Chapter 2: The Shrine’s Quiet Test

My name na Ayo. I dey take care of St. Michael’s Shrine for this side, and I be caretaker for the place—na shrine for Archangel Michael, wey people dey call the Defender for our side.

People know me for the village as that Ayo for shrine—some go call me 'Ayo the quiet', some go say 'Ayo wey dey hear spirit voice.' I no too old, but for shrine work, age no be matter, na heart dey count.

I no get surname, I no even get correct name. Na for this shrine dem raise me from small, and na my mentor, the Mad Prophet, give me the name Ayo.

When people ask me why I no get full name, I just smile. For this life, some of us na spirit pickin, no need plenty grammar. That time, Mad Prophet dey look me with those his clear eyes, say, 'Ayo, na your laughter go save this shrine one day.'

Five years ago, the Mad Prophet give me the shrine key, then waka disappear, nobody sabi where he go. Since that time, na only me dey run this humble shrine.

E no easy, but I manage. Sometimes, people go say shrine too dry, nobody dey, but peace dey my heart.

Well, no be only me. One tabby cat still dey here.

That cat na different thing. E go look you like say e dey see wetin you no fit see. E go stretch body for altar, lie down, tail dey shake small small, as if e dey listen to old story. Ears na real stubborn spirit. Some old women talk say if Ears cross your leg, spirit go follow you dream that night.

The Mad Prophet call am Ears—na one legendary animal wey dem talk say e dey hear everything.

Sometimes, children go come peep for window, dey whisper, 'Ears go sabi if you chop person meat.' But nobody fit catch am—e too wise. E go waka go sit for shrine roof, dey look down, eyes like torchlight for night.

I no need shave my head, I no dey wear white garment, I no dey follow church rules too strict. I fit chop meat, I fit drink small palm wine, but I no fit marry.

If to say I fit marry, I for don get two pikin by now. But shrine work no dey allow distraction. Na old rule, and I no wan break am. Even small romance with village girl, e dey hard. My work be my wife.

Our St. Michael Shrine na old mud walls, palm frond roof, and one small clay angel wey dey shine for candlelight. The place small, people no too dey come pray. Because e far from city wahala, everywhere dey quiet, no too much palava, no too much law.

Goats dey pass for bush path, breeze dey blow from hill. Only early morning, you go see old woman come pray, drop small coin or candle, then waka go.

The Mad Prophet always talk say, as long as you get God and ancestors for your heart, anywhere fit be place to seek peace.

Na true talk. For this shrine, na only old wood, clay, and peace dey here, but sometimes miracle go show, and people go still dey wonder.

Recently, na time for shrine offering, so everywhere dey lively. I hear say spirit mediums dey perform as General Zaki and Boy Kene—na traditional roles for our custom.

The festival dey approach, people dey paint face, market women dey fry puff-puff, small boys dey rehearse dance for shrine backyard.

The parade leader come meet me, dey beg make I allow our shrine’s angel statue join the procession.

I look am, I see fear and worry for him eye. Na tradition, but the shrine angel statue no dey leave altar anyhow.

I know as the Mad Prophet dey do, so I tell am no.

For shrine, rules dey. You no fit just carry sacred thing waka for show, especially without the right prayer. I remember the Mad Prophet words, 'Make you never dey use shrine for village popularity.'

He don tell me before say that small, old clay statue for our altar get part of St. Michael’s spirit inside am. The old man no like noise, he dey like peace.

E go just stay for corner, small face dey shine, sometimes e go glow small for candlelight. That statue, e get weight for spirit world.

Me sef, I like quiet. But I no know say wahala go show face that evening.

Sometimes, peace dey make you forget say world no dey ever calm finish. Wahala fit waka enter even when you dey pray.

The parade leader come back again, this time he carry one woman wey hold baby boy.

Dem two look tired, like people wey no sleep, dust full their leg. Even the baby, eye red, body dey burn.

As dem enter, Ears, the tabby cat, just bone face, meow two times, then lie down for prayer mat, dey look dem well.

If cat like Ears bone you, e mean say wahala dey. E just stretch, eye shine, no move, as if e dey watch spirit follow dem.

Harmattan breeze just enter from main door, make the blue and red prayer ribbons dey shake.

You know say something dey wrong when harmattan breeze blow inside shrine, make every candle shake. I look the woman well, dey wait make she talk.

I just dey look the woman, dey reason.

Her face show say she never sleep, eyes red, voice dey tremble. Na true pain I see.

“Uncle Ayo, abeg no vex. We no get any other option. We know say your St. Michael Shrine dey work pass others—abeg help us. If not, our whole parade go spoil.”

Him voice low, like person wey wan cry but no fit. The kind humility wey I never see for parade leader body before.

The parade leader put him two hands together as e enter, e be like say he wan kneel.

