Chapter 1: Spirit Wahala Land for My Papa Head

The spirit woman come down to the land of men and na my papa her eye first catch.

Na so people for our village begin dey gossip, "Spirit no dey just waka come unless e get person wey e dey find." Even the old men wey dey gather under mango tree just dey shake head anytime dem talk about my papa, like say him body dey magnet wahala from another world. Me sef dey reason am—why my papa? For all the men wey dey this area, why her eye go land for am?

She wait reach the day wey both of us waka comot, then she set fire to our compound, burn my mama to ashes. My leg dey shake, my mouth open but no sound come out. I just dey watch fire chop everything.

That fire no be small matter—everybody for compound rush out, dey pour water, dey shout, but nothing fit quench am. The smoke rise like say e dey send message reach heaven. My mama scream no even last two seconds before silence land, and the air get as e be, thick with wahala wey nobody fit see. Later, elders gather for the burnt ground, dey shake head, dey whisper, "Na spirit matter."

After everything, she disguise herself as my mama, come start dey live with us.

But her leg no dey touch ground like my real mama own. Even her laugh get one cold echo, but for my papa eye, everything just dey as e suppose be. Neighbours notice am, but for our culture, nobody dey question person wey spirit dey follow; dem just dey observe from far corner.

But after only three days, she tire for the life of waking up early and sleeping early.

My mama routine tight like old clock: wake before cock crow, sweep compound, sing hymn, boil hot water for pap. The spirit woman try am two nights, by the third day she dey complain say sleep dey worry her, say mortal life slow die. She no fit keep up.

Just like that, she clap her hand waka—no look back, nothing.

Na so breeze just blow enter house, shadow for veranda vanish, everywhere quiet like say nothing ever happen. Me and my papa just dey look each other, no word fit come out. Even rooster wey dey shout every morning quiet for two days straight.

Three years later, my papa waka go the spirit realm.

Before he leave, he tell me make I stay house, wait for am to avenge my mama and come back.

Before he move, he tie one red thread wey dey protect person from evil spirit for my wrist, say, "Ebuka, make you dey house. I go come back when I bring your mama justice." I nod, but my heart dey shake like yam wey never done.

Sun dey rise for east, dey set for west; day go, night go, I wait with heavy heart.

Neighbours dey check on me, dey drop small food for door. Sometimes, children go peep window, dey whisper, "Ebuka never cry since." But inside me, my mind dey heavy, like stone wey dey bottom of river.

But na only my papa relic I see—one sword tassel wey my mama sew for am.

Dem tie am for wooden stick, drop am by gate. The thread still get my mama scent—faint smell of shea butter and palm oil. My chest choke, but I no cry.

So e be say, person wey manage climb go upper realm, na still ordinary face among the hundred thousand ancestral warriors and chiefs.

People for village talk say spirit realm na like Abuja: plenty big men, but nobody go remember you unless you get power or title. My papa go there, but for their side, na just another person. No special greeting, no extra respect. Na so life be.

Dem send am to go clean the wahala wey the spirit woman cause, and he no even leave anything behind.

Old women dey gather for evening, dey shake head, dey say, "He no leave name, no property. Na only bun recipe and him own good heart remain for this earth."

I chop all the buns wey my papa make for me at once, pack my load, and waka comot for house.

No time for plenty talk. I lock the door, throw key under yam mortar, shoulder my bag, and step outside. The air cold small, but I no look back. My heart dey beat one kind—like drum for festival.

This time, na my turn.

I tighten my wrapper, wipe my face, and start to dey count my steps. Na my own journey be this. I bend small, touch ground, whisper, “God, abeg guide my leg.” God dey look me, ancestors dey watch. As I step into the cold morning, I swear for my chest—no spirit or man go block my road again.