Chapter 1: Ngozi Fire

More than twenty years ago, one terrible incident scatter our town.

For those who still remember, the kind wahala wey that thing bring no get part two. People lock their doors that week, even goats dey fear waka anyhow. Up till today, elders dey use am warn pikin: “No carry stranger matter for head.” The gist still dey run through Sunday market and for beer parlour, especially when rain dey fall and people gather under umbrella, dey share old tori.

One girl wey dey follow acrobatic troupe, for her aerial ballet show, she carry petrol, pour am for body, strike match—before anybody fit shout, fire don catch. Then she jump come die inside flames.

People wey gather that day still dey talk how breeze carry smell of burning cloth, and how some people faint, others dey vomit for gutter. Market women drop basket, dey shout, "Chineke!" Men rush fetch sand, but fire no gree. The memory no dey ever fade, especially for people wey stand for front row.

Not long after, we hear say one young man from town do bad thing to the girl that same day—na that shame and pain push her enter fire.

E come be as if the ground swallow our town joy. Everybody begin suspect each other, mothers dey fear for their daughters, papa dey warn boys make dem behave. Elders go clap hand for head, dey warn: "My pikin, shine your eye well well." The matter reach even church sermon; pastors use the tori preach about sin and temptation.

Dem kill the young man by firing squad, but the fear from that night still dey town till today.

As dem gather people for old primary school field, the firing squad do their work sharp sharp. But the kind silence wey enter town after, e get weight—na so e hold us for chest, like say spirit dey press you for sleep.

Since then, plenty people for town dey talk say:

Dem see the girl for night.

Some say na for market road near old mango tree, others say na for stream. Children dey run when dem hear say white lace dey waka for bush path. Till today, some mama no dey gree send pikin go fetch water once sun set.

Her spirit never gree comot—abi we catch wrong person that time?

People dey wonder, especially elders for village square, dey whisper: "Abi wetin we do no pure? Abi the real person still dey waka among us?"

And as wind blow through empty street, people dey fear say Ngozi own shadow still dey search for justice.