Chapter 2: Palm Wine and Sharp Mouth

For inside the cave, Great Chief dey for main seat: face wicked, nose wide, mouth big, yellow jagged teeth—like say na leopard spirit or tiger wey don get sense.

By e side, another masquerade dey—ugly too, but e get small bookman vibe, face long and thin, wear long agbada—na Second-in-Command be that.

The small masquerade throw me for ground, kneel down, report: “As I dey patrol outside, I jam this scripture-seeking pastor, so I catch am bring come meet Great Chief and Second-in-Command.”

“Oh, na this Father Mbaka?” Great Chief eyes shine.

“Wait, Great Chief—” Second-in-Command reason am, “I hear say Father Mbaka fine well well, face sharp, smile dey shine, but this one no fit the description.”

“True.” Great Chief come realize, e face fall small. “That Sango no dey ever leave Father Mbaka side—how e take land for our hand alone like this?”

“Who you be? Why you dey pretend say you be Father Mbaka?” Second-in-Command bark at me.

I wan cry but tears no gree come: “Abeg, I no even sabi Father Mbaka. Na dem drag me come here, I swear on top my mama head.”

“If you no be Father Mbaka, why you bald?”

“Na chemotherapy cause am…”

“You no be pastor, so why you dey wear white?”

“Na wrapper I tie…”

“Great Chief, e be like say this one no be Father Mbaka,” Second-in-Command talk. “But e dey talk anyhow, maybe na thief or local person wey hide after e do bad thing.”

“No wahala.” Great Chief wave hand. “I never chop human meat since, abeg, carry am go, wash am, open am, steam am like moin-moin, chop am like nkwobi!”

I no even wan live, but steamed like moin-moin? Lai lai, that one pass death!

I start dey beg, “Great Chief, abeg! I dey sick, my body full cancer cells, my meat no go sweet!”

But Great Chief no get time for my noise, e just signal make dem carry me go.

Na there sharp idea flash me. I shout, “No be Father Mbaka flesh you dey find, Great Chief? Why you wan settle for ordinary person today?”

“Wait!” Great Chief stop dem, ask, “Wet in you talk just now?”

“Sango thunder axe weigh heavy—Great Chief, you fit take how many hits?”

Great Chief quiet.

“And Ogun cutlass, Orunmila forge am—how many rounds you fit last, Great Chief?”

Great Chief face squeeze.

“Even Esu, the trickster, na former spirit wey sabi—Great Chief, you fit face am?”

Great Chief look another side.

“Even if you dodge those three, Father Mbaka get guardian spirits: Five Directional Elders, Four Duty Chiefs, Six Wise Ones, Eighteen Ancestors… Great Chief, how many you fit handle?”

Sweat dey roll for Great Chief forehead.

“Great Chief, if na Father Mbaka flesh you want chop, you go pass all these levels—miss one, you no go even taste am.”

“Who you be? How you take sabi all this about Father Mbaka and e people?” Great Chief look me, fear dey e face.

“To talk true, Great Chief, I dey very sick, time no dey again. Only way wey fit save me na to chop Father Mbaka flesh.”

“You too…?”

“Na so. Na Father Mbaka flesh I dey find. I don study e disciples for years.”

Great Chief eyes shine again. “So, you get way to handle that Sango?”

“…I just be stable boy—but e dey my plan already.”

“Ah, we for don steam better person!” Great Chief slap e lap. “Quick, loose am, give am chair, una—bring better palm wine and bushmeat!”

Thank you, 1986 Journey to the West TV series. Thank you, director Yang Jie. I don save myself for now.

As I sidon for their chair, the wooden legs dey shake, and the palm wine dey hot for my throat. But inside me, na relief dey flow pass river Niger. For my mind, I dey wonder whether dem go later wise up, but for now, I dey safe—na so I sip that hot palm wine, my ear still dey sharp—because for masquerade land, wahala dey hide for corner.