom dey dig my grave again.”

I talk am with tired voice, as if na old wahala. My body just weak. Even for spirit world, im still dey pursue me.

Baba Aro just wave hand. E hand broad like yam mortar, and e use am clear the air. The magic for here dey work like say e be network provider—one wave, everywhere connect.

Mirror appear for front of us. The Mirror na like DSTV subscription. Anything you wan see for earth, e go show. Silver mist cover am before image appear.

Na the Mirror of Crossing, wey dey connect living world and ancestors’ realm. For the image—

The image clear, like say dem use phone camera. E resemble the type way pastor dey use show ‘spiritual problems’ for church crusade. One tall, fine man roll up sleeve, dey use hoe dey dig grave like say na oil well dey inside.

Chisom muscles shine under moonlight, sweat dey drip from im head, and the way e dey focus, na like pesin dey find gold. For back, some old spiritual masters form circle, dey chant. Symbols full everywhere for ground.

Their mouth dey move fast, voice blend with the wind, and ground dey shine with powder, red sand, chalk. E mean say serious ritual dey go on.

The person wey dey dig na Chisom, my ex-boyfriend. I swallow spit. Old feeling mix with new wahala. Even for afterlife, Naija ex no dey let person rest.

And na my grave e dey dig. The thing pain me. Na my own burial ground. E no fit leave am for peace?

Because of am, I never get rest for three years since I die. Crossing over never reach my side. I dey watch as spirits come, spirits go. Me, I dey here because of Chisom wahala. My name sef don turn to gist among the elders.

Na only me stubborn reach like that for ancestors’ land. Some dey call me ‘Madam No-Gree’, others just dey wait make my case set as example for new arrivals.

New spirits dey look Mirror of Crossing like say dem dey watch Africa Magic. Dem gather, dey point, dey whisper, dey laugh small. Some dey bet say na today my case go end.

But spirit messengers? Dem don tire for the matter. One dey plait hair, another dey play ayo for corner. Na so dem don take my stubbornness as everyday gist.

I just grit teeth. My jaw stiff, my chest dey boil. I dey form hard babe, but inside, I dey shake.

“That mumu!” My voice cut the air. Spirits wey near me shift small, dem no wan collect stray wahala.

But the man for mirror just pause, look up, face my direction—like say e fit see me for real. My spirit hand begin shake, wrapper nearly fall from waist. The way e take pause, I sef pause. This one pass ordinary. My spirit body cold.

Body cold catch me. “Abi... abi e dey see me?” My voice tremble small. For here, if pesin see you across realm, na big matter.

Baba Aro touch im imaginary beard. “E possible. The guy don learn juju matter small.”

E nod like baba for shrine, e eyes narrow as if e dey remember old stories. The fear in im voice no be small.

Na that time, Chisom lips bend, give one kind careless smile. That smile dey familiar, but now e get edge, like man wey don fight with gods.

“Ngozi, I don dey burn candle and drop offering for you three years now, make you dey watch from under.”

My heart catch. All those offerings, all the money, the meat pie—e dey make sense now. Which kind talk be that? I never even understand.

Na wahala be this one. Which kind spiritual dragging dey this? Me wey wan rest, pesin dey summon me like network provider.

E pull one charm from pocket. The charm na red cloth tie with cowrie, like wetin babalawo dey carry for festival. The air cold more.

“Either come back, or...”

Im voice deep, na like thunder after rain. The warning clear inside. E pause, eyes cold like harmattan morning. Im eyes sharp, face dey strong. For my mind, I dey pray say e no mean am.

“I go come down.”

Thunder no need to strike for this one. That statement alone fit wake masquerade from sleep.

Once Baba Aro see that charm, e begin fidget. As Chisom talk finish, e begin waka up and down like person wey pepper don enter im eye.

Baba Aro na big man for here o, but see as e dey sweat like say e dey Owerri market under sun. E mouth dey twist, e leg dey shake.

“This guy dey craze,” Baba Aro curse, “If e come down, everywhere go scatter, ancestors and living go mix!”

If you see as e dey run mouth, you go know say true fear dey. Even the elders for corridor dey shift.

I even fear pass Baba Aro. “Abeg, you no fit allow am come down!”

My own voice don crack. If Chisom break the wall, e fit spoil generation—both living and dead go dey run helter-skelter.

God know say I don curse am for im dream everyday for three years now. Sometimes I even dey add small insult make e feel am for real. E no dey listen. If e come down, no be me go suffer pass?

If Chisom enter ancestors’ land with body, na everybody go collect wahala. I dey fear pass anybody.

Next thing, Baba Aro just give me one correct kick—throw me enter Mirror of Crossing. Na like say NEPA take light, before I fit shout, my spirit don fly enter the Mirror. For here, e no get time for drama.

I turn back shock. The way I twist, na only for spirit side pesin fit turn like that. My wrapper sef fly up.

Baba Aro eyes dey shine with smile: “Na who tie bell go loose am, Ngozi girl. I give you seven days to settle im wahala.”

E dey talk as if na small matter. Seven days! Wetin I fit do for seven days?

“No worry, when you come back to cross over, na better life I go give you.”

If I believe am, na me be mumu. E get mouth, but e fit talk story reach tomorrow. Stubborn goat dey learn for old shrine.

See my life o. I dey look myself. My spirit dey waka for earth again, but na wahala I dey go meet. After I don work for this Baba Aro wey no get shame for three years, e still put the wahala for my head.

No be my head e suppose dey? I just dey wonder wetin my ancestors go talk if dem hear this story.