Chapter 5: The Curse Unleashed

At the party, everybody held a bowl of meat soup, thick and milky, just dying to dig in.

The smell hung low, tempting even those who had sworn off meat for Lent. Children peered into their mother’s bowls, begging for extra pieces. Some children dipped fingers when their mothers no dey look, licking soup off their knuckles.

Baba Musa was the first. The soup was still hot, so he blew on it and sipped it along the edge.

Steam curled from his lips. For a moment, he looked thoughtful, then his eyes widened in shock.

Before anybody fit ask how e taste, he no even answer, just started swallowing soup and meat like say he wan swallow himself.

He grunted, hunched over the bowl, and wolfed it down. The others stared, then followed suit, faces shining with grease and pleasure.

After, Baba Musa stared at other people’s bowls like hungry dog.

He reached out, licking his lips, eyes red with want.

“Ifeanyi, I drink am too fast, no taste am well. How about I give you ten thousand, make you give me small sip?”

His hands shook as he held out the money. Some people laughed, others eyed their bowls protectively.

Ifeanyi no be mumu—he downed his own soup in one go.

He wiped his mouth, “I no dey share blessing! My own don finish.”

After drinking the soup, everybody felt hot from their belly, the heat spreading to their hands and legs, like say dem dey float for heaven.

Some people began to sweat, faces glowing. One woman giggled, “E be like I dey dream. My body dey light!”

Second Uncle, trying to show small respect, left a bowl for Grandmother, but she knocked it down and shouted:

She dashed the bowl to the ground, her voice cracking, “Tufiakwa! If you chop spirit meat, na untimely death go follow you. Even river goddess go fear bury your corpse.”

A hush fell. Even the children stopped chewing, their eyes wide.

Second Uncle vexed, quickly pushed Grandmother inside the house.

He grabbed her by the arm, muttering, “You wan spoil market for me?” He tried to shut the door, but her curses still floated outside.

“Old woman, always dey talk rubbish. Everybody, abeg ignore her.”

He smiled, waving to the crowd, “No mind am. Old age dey worry am.”

Second Uncle just raised the price, sold the whole pot for almost five hundred thousand naira. He no want anything spoil the business.

Money changed hands so fast, some people fought for the last drops. The air was thick with the smell of pepper, money, and greed.

Before closing the door, he kicked me inside too.

His foot found my back, and I stumbled forward, nearly falling. “You dey waste kerosene like say your papa get oil well!”

His words stung more than the kick. I hurried to Grandmother’s side, heart pounding.

Second Uncle turned around and saw Baba Musa on the ground, licking the spilled soup like dog.

He shook his head. “This man and food—e go chop till e die.”

That man dey chop anyhow. One time, just to taste dog meat, he steal the village chief’s guard dog puppy and the dog bite off three of his fingers.

People still tell the story of how Baba Musa showed up at the shrine, three fingers gone, just for the taste of forbidden meat.

He just finished all his money, drank three bowls, still no satisfy.

Sweat rolled down his face, but his eyes shone with mad joy. “Na today I know true blessing!”

“To chop this kind thing for life—even if I die, e worth am!”

His words sounded like prophecy, echoing through the night.

Next morning, Baba Musa died, and his death na real horror.

News spread before dawn, women wailing, men standing in silent circles, whispering to each other.