Chapter 5: Amaka No Dey Rest

Kamsiyochukwu eye red sharp sharp.

You know that look wey person go get, when e hear something wey e never expect in this life. The red for e eye fit roast groundnut.

"Na true?"

Him voice dey shake, face dey fear, dey shock, dey hope—everything mix together.

The kind wahala wey money no fit solve, e dey show for face. I look am, my own mind dey steady. This kind job na only Spirit fit run am.

I stop am for there.

I hold my hand up small—make e no talk too much, make Spirit fit balance.

"So the wahala now na to find, among these eight people, the one wey no suppose dey. Na there the answer dey hide."

I let the words settle for the air. For Naija, once you call 'spirit' for family matter, everybody dey listen.

"Now, Mr. Kamsi, I wan ask you something."

I shift my voice, make e low, make the man pay attention.

Kamsiyochukwu calm small, talk with respect.

I see as him hand no dey shake again, e dey try brace for wetin I go ask.

"Prophet Musa, abeg ask. I swear with my honour—everything I talk na true. I no go hide anything."

I squint, dey look the doors for corridor, all of dem just dey do their own pattern.

Spirit-eye dey waka pass each door—some cold like aboki fridge, some warm like mama firewood, one just stubborn, like village stubborn goat.

"All these people wey dey live here, na family for mouth, but dem no too close. The reason dem dey here together na because of your wife, Amaka."

I watch the way his eye flick small, pain dey hide behind pride. I see the truth dey there.

"So—where Amaka dey?"

I let silence stretch, like waiting for generator to start when NEPA take light.

Everywhere quiet again.

The man swallow spit, voice come out like old radio.

When Kamsiyochukwu finally talk, e dey slow.

"Prophet Musa, you no know?"

I shock. "How I go know?"

I open hand, show him say my own na Spirit work, no be amebo.

He quiet small.

His silence heavy, like raincloud.

"I think say you go know the owner as you see the house."

As he talk am, something click for my mind. I shout:

The thing land for my head like slap. Na that name ring bell for campus those days.

"Amaka—no be that famous writer wey make hundreds of millions before she reach twenty? Dem say she don die—"

The story full everywhere that year. Her book dey market, people dey quote am for Twitter. But I never meet her.

I pause. "Sorry."

The air get heavy. The kind sorry wey you talk from inside bone.

"No wahala. Na me no talk well." Kamsiyochukwu voice low, face full of sadness.

I fit feel the pain. E dey squeeze him chest, e dey fight tears, but e hold am.

"Amaka die three years ago."

I hold my breath. For Naija, when young person wey get future die, the pain dey spread reach everybody hand.

One hour later, I sit for study for ground floor, everywhere dey smell tea, dey hear Kamsiyochukwu dey talk about Amaka.

The study fine, bookshelf reach ceiling, armchair soft, table lamp dey shine yellow light. Rain dey tap window, thunder dey beat roof, but inside warm.

"People dey talk about real and fake daughter, but truth be say, both her real and adoptive parents poor.

"Amaka blow for writing at sixteen, by twenty, she don get money pass plenty people. At twenty-one, her real parents find her, talk say dem swap pikin for hospital. She dey find family, so she buy this big house, carry both parents, plus the swap elder sister Lanre Blessing, come live here."

As he talk, his voice dey soft, sometimes e break. I sip tea, close eye, let the story soak me.

"I meet Amaka during charity work. She hide her background at first. We get to know each other, fall in love like normal people."

Na that kind love story every mother dey pray for. I fit see say e still dey miss her, even the way e dey talk slow.

"I never meet person kind like her. If she hear another person dey suffer, she go cry—her heart too soft."

For this world, soft heart dey suffer. But Amaka use her pain do better thing.

"Me and my sister Halima be orphans. She no wan make I feel bad, so she help us finish school with another person name."

I dey nod, mouth tight. Naija good heart no dey plenty.

"When she dey do charity for village, she meet Efe, wey sabi write. She carry am from mining town, let am live here, teach am writing."

Na so Amaka dey collect stray people, dey fix their life. That kind thing dey rare.

He pause long.

I let the silence rest. Sometimes, to hear pain, you gats keep quiet.

I sit down dey feel all the sadness, pain, longing—just full everywhere like say you fit touch am.

Even my own heart dey heavy, rain still dey beat glass, the air cold.

Thunder dey roll outside window. Rain for Naija dey wash sorrow, but this one dey pour my heart heavy. He finally calm, talk with deep voice:

"She too good, maybe even God no fit bear to lose her. Three years ago, for her twenty-ninth birthday, she die young from old sickness."

The pain for his eye deep. He close eye, open am, face window. Rain wash the glass, but nothing fit wash the pain from his mind.

"I miss her, I miss her well well... This strange thing dey make me even wish say she fit come back. Even if na spirit, na masquerade—if I fit just see her again, I go give anything!"

He voice choke, thunder answer am. The thing grip my soul.

Big thunder scatter outside.

Even the floor vibrate. My own body shake small. Naija rain no dey joke.

I look window: everywhere dark, rain dey beat glass.

Na so life be. When pain full, even light dey hide.

I look the man for front of me, e dey hold him head, dey suffer.

He grip him head, mouth tight, eyes red. The kind pain wey no get word. I dey feel am for my bone.

"Mr. Kamsi, you don ever think say if Amaka really come back for this kind strange way, e mean only one thing?"

I let the words settle, make Spirit speak before my mouth go move again.

He look up, confuse. "Wetin?"

His face open, hope and fear dey dance inside am.

I talk slow:

Make the thing enter him body well, make e no rush understand.

"E mean say she get strong wahala—wahala wey reach to destroy her soul, but she still choose to come settle am."

Kamsiyochukwu look me with shock.

E open mouth, fear and small hope dey mix for im eye. I see as e begin believe say the world get more inside than e think.

I sigh.

Rain dey fall, thunder dey roll, pain dey hang for room. This kind matter no be for small pikin ear.

"And now, she don already come."

I let the Spirit rest for my tongue, make the room cold, make Kamsi know say the world don change.

"She dey among una."

I watch am—fear and hope dey fight for e face. My own Spirit dey tremble, but this wahala never finish. Tomorrow go show us pepper.