Chapter 4: Rain No Fit Wash This Pain

The cross-wearing aunty carry the rest three go, dey shout, "No disturb the prophet work!" as the chief steward waka come.

The chief steward na old man, face wrinkle like ofada rice. He bow small, greet me: "Good afternoon, Prophet Musa."

Kamsiyochukwu talk, "No worry, na me go carry Prophet Musa go upstairs."

I look am.

He look me with respect, face serious.

The man face don change. For Naija, if dem see small pikin make elders kneel for am, respect dey follow.

"Prophet Musa, I judge you wrong. If I offend you, abeg no vex."

I nod. "No wahala, no wahala."

Na so life be. Today dem look you down, tomorrow dem dey beg you.

Who never misjudge person before?

Even me, I dey do am sometimes. Na lesson street teach all of us.

Me self, I think say na him maths bad.

We climb the staircase reach second floor, enter fine circular corridor.

The kind corridor wey echo your footstep, everywhere neat, painting dey for every wall, like say na gallery.

Rooms dey one side; the other side get fine paintings.

Each painting get story. Some dey show river, others dey show masquerade. For one, I see small pikin dey carry basket for head, face full of hope.

Kamsiyochukwu leg come dey slow, him voice dey tight.

You fit hear the tension for him throat. As if each step dey heavy pass the last.

"Prophet Musa, make I show you the rooms one by one—maybe you go notice something."

We dey waka together for corridor.

He talk slow:

"From the left of the stairs, these four rooms na my wife Amaka adoptive papa, adoptive mama, real papa, and real mama. Her real papa na Okeke, adoptive papa na Lanre. You don see all of dem."

He point to each door as we pass, name follow name. The keys for door dey shine, sign say cleaner dey try.

"Fifth room na Amaka adoptive elder sister, Lanre Blessing."

Her name ring for corridor, like bell. For family wey mix like this, story dey always long.

"Sixth na Amaka pikin for writing, Efe."

As he talk Efe, him eye soft small. Maybe the pikin dey remind am of something lost.

"Seventh na my own master bedroom."

He pause for there, like say memory dey heavy.

"Last one, the eighth, na my younger sister Halima room."

Halima—na name wey dey carry old story. I wonder how she dey cope for this kind house.

"Prophet Musa, na eight people dey live here, so suppose be eight rooms."

Him voice dey shake small.

I feel am—if na me, I for sweat for palm.

"But this house never get more than seven bedrooms, all of dem almost the same size and style. Since I notice this wahala, I count and count—sometimes e be eight, sometimes... seven."

Na that kind confusion dey break person head. Even for market, if basket of mango dey reduce, you go fear juju.

"When e dey be seven rooms?" I ask quick.

He look me, then look floor. The silence long, but I no rush am.

"E no get one time. The first time I notice am, I count, na seven. But when I bring one prophet, e be eight."

I close my eyes, spread my mind—

Na so Spirit dey open. My mind waka go everywhere—reach the kitchen, pass the parlour, climb up the spiral stair. E feel like make breeze just blow through my body.

Reach to see the flowers for compound dey move for breeze.

The scent of hibiscus reach my nose, small sound of gardener wey dey sweep leaf.

Reach to see the heavy cloud dey press the sky.

Thunder dey rumble for distance, air dey thick, like say rain dey come disturb peace.

Suddenly, I open my eyes, tilt my head.

"Rain go soon fall."

As I talk am, I fit feel Spirit dey nudge me. Sometimes, weather dey follow story.

Kamsiyochukwu, lips tight, dey watch me with fear.

He shock. "Wetin you talk?"

I just smile.

"Make we count again—just the rooms."

Sometimes, you need to do ordinary thing with spiritual eye. I fit sense something dey shift for air.

As Spirit mind dey spread, e dey like silk, like water, like mist, like thunder. E go just clear all other thoughts, intentions, and any power wey dey hide.

Na so e be now.

Spirit touch make body cold, but the answer dey come.

Kamsiyochukwu nod, but e still no understand.

The man try follow, but fear dey press am for chest.

So, we waka the corridor again, dey count rooms.

"One, two, three..."

Each door get its own smell, its own energy. My Spirit-eye dey waka pass each door—some cold like aboki fridge, some warm like mama firewood, one just stubborn, like village stubborn goat.

"Seven."

Everywhere quiet. After some seconds, Kamsiyochukwu voice come out, dey shake.

"You see am, Prophet Musa, I no dey lie—na seven rooms again!"

For im face, hope dey die small. E wan believe, but e dey fear.

"..."

I let the silence stretch, so the truth go sink.

"No, the house never change—e always be seven rooms."

I look Kamsiyochukwu, shrug.

"Mr. Kamsi, you get one extra family member."