Chapter 1: The Hall of Ancestral Harmony

In one kind of immortal romance film, I actually see one small female spirit stand up, chest out, to the Oba of the Spirit Realm right inside the Hall of Ancestral Harmony.

The hall itself na full tradition—long beaded curtains dey dangle everywhere, palm oil lamps dey burn, ancestral marks dey line the walls. That air get weight, e press you like when you first enter chief’s palace, mouth dry, heart dey beat. Spirits of all shapes and colours pack the place, some tie wrapper for waist, others get eagle feathers, cowries dey shine for body. For middle of the whole crowd, the small female spirit just balance, no shake, chin up as if she dey dare anybody.

She face the Oba, all the spirits watching, then talk boldly: "Oba, you even sabi wetin love mean?"

Everywhere lock up. The silence thick like over-soaked garri—nobody talk, nobody breathe. Spirits dey eye ground, shuffle leg, but nobody get mind to challenge Oba face-to-face.

Me, I just vex. If to say I fit enter that TV, I for turn Oba myself.

Imagine—ruler of Three Realms, na small spirit dey argue with me?

Naive, sweet female lead.

Brooding demon lord male lead.

That second male lead wey just dey follow like moin-moin.

Abeg, make all of them clear road. I tire for their matter.

As I dey reason am, my mind wander to those Sunday nights NEPA go take light, we go gather round old transistor radio, dey listen to tales by moonlight—always the same kind drama, same type wahala. Person go confront village chief, elders go hiss, clap hand for head, shout, "Tufiakwa!" Wetin concern me with their everlasting romance?

01

My name na Ifedike.

Just like that, I turn Oba of the Spirit Realm.

I no even know how the thing take happen.

Inside Hall of Ancestral Harmony, na so dem just carry me enter—kidnapped by moral righteousness. One young female spirit dey eye me like I be wicked masquerade.

The man wey stand beside her na mortal—by him clothes, e resemble scholar. Ten years e dey try WAEC, e never pass, but e get mind dey follow spirit do love. E dey hide behind the young spirit woman, pitiful, dignity lost finish. Sometimes, e go eye me like say I no fit do am anything.

As the scholar stand, you go think say e leg dey pain am—left hand grip one old jotter, eyes dey roll like NECO script miss for exam hall. For spirit court, only craze fit make mortal stand like that.

Inside my body, I feel the presence of another ancient spirit—the real Oba. The power dey radiate, full Orun energy, heavy for body. I just dey reason, say if this Oba vex proper, e fit scatter the whole world.

Even the way the Oba spirit dey move inside me, e carry that slow, deliberate Yoruba elder gait. I smell ogirisi leaves, hear faint distant drumming, like when elders dey call ancestors for village square.

But the main palava be say—why e no dey vex? Dem dey shout for e face, but e just dey calm? E get as e be o.

The Oba’s ancient spirit finally talk: "This Spirit Court don too full. If no be one spirit dey long for mortal world, another dey fall in love—wahala everywhere, my head wan burst. Abeg, you go sit for throne for some days, make I go rest small."

I no fit hold am, I ask, "Oga, you be ruler of Three Realms—you no dey get temper at all?"

The Oba’s spirit sigh deep, long like river Niger.

"I be Oba of the Spirit Realm. I suppose dey reason all my children for the Three Realms—even that mortal. I no get heart to harm any of them."

E voice carry that tired patience wey elders use when grandchildren scatter compound but dem no fit flog because of love. I hear the gentleness, the weight of responsibility, like person wey don see many seasons.

The way e talk am, e too sincere. No be like all those TV Obas. From am, I fit feel love—real, deep love.

See all these spirits wey dey claim say Oba no sabi love—dem never see love wey dey carry whole village on top head.

Inside my chest, small vex dey build—dem think say love na only heartbreak? Dem never see the one wey dey hold everybody together. If Oba vex, everybody for this court go scatter.

I talk with finality, "Oya, go rest. Leave everything for me."

The Oba’s spirit just vanish, leave me to face the matter alone.

I look where e disappear, mutter, "Make I carry all the wahala. All these immortal romance drama must end."

