Chapter 1: Goat for Sacrifice

When I was small, my grandpa killed the old mountain goat wey don dey live with our family for 28 years. My grandma vex so tey she stamp her feet and shout, "That old goat don turn spirit—e don get sense like human! How you fit kill am?"

The way she stand, her wrapper nearly fall for ground, sweat dey her brow despite harmattan, and her voice carry the kind power only true Anambra women sabi. Neighbours for far end fit hear that one. The memory of that goat, wey all of us dey call Alhaji because e stubborn reach, dey sharp for my mind, and I still dey see am for corner of my eye whenever breeze blow one kain for night.

Grandpa face strong like stone, he talk for cold voice, "Person dey come this night. We no fit let dem hungry."

His voice cut the air, heavy like when rain dey threaten but never fall. For his eyes, you fit see say he no be person wey dey joke with tradition or visitor, especially those kin visitor wey fit waka come for night, no announce themselves. Something deep dey inside his stare, the type wey dey make small pikin run hide under bed.

I no even sabi when e start, but grandpa just begin dey act strange, e no dey show us love again.

Normally, grandpa go dey tease us with stories of old, go call me 'my pikin' and rub my head. But this one, na silence. Him dey waka pass us like say we be shadow. Even when grandma go call am for evening food, him answer go be grumble. The coldness for house that time, e be like harmattan no only dey outside, e follow us enter inside.

Grandma, still dey boil for anger, stamp her foot and shout, "You don craze! Our house dey halfway for Okpoko Hills, and the mountain pass don block with harmattan dust. How person wan take reach here?"

She throw her hands up, wrapper nearly trip her as she waka. Her voice echo for mud wall, neighbours for next compound fit hear. She even use broom tap ground for emphasis, like say she dey chase bad spirit away. For her mind, e no possible make visitor just show face like that for this kind remote place. Everybody know say for Okpoko, when harmattan cover the bush path, only person wey get spirit body fit waka without lantern.

Grandpa just bone her. He carry knife begin dey skin the old goat.

His movement steady, e no shake hand, as if na him and death dey discuss. Blood drip from blade enter sand, soak ground with that kind iron smell wey fit make person forget appetite. Harmattan breeze blow the smell enter nose, heavy like curse. For that moment, e resemble elder wey dey do ritual, no be just kill animal. Even fowl for backyard just quiet, no dey make noise.

Grandma try collect the knife from am, but she no get power reach am.

She lunge forward, voice low with plea, but grandpa sidestep her like wrestler. Her hand tremble as she retreat, lips dey move in silent prayer, maybe to Chineke or even the ancestors of the land. The whole matter dey strange; for our side, woman fit get mouth, but for this kind stubbornness, man dey win.

He push her commot, almost make she fall. For cold voice, he order, "Go boil water. The goat meat suppose done before night reach."

He no even look her face as he push am—just bone, and the way im voice cut, you go know say resistance no dey work here. Even the shadow for wall dey sharp, as if the whole house dey under one kain oppression.

Grandma frown, her voice come soft small, "Old man, this goat get wahala. We no fit chop am. Abeg, hear me—bury am like human, give am name, put tombstone, beg am for forgiveness. Na so e go end."

Her words fall for ground like rain wey no reach root. Grandma eye red, her breath dey shake, and she even mention to put name and tombstone—na sign say she no dey joke. For our place, na only when animal really get meaning for house dem dey try bury am like human. Some say na abomination to chop animal wey don become part of family for long.

Grandpa squeeze face, shout, "If you wan live, do wetin I talk."

The veins for im neck stand. If to say na before, grandma go challenge am, but this night, even stubbornness get limit. His voice no carry joke, na warning with weight, as if something bigger than ordinary dey push am. She open mouth like she wan talk back, but words die for her throat. For her eyes, old pain mix with fear, but she swallow am.

He finish skin the goat.

The knife dey shine with blood, and e drag skin like person dey remove wrapper from corpse. The kind silence wey land after, e heavy, na only sound of him breathing and goat blood drip dey there. You fit feel as if something wey suppose end peacefully don take another turn.

He hang the goat skin for clothesline. As breeze blow, everywhere just dey smell goat and blood.

The air thick, nobody fit chop again. Even chicken run hide. For harmattan, when breeze blow like that, smell dey hang for air like curse. Grandma hiss, shake head, look sky as if to ask ancestors if dem see wetin dey happen.

Grandma just sigh, she know say grandpa stubborn like rock.

She wipe her face with edge of wrapper, whisper under breath, "Na only God go judge am." For that moment, her age show—her hands dey tremble, but she still stand like tree wey no gree fall, no matter the wind.

She carry me enter storeroom go boil water. She hold my shoulder, whisper, "Chisom, hear your grandma well. This night, no chop that goat meat—no even taste am. If you behave, I go carry you go city chop fried chicken and buy you sweet."

