Chapter 2: Cold Worm Juju

To raise juju na secret work wey my people dey pass from papa to pikin.

As Ifedayo na person from Ibadan, e no suppose sabi all the details.

So I just talk anyhow, no fear.

"Medicine and juju dey work together."

The way I take arrange my words, e sweet like agbalumo but bitter for inside. You go think say na old mama dey talk, but for market I dey, na only cunning dey save you.

"The juju insects wey dey stop woman from born—some na new, some don dey for many years."

I even wave my hand over the small gourds and clay pots for my table, make the magic real for am.

"The old ones dey strong well."

I sprinkle little shea powder round my stall, the way my mama teach me for Benue bush. Customers dey believe wetin dem see.

"I need know the woman body system to choose correct juju."

I adjust my wrapper, dey act like say I dey calculate woman destiny for my head.

"If her body no strong and the juju too strong, e go spoil her body."

Ifedayo believe me, e come rush talk,

"Abeg, make e no spoil her body at all."

"She born for 2003, third month, seventh day, just reach eighteen, always strong, never sick."

Year 2003, third month, seventh day.

Na my own birth date be that.

So this juju insect—na me Ifedayo dey buy am for!

The world just slow for my front. My ear buzz like generator for heat. Wetin person go do if husband betray am for midnight? I just dey look am, dey wonder if I dey inside dream.

People for his side value family line pass everything, dem dey talk about respect and tradition, and for their eyes, the worst thing na if person no get pikin.

If woman no get pikin, dem fit even collect her house join.

And when we dey together, e dey always put hand for my belle, eyes full of hope:

"Ngozi, if we fit get pikin ehn."

"If na boy, I go teach am book."

"If na girl, make she get sense like you."

Those words still dey my ear, I still dey wonder if I fit dey wrong about am.

Until e stretch one pale, neat hand give me, hold one sky-blue sachet.

I remember the day I sew that sachet, needle prick my finger, blood touch cloth small. Na me sew that sachet for Ifedayo, put two bamboo sticks wey e like.

The thing dey pain me for bone. Na only person wey know your soul go sabi your secret mark. The stitch wey slant one side—na me do am that year when love still dey sweet.

"E go do so?"

Two silver coins drop from the pouch, fine Yoruba design dey on top.

Each one na big money.

Ifedayo normally poor sotey e dey jangle when e dey waka—where e see this kind money?

My chest begin beat gidi-gba. This kain silver no dey waka with poor man. My hand dey shake as I touch am, but I bone face like say na normal thing.