Na so I adjust my wrapper, straighten my cap—ready for the stubbornness wey dey always follow love stories.

My mind return to the court.

I give the young female spirit one hard look.

Spirits no dey ugly, and she fine no be small. Her mind dey work sharp. She wan use moral pressure make Spirit Court allow her and her lover waka.

If memory serve me, her real body na just one small grass for Iyalode’s Palm Grove. Iyalode see say she get sense, pour thousand-year palm wine for her, she turn human. After that, Iyalode treat her well, teach her, make her spirit official.

But now, e be like say that one no do her again.

I just shake head.

Even grass spirit dey challenge Oba for public. Who script this one?

I remember village tales where masquerade go pursue people, but na only stubborn pikin go stand for road argue. Today, grass spirit dey face king.

"Oba, e no too wicked to separate two people wey love each other?" the small female spirit still dey talk, vex full her voice.

My face cold. I ask suddenly, "Who you be?"

Everywhere shock.

The young female spirit pause, then answer, "I be Kamsi, maidservant to Iyalode of the Palm Grove."

As she finish talk—

Gbosa!

One hot slap sound vibrate the hall.

I raise my right hand, wave am from afar—she fly go land for golden pillar far from where we stand.

The whole hall echo like thunder from Sango land for roof. Some spirits jump, some cover face. Even the boldest spirit covered face, whispering, "Kai, Oba no dey play." Iyalode’s own cloth for shrine flutter from the force.

"Nonsense! So you remember say you be maid."

My voice cold, with small killing spirit inside.

Maid dey question Oba?

Abeg, because say na female drama no mean say rules no dey. Especially for immortal romance drama.

Oba don vex.

Inside and outside Hall of Ancestral Harmony, everywhere full of tension.

Outside, wind dey blow scatter, rain dey fall, thunder dey strike—everywhere just dey shake, like end time reach.

Even the iroko tree for gate bend, leaves dey drop, one old tortoise spirit hiss, enter shell. Chickens wey dey run for courtyard shout, "Ko-ko-ko!" Like say dem know say real gbege land.

Inside, all spirits and gods dey shiver, fear hold them, nobody talk.

Everybody remember sharp-sharp—na Oba dey sit for throne. Ruler of the Three Realms. If e just reason am, e fit scatter everywhere.

The scholar see the level, e fall yakata for ground, mouth open, as if NEPA just take light for exam hall. E try grab Kamsi leg, but e hand dey shake, tears run for face like NEPA cut wire mid-exam.

Kamsi wipe blood from her mouth, point at me, say, "Yes, I break ancestral rules. But I belong to Iyalode. Na she suppose punish me. Even if you be Oba, you no fit just ignore the rules!"

"Rules?"

I raise eyebrow, as if I hear better gist.

All these female dramas too like rules. If loophole dey, dem go use am sharp.

Iyalode na oga for all female spirits. If female spirit mess up, na Iyalode suppose punish her.

Kamsi plan be say: make Iyalode handle am. As long as she beg well, punishment fit reduce.

I see her mind—Naija trick: if dem catch you, beg the big madam, you fit escape.

"I be the rules."

My voice thunder for the hall, full of authority.

Oba na the Orun. If you check am well, his will na the ancestors' will. Who wan question am?

Somewhere in the crowd, one small wind spirit whisper, "Ha! Today na today. Make we dey look."

"You be big Oba—how you go dey do like this?" Kamsi still dey try.

"You want reason? Okay, make we reason."

I sneer, stretch hand. "I no even go talk your other wahala. Na that thousand-year palm wine give you human form. Return am to Spirit Court."

"What?"

Kamsi face turn pale.

That palm wine don blend with her already. If she lose am, na grass she go turn back to.

The scholar see say e fit lose her, gather courage, shout, "You dey worry about one bottle of palm wine? You no shame as ruler of the Three Realms?"

I laugh small, stand up.

The laugh loud for the hall, like thunder when rainy season start for village. I tap my staff three times, as elders do when matter don reach final, and the ground vibrate like agbada wey full for market.