Chapter 2: Ancestors’ Warning

Grandmother’s ancestors used to be strong, well-known native doctors and seers.

Back in her youth, people would travel for days to consult her father. Their house was always full of dried leaves, cowrie shells, and the faint smell of incense. She grew up learning the names of all the spirits that guarded their land, and stories of things seen and unseen.

People from nearby villages, any time they ran into strange or evil things, would come to Grandmother for help.

Her reputation was such that even the local chief would send for her in times of sickness or unrest. She knew the ways of appeasement—how to pour libation to the land, how to interpret dreams, and how to send wayward spirits back to their home.

She forced Second Uncle to explain clearly where the white rat skin came from. After hearing his story, she let out a long sigh.

She sat on her wooden stool, closed her eyes, and asked him to speak from beginning to end. With every word he said, her frown deepened. By the end, she sighed as if she had aged ten years in that moment.

Gently stroking the white rat skin, Grandmother muttered:

“In the olden days, there were Five Spirits: the Nza Spirit was the most cunning, the Yellow Ijele the most wicked, the White Eke the kindest, the Palm Spirit the most divine, and the Grey Spirit the most mysterious. The Five Spirits lived good lives, ate prayers, protected homes, chased away bad luck, and solved problems. This white rat comes from the Grey Spirit’s line. It saved you out of kindness, just to gather virtue, and you pay am back with betrayal.”

Her voice grew soft, as if talking to someone only she could see. She sang a line from an old song, “Spirits feed on kindness, not blood.” Her hand trembled on the fur. The candle by her side flickered, and the air felt heavy, as if waiting for something to happen.

Second Uncle curled his lip.

He snorted, “All these spirit stories, na for children. If the thing be true spirit, why e go let small cutlass finish am? Abeg, story for tortoise.”

“If you wan do good deed, do am well. Since it saved me, e for no let me come back empty-handed. Abeg…”

He clicked his tongue, looking at the pelt like a trader weighing old yam. “Which kain spirit dey do helper and still leave person broke? If e wan help, e for at least give me gold or something.”

Second Uncle weighed the pelt in his hands, a look of disdain on his face.

He tossed it from hand to hand, inspecting the sheen like a market woman checking fish. “All this talk, I no dey see any sign. Na just animal skin.”

“Which Grey Spirit? I kill am with one blow—no be ordinary rat?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Na just overgrown bush rat, abeg. If na spirit, make e strike me now!"

Grandmother shot him a sharp look.

Her eyes flashed, sharp as pepper. "You dey test spirit? Be careful, o!"

“Inside the spirit’s fur, you go see golden thread. Every inch of thread mean one year of training. When e reach nine inches, na then e don small, e fit talk like human and do magic. That time, the elders go allow am enter the world, open shrine, and gather followers.”

She stood up, took the skin from him, and pointed to a thin line near the base. “Check well. See am there? Small gold thread. Count am.”

Second Uncle parted the fur carefully and, true to her words, found a golden thread just over an inch long.

He blinked, then whistled under his breath. Even he looked a little uneasy. “Na true. The thing get gold hair inside. Wonders shall never end.”

Grandmother continued:

“Its golden thread never reach two inches—this one na small spirit wey just born, maybe e sneak out alone. Elders go dey behind am. You, you don bring big wahala.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, like the rustling of dry leaves. “The elders of the spirits no dey forgive easily. You better listen well.”

“Which spirit? Na just big rat. Give me two swings, I go kill a dozen.”

He brandished his cutlass in the air, laughing, “If dem bring ten, I go use am take cook pepper soup for all of una.”

Second Uncle just laughed, not agreeing or disagreeing.

He winked at me, as if daring me to challenge him. The room grew tense, but he only smiled wider, unconcerned.

“No, this one na spirit true true.”

Grandmother pressed her lips together, not ready to argue with stubborn men.

He spread the pelt, held it up to his face, and took a deep breath.

The white fur tickled his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling. A hush fell on the room.

No smell at all—just the clean scent of mountain herbs and grass.

He opened his eyes in surprise, expecting maybe a whiff of blood or wildness, but all he caught was the scent of fresh-cut leaves and rain-washed earth—like home after a big storm.

“Chief Bako from the east side of the village wanted to buy this skin for one hundred thousand naira. Good thing I no gree. Since na spirit fur, I suppose sell am for three hundred thousand—no, three million!”

He started pacing, already calculating. “I go carry this skin reach Balogun market, Lagos—dem go rush am like new iPhone. I go buy okada, build house, even marry second wife!”

Grandmother looked at Second Uncle, whose head was full of money, her face tight with worry.

She wiped sweat from her brow, eyes glistening. In her mind, she counted her dead—Grandfather, Father, all gone to accidents and greed. She prayed silently that Second Uncle’s stubbornness would not join them soon.

Grandfather and Father died in a mining accident last year. Now, only Second Uncle remained as the last man in the family. If anything happened to him, how would she face the Okoye ancestors when she died?

Her shoulders drooped. She glanced at the family altar in the corner, her lips barely moving as she called on her forebears for protection.

“You still dey think about money? You fit lose your life soon! Hurry and sew back the little spirit’s body. I go help you find good ground to bury am, set up a family altar for the house, and pray every day. Let the small spirit turn to god after death—maybe that way we go escape wahala.”

She sprinkled palm wine on the ground, murmuring the names of their ancestors as she wrapped the body in old wrappers. Her voice was urgent. "Chidinma, go fetch water. We must clean the body before nightfall. If we show respect, maybe the gods go show us mercy."

As soon as she said this, Second Uncle remembered something and dashed towards the village gate.

He muttered, “Wait! The body—I forget am.” His slippers slapped against the mud as he ran.