Chapter 2: Gutter of Destiny

I lost.

The word bitter for my mouth, like biting bitterleaf raw. Wetin be loss for a man wey never know defeat? I taste shame for first time.

That year, sword in hand, I walked the whole of Umuola. Every big shrine, just hearing my name, would start to shake.

Children run, elders clear road. Even juju priests begin do extra sacrifice before I pass. My shadow long—fear dey everywhere I go. Even market goats dey scatter when I pass, dust dey rise for my back.

When it was time to ascend, I ignored the thunderstorm and used one slash to break open the Spirit Gate of Umuola.

Rain beat me like crazy, thunder shout, but I no send. My blade shine, one hot flash, the Spirit Gate open like palm kernel under stone.

I was full of pride, looking down on everybody.

I dey waka with chest out, nose in the air, see everybody as dust under my feet.

I thought nobody could match me, but later I saw: there were one hundred thousand people just as strong as me.

Inside Celestial Court, I see warriors from all corners—faces I never see, power I never imagine. All my boasting become water.

Worse, before I even found my feet, a monkey with an iron staff appeared.

Who dash monkey banana? This one waka like juju pikin. The thing jump like say ground dey burn am, staff for hand dey knock everywhere. My spirit shake, I know say wahala don start.

Even if I multiplied myself one hundred thousand times, I wouldn’t be able to touch even one hair on his body.

I try charge, try calculate, nothing work. The monkey laugh, dance, do backflip—my sword no reach am.

Then a man with three eyes came.

No be ordinary three eyes—one extra eye for forehead dey shine like torch. His presence alone make my knees weak.

Even the hunting dog by his side could finish me with one slap.

Omo, the dog sef na another thing. Teeth sharp, eyes red, if e bark, birds dey fall from sky. I just dey respect myself.

When those two started fighting—spear against iron staff—hills collapsed, and the whole Spirit Court was shaking.

See war! Everything dey tumble—shrines, trees, rocks. Spirits run, everybody find corner hide. I dey look, my jaw drop.

Me? I died just like that, from the aftermath of their fight.

No be even proper fight—just the breeze from their wahala scatter my soul. I no fit even beg.

Honestly, it’s shameful.

If you hear say I die for war, you go think say na inside proper duel. But truth be say, na only bad luck and another person wahala kill me.

A whole sword master from Umuola, killed by one stray blow—just an unlucky person who waka enter trouble.

E pain me, but who I go blame? Sometimes, na your own leg waka enter gutter. And for this my own case, the gutter long reach spirit world.