Chapter 3: Spirits and Old Wounds

Cold just catch me. For village, dem always talk say na only spirit no dey get shadow.

The story wey mama dey tell us for moonlight come rush my mind: 'If you see person wey no get shadow for night, no look am two times o.' I nearly pee for body.

Na spirit this man be?

My teeth dey knock together, and my chest tight. The indomie wey dey my hand, I just drop am; appetite vanish. My mind dey run upandan—'make I shout?' But elders say make you no talk anyhow when spirit dey near.

I quick hide behind my grandma, hold her arm tight. I no talk anything for the man front, because elders talk say spirit ear sharp—dem fit hear even pin drop. If spirit know say you don see through am, e no go pretend again—na there e go finish you.

As I grip her, I dey pray for my mind: 'Blood of Jesus, cover me. Holy Mary, hide me.' The rain for roof begin beat harder, like say e dey drum warning for us.

My grandma feel as I grip am, she vex, "Chikamso, why you dey hold my hand like say you wan break am?"

She slap my hand gently, but her own palm dey sweat. I see say even her courage dey fail small. She look the man with corner eye.

As she talk am, I feel the man eye land for my body. The way he look me no friendly at all.

My skin crawl, the kind cold way enter my neck no get part two. I close eye small, whisper prayer for heart.

I look up, our eyes jam. If you just look am, e be like normal, but if you check well, the black for him eye deep no be small, no be like person wey dey alive.

Na that moment, I know say something big pass ordinary hunger waka enter shop this night. My heart begin pray, make light no go off.

He smile at me, ask, "Uncle, how old your pikin be?"

The question carry chill, the smile thin, like say e dey try remember wetin human being dey do.

"Six," my grandpa answer.

He clear throat, voice low, the way elders dey answer strange question wey dem no like.

"Na the same age with my daughter," the man talk.

He smile wide, but no joy for face. Even other customers dey shift for bench, silent.

My grandpa just force laugh, "Na so life be."

He tap table, as if e wan break tension, but the laugh weak, the kind wey no fit reach eye.

Another thunder sound, rain begin pour.

This one loud, even roof begin leak for one side. Shop children rush under table, some dey shiver, some dey sleep.

The man look outside, e face show worry, he mumble, "Why she never come? If she delay more, she no go fit enter."

He check time for wall clock, sweat for him brow. The way e tap foot, you go know say something dey his mind wey no good.

My grandpa and grandma look each other, no understand.

My grandma check wall clock again. Na already 10:50. She talk with worry, "Old man, time dey go. Make we lock shop."

She move towards door, but still dey look rain, like person wey dey calculate risk.

My grandpa still dey fear, "Rain dey fall well. We no fit just chase person comot."

His voice low, he dey pity stranger, but him own fear dey push am.

My grandma whisper, "No pass eleven. No matter how rain dey, we must lock shop."

Her voice sharp like razor, the kind authority only head woman fit get for her own house.

Na that time, cold breeze just blow enter, everybody feel am for body.

All the children for shop huddle together, some dey recite Psalm 23, others dey squeeze eyes shut, praying for rain to stop. Breeze blow lantern flame, make shadows dance for wall.

My grandpa force smile, "Young man, e don almost reach eleven. We dey close now."

He dey try sound normal, but his hand dey shake. He begin pack chair, sign for stranger to stand up.

The man reply, "Uncle, no worry. My wife go soon come."

His voice flat, no emotion. He just dey stare door, as if something dey drag am from outside.

As he talk am, I hear footsteps—tap, tap—from outside.

The sound soft but steady, every tap loud for my ear like drum. Rain never stop, but the footsteps no rush—like say person dey used to waka for storm.

I look up, see one woman enter shop. Her face white like chalk, she look tired, and rain soak her well.

She wear long wrapper, the way her headtie shift for forehead, you go know say she no dey used to rain again. Water drip from her hair, make small pool for entrance. Everybody for shop quiet.