For our tradition, parade leader no dey kneel anyhow. For am to wan kneel, the thing don pass hand.

Before I fit stop am, the woman beside am don kneel down already.

Tears dey rush from her eyes, she fall for ground, her wrapper don loose, leg dey show, dust full her knee. She just dey beg from heart.

“Abeg, Uncle, help us.”

Her voice no get power again. Her hands dey shake like person wey chop bitterleaf, voice dey break as she beg. Na only hope dey push her mouth.

I rush help dem stand up, tell dem make dem talk their mind.

I pull chair give dem, talk soft, 'No kneel, just talk your mind. Shrine dey for help.'

I pour small zobo for cup, push am near Amaka—make her spirit cool small.

The woman name na Amaka. The pikin wey she dey carry na her small brother, just do one year. The boy don dey get high fever for two months straight.

Amaka voice dey shake as she talk, her hand dey tremble, she press the boy tight as if spirit fit carry am run if she slack.

For that time, Amaka and her parents don spend all their money find cure, but nothing work. Now, her papa don faint from stress, her mama don dey act somehow—she go dey cry and laugh anyhow, no dey even look after the pikin.

People for our village know say if wahala too much, e fit affect person head. To see woman wey dey pray before now dey shout for road, e mean say matter don pass ordinary.

Amaka, just eighteen, no get choice. She carry her brother go kneel for parade road, dey beg spirits to save her family.

For our place, no be small thing for girl to break taboo and block spirit parade. E mean say hope don finish for every other side.

“Our family never do bad before. My papa na farmer, my mama dey pray and serve God well, dey burn candle. If God get mercy, why dem go punish us like this? Uncle, abeg save my brother, save my family. I no get any other way. If you fit help, I go do anything—even if na to dey serve you for shrine.”

Na true prayer. She bow head, tears dey soak ground, voice crack. The type of pain wey dey touch even spirit.

Tears dey rush from her eyes as she hold the pikin, bow her head reach ground.

The whole shrine quiet as she talk. Even Ears no move again. The wind just stop small, as if air dey listen.

The parade leader dey look me with worry.

You go see say him eye red, shame and fear mix for inside. Nobody wan carry failed parade for head.

“Uncle Ayo, na so e be. Now, because she block the parade road, every time we try consult prophet, the main masquerade and the spirit medium go just stop for foot of the hill, dem no gree move. Over forty people no fit lift the palanquin. This kind thing never happen before.”

If masquerade waka reach hill and freeze, na sign say spirit no gree. Even if you get hundred strong men, no be muscle fit carry that palanquin again. Everybody dey fear wetin go happen next.

“The prophet wey follow us consult again, and the ancestors talk say make we come meet you. Abeg help us.”

The prophet no fit cross this matter, ancestors self point shrine direction. As dem talk, even my body cold.

Dem no gree move?

I squint look am, then look the lanterns for foot of the hill, I just understand.

Na then everything clear for my mind. I fit remember the Mad Prophet voice: 'Spirit fit vex if you no respect am.'

That day, I no gree borrow them our shrine statue. The leader go carry another St. Michael statue from another place, now wahala don jam dem. St. Michael’s spirit don descend.

Na big insult. For spirit world, fake no dey work. Real thing dey vex if you try am.

See fake statue when he come? Of course he go vex. Na why parade no fit move.

If you see how the statue for their own altar dey cold, you go sabi say spirit never enter am at all. For shrine, even cat dey feel difference.

“If you no fit handle am, no put head for big wahala. To lead parade without real spirit—na death you dey find so.”

For our side, elder go tell you: 'No try carry wetin pass your power, or you go use your head carry am.'

“If na money you dey find, you still suppose follow rules.”

Na truth, money matter dey spoil tradition for everywhere.

As I talk am, the leader just kneel, dey knock head for ground.

Tears begin drop from him eye, voice low: 'Uncle, forgive me.' God abeg, make ancestor no vex. For this job, pride no dey help anybody.

I shake head. People nowadays no dey respect old ways again, all na money dem dey chase.

I burn one altar paper, carry three sticks of incense from the altar, give am make he carry go parade. After that, make he and the others dey come here every day, observe precepts and dey read Psalm. Na only when St. Michael forgive dem, dem fit continue.

I show am where to stand, make he pour libation, then collect incense. Everybody for shrine bow head, even Amaka stop her cry.

After I send the leader go, I face the woman wey still dey kneel.

Her body still dey shake, face full of dust, hand dey grip pikin tight.

I look the boy for her hand, I narrow my eyes.

E get as e be. I fit feel cold for shrine, small shadow wey no belong. My heart dey beat, but I no show am.

Something wey no pure don enter this boy body.

Spirit matter no be play. For this pikin body, wahala don pass ordinary fever.