Chapter 2: Strangers in the Night

By ten o'clock that night, my grandpa dey ready to lock door when one man limp enter the shop. Him cloths dirty, full with yellow sand, like person wey just crawl comot from muddy road after harmattan.

The way the man drag leg, you go feel say him waka reach from next state. His face be like person wey sleep inside bush, and the way dust stain him nail, e sure say e don trek far. For that time of night, person wey still dey waka get wahala or e get strong reason.

Wind follow am enter, bring small cold and the smell of wet earth. My grandpa force smile, talk, "Young man, abeg, we wan close shop."

The way his voice tremble small, even stranger sef fit notice say something dey make am uneasy. For Umuola, when old man voice shake, everybody dey alert. Dem say when papa voice crack, even fowl for backyard go listen.

The man shock small, "Uncle, why you dey close so early?"

He pause for door, like person wey no sure whether to enter finish. He scan the room, eye sharp, voice no too loud but carry wahala underneath. People wey dey waka for night dey always get their own story.

My grandpa answer, "One old beggar come this morning. E talk say by midnight, one bad spirit go come find who e go carry. He tell me make I close early."

His tone soft, but he no gree make eye contact, just dey clean table wey no even dirty. For village, once talk reach spirit, adults dey measure their words well well.

As my grandpa talk finish, the man just grin. "Uncle, for this modern time, you still dey believe all those things?"

He shake head, smile wey no touch him eye. The way he talk, you go think say na Lagos boy wey no send old ways. But for village, even people wey go city dey fear night spirit.

My grandpa smile, "No be my fault, I no too get strong mind."

He wave hand like person wey dey chase fly. For him heart, you go see say he dey beg make stranger no talk too much.

The man dust him cloth, smile again. "Uncle, I no from here. I just come for All Souls’ Night to visit my wife grave. I no sabi this place well, and since morning I never chop. Now na just 10:20, e still early. Abeg, fit help me do one bowl of indomie? I still get long journey to go tonight."

He voice low, and as he talk, his stomach rumble loud like talking drum. Hunger no dey hide face; the way e talk, you go feel am for your own belle. People for shop look am, some with pity, others with suspicion. That All Souls’ Night matter dey heavy for air.

The man face broad, e look honest, like person wey no dey lie.

He open teeth, scratch neck like say shame dey catch am for asking. But the hunger for him eye deep; you know say e never chop. Some village women for back hiss, say na so all these strangers dey carry wahala come village.

My grandpa frown, look my grandma side.

His eyebrow just arch up, like say e dey ask for silent advice. The rain outside still dey threaten, and the whole shop dey silent as if everybody dey hold their breath.

My grandma ask, "Young man, where your wife? Why she no follow you come?"

Her voice sharp, the way market women dey question stranger wey dem never see. She cross her arm, waiting for answer like judge for village square.

The man reply, "My wife still dey for hill. She sabi the place, say she wan talk with her papa small, so she let me come down first."

His voice gentle, like person wey dey talk true. But for that kind night, any story wey involve hill, grave, and waiting alone dey always raise eyebrow.

He grin again, "When my wife come, maybe una even sabi her."

He shift for chair, eye dey roam shop, as if he dey try remember something. The confidence wey dey his voice dey surprise everybody. For our village, people sabi each other well well.

For some years now, e don dey normal for girls for our side to marry go outside. No be new thing again.

Before before, if girl marry comot, na palava. But these days, every family get at least one daughter wey don carry go another land, some even return for festival with big bag and children wey no too sabi village ways.

My grandpa smile, "No wahala, to do one bowl of indomie no dey hard. I go do am for you."

He stand up slow, clear throat, and carry small pot go back kitchen. My grandma add one crayfish cube and plenty ata rodo—so the pepper go drive cold away. The sound of indomie for pot soon fill the room, mixing with smell of pepper and onion.

"Uncle, how much for one bowl?" the man ask.

He dey rub the small change for him pocket, count am over and over. For village, to ask price before food show say you no wan owe.

"Two hundred naira," my grandpa reply.

He wipe sweat for forehead, the way he talk show say he no wan make stranger feel bad.

"Uncle, abeg do two bowls. My wife go soon reach."

He shift for bench, like say he dey reserve space for another person. Rain for outside begin fall small small, the sound tap for zinc roof like spirit dey drum.

My grandpa nod, "No wahala."

He adjust wrapper, call my grandma, "Bring extra bowl join."

He enter back kitchen, do the noodles sharp sharp. Before long, two bowls wey dey hot, dey ready.

The smell spread reach street; even neighbours begin peep window. For harmattan night, hot food dey always sweet for body. The pepper scent choke air, make pikin for next house sneeze.

My grandpa carry the noodles come table. The man face bright up, e begin chop like say e never see food before.

He bend head, use spoon waka through noodles fast fast. Oil stain him mouth but he no send; hunger no dey hear shame. Even as he chop, he dey look window, as if e dey wait for sign.

My grandma dey look wall clock every time, she whisper, "E don reach 10:35. We must lock shop before eleven."

She tap foot for ground, check clock again and again, her worry don dey show. She dey rub small olive oil for her thumb, like person wey dey try ward off bad luck.

My grandpa nod, "Today we go close early, sure."

He try show confidence for face, but hand still dey shake small. He begin pack empty baskets from counter, as if he wan chase sleep away.

As he talk finish, thunder just tear everywhere.

The sound loud, make all of us jump. Small Chisom begin cry, say thunder dey find who thief yam. Some children wey dey outside run enter shop, calling on their mama. For our side, thunder for night dey always mean something dey waka for bush.

Thunder dey roll, cloud gather, everywhere dark. Rain dey threaten.

You go feel the tension for air, like say even weather sabi wetin wan happen. Light for shop dey blink, NEPA fit carry am anytime.

My grandpa say, "Young man, rain go soon fall scatter. Your wife never come, she go dey alright so? Hill road no easy when rain dey fall."

He speak with elder concern, but for him heart, you go know say fear dey crawl. Rain for Umuola fit carry person if e fall for wrong time.

The man smile, "No wahala. My wife na hill pikin. She go sabi road come down."

He tap his chest, eyes soft, like say e dey sure of woman strength. Some people for shop nod, say true talk; others just dey eye am suspiciously.

As he talk finish, one sharp lightning just flash, everywhere bright.

E shine enter shop, light every corner like market day. All of us blink, some cover face with wrapper. The breeze wey follow am cold, e make everybody rub arm.

Na so I look ground—I no see the man shadow at all.

My body cold scatter—if shadow disappear for night, wahala don land. Chill run my spine, my throat dry. For inside our shop, shadow na normal, especially with all the light. But nothing—only the chair and table shadow remain. My heart begin beat double time.