She hold one small girl hand, the pikin wear red cloth. The girl eye dey somehow—e dey waka up and down, like say e no dey see road.

Her palm small, wrist thin, the cloth be like party cloth wey don fade. The girl dey hold onto her mama like say na her last hope. Rain water dey drip for her leg too.

The man talk, worry full him face, "Why you late? Indomie don cold. Chop quick."

He stand, collect the girl, pat her shoulder. The woman look am, sigh deep, and sit for one corner.

He carry the small girl. The girl no cry, no shout, her hand dey always for back.

She just stare straight, her mouth closed tight. Even as thunder strike again, she no flinch. Her calmness dey fear everybody for room.

The woman sit down for bench, force smile, "Rain make hill road hard. I delay small."

Her voice soft, but you fit hear sadness inside. She rub the girl back, try to warm her small.

Her cloth soak, water dey drop for where she sit.

Pikin wey dey sleep for back jump up, shout, "Water dey my body!" Some women hiss, shift bench away from the puddle.

My grandma ask, "Girl, who be your papa? I never see you for Umuola before."

She raise eyebrow, face sharp, like say she dey remember every face for village since 1952. Her voice carry that 'no nonsense' energy.

The woman look up, smile, "Auntie, na me, Ngozika."

She push scarf back, smile weak, but her eyes dey red. Old women for shop begin whisper, some dey peep, try remember her face.

My grandma eye open, "Na you be Ngozika? Blind Okoli daughter?"

She drop wrapper for lap, voice carry surprise. That name get weight for village; Blind Okoli na legend for our side.

The woman nod, "Uncle, Auntie, my papa na only me he get. I come back just to visit him for grave."

She lower her head, wipe tear from eye. Her voice low, make heart dey soft. Some women for shop shake head, say 'eeya'.

Na Ngozika first marry comot for our village. Before, dem no dey allow girls marry go outside.

When she marry waka, na big talk. Even elders for square debate am for weeks. Now, time don change small, but old wounds still dey.

My grandpa and grandma look each other with small guilt.

Them eye jam, both remember how dem no support her that year. Regret dey show for face, but pride no go let them talk am out.

My grandpa force smile, "Ngozika, na seven or eight years since you come back last. Me and your aunt no recognize you."

His words gentle, like apology wey no fit come out fully. He shift for chair, hide face small.

Ngozika smile just freeze for face. She talk with stiff voice, "As far as I recognize una, e do."

Her eyes sharp, voice cold. For that moment, all the old pain wey she carry come back. The whole shop quiet.

She smile again, "Uncle, Auntie, this na my husband, Bala. He dey work for building site."

Bala wave hand, nod for elders. Him voice low: "Evening o."

My grandpa smile, "E good. E get power."

He nod, eye rest for Bala hand. The kind strength wey builder get, all man respect am for village.

The woman rub her pikin head, "My daughter, Zainabu. Before, her eye good, but one time fever catch her, she no fit see again."

She stroke the girl's hair, voice break small. Some women for shop nod, say 'malaria na devil'. Na so malaria dey do, o. Devil work.

The small girl wey wear red, her face white like dead body dem pull from river—e dey fear person.

Even children wey dey play before don quiet, dey peep her from safe distance. Her lips no get colour, and her breathing slow.

My grandpa force laugh, "Ngozika, you still young. You and Bala fit try save money. Maybe doctor fit help your daughter."

He try sound hopeful, but sadness dey hide for inside. For our place, hospital hope dey far like Owerri from Lagos.

The woman just laugh, pain full her voice, "No, we don go big hospital for Makurdi. All the doctor talk say e no get cure. Uncle, I wan give Zainabu out. You know if anybody for village fit take her?"

Her laugh short, tears gather for eye. The way she talk, e show say she don tire for wahala. Some people whisper, others look down, pity the child.

As she talk am finish, thunder just shake the house.

All of us jump. The small girl no even blink, just dey steady like log. Wind blow light, candle for counter almost off.