Her eyes full love and fear, her grip tight like say she fit protect me from anything. The storeroom dark, only small lantern light dey, and I fit hear her heart dey beat fast. For that moment, I feel say she dey try pass message from mouth and spirit.

I nod, "I hear."

My own small voice no loud, but my mind dey made up. When grandma talk like that, no be play. She dey swear on better thing—city trip and sweet, those ones no dey come easy. I feel her hand rub my back, as if she dey try calm herself too.

As I agree, grandma relax small. She still remind me, "No even taste am, no even sip the soup."

She repeat am twice, her eyes dey fix on my own, like say she dey press warning inside my bone. The way her voice crack, I know say na for my sake she dey fear pass.

I whisper, "No worry, grandma. I no go chop the goat meat or drink the soup. That old goat dey fear me. When grandpa kill am, the way e look am, e no be like goat at all—e be like person dey measure am."

Even as I talk, the memory dey send cold run my body. That goat, the way e look grandpa, e eyes clear, as if e sabi wetin dey come. Na the kind stare wey some elders dey talk say na spirit dey use eye see soul.

As I talk finish, grandma face change. She hug me tight, whisper for my ear, "Chisom, stay far from your grandpa."

She hold me so tight my ribs dey pain. Her perfume—old dust and camphor—mix with fear. She look window, check door, whisper again, "No near am, even if e call you. Na wahala dey this house tonight."

I nod, "I hear."

I dey tremble small, but I nod strong. For my mind, na only grandma I fit trust for that house.

Na that time, grandpa enter carry half basin goat meat, blood stain full him body and cloth.

He look like butcher for market, but the kind silence wey follow am no dey normal. Even the way he balance basin for hand, you go know say something don shift. The blood for him trouser and shirt, e smell thick, almost make person wan vomit.

He ask, "Water don ready?"

His voice no carry question, na command. He no dey look anybody face, just drop the basin with bang for ground.

Grandma force smile. "E don ready."

She dey try act normal, voice high like when police dey checkpoint, but you fit see say she no trust wetin dey happen. She adjust wrapper, pick spoon like say she dey ready cook, but her hand still dey shake.

She open the pot, hot steam fly come out.

The steam carry the smell of goat meat and old iron. Her eyes water, whether from smoke or from wahala, nobody sabi. She turn face away, wipe tear quick quick so nobody go see.

Grandpa pour the goat meat inside, talk, "No add any seasoning."

As he pour am, the splash loud, blood and hot water mix, send steam and smell all over the small kitchen. He stand dey look pot, eyes far, as if he dey see something wey nobody fit see.

Grandma shock, "Even salt nko?"

She look am as if she never hear this kind order before. For Igbo woman kitchen, no salt na taboo—unless person dey do ritual or punishment food. Her voice dey tremble, but she manage keep composure.

He just nod.

He no talk further, just do like say he dey answer call from bush spirit. Even the way him lips set, na only stubbornness dey there.

She mumble, "No salt, who wan chop am?"

She shake head, pour small water from gourd onto ground—old way to beg earth make e no vex. She look the pot again, then side-eye grandpa. Her voice low, as if she dey talk to herself, but I hear am.

Grandpa just squeeze eye look her, no talk again, then waka go outside.

Him back broad, but for the first time, I notice say e get small bend, as if burden dey him shoulder. He open door with leg, waka outside, the sound of him slippers scrape sand, sharp for silent house.

Night fall, harmattan dey blow for yard. Everywhere cold like say breeze dey vex.

Wind dey whistle for bamboo fence. Palm leaves dey shake for moonlight, sand dey dance for air. The kind cold, e bite bone—nobody fit sit outside unless you dey do vigil. Even the dog curl under veranda, dey whine small small.

Grandma put the done goat meat for basin. The aroma sweet die, I just swallow spit.

The smell enter nose, cause wahala for belle. No matter the warning, e hard for small pikin to fight sweet food. My tongue dey my mouth, I dey look grandma, but my mind dey for food.

She see me, shout, "Chisom, no touch am!"

Her voice loud, she point finger with threat. She even tap my head, then eye me one kind, as if say my hand fit grow wing fly go basin.

I nod, "I hear."

I carry my hand behind my back, use leg wedge stool, just to show say I no get intention. My belly still dey rumble, but I bone face.

As she no trust me, she carry me go outside. Grandpa dey smoke pipe there.

She grip my wrist, strong, almost dey drag me. Outside, I see grandpa under mango tree, pipe for mouth, smoke dey swirl for harmattan moon. His eyes dey watch road, as if dey expect something.

She talk, "Old man, the goat meat don done. Why nobody don come?"

Her voice dey cautious, but she try sound normal. She rub hand for wrapper, cold dey catch her, but she no let grandpa see am. Her gaze steady for him face, dey try read wetin dey his mind.

Grandpa puff two times, reply, "Dem don reach."

The smoke he blow thick, almost cover his face. The way he talk am, you go think say dem dey hide for bush, just dey watch. For that moment, my own fear double, because nobody fit argue with that kind confidence.