Chapter 3: Fear and the Call for Help

Fear catch me, I shout immediately.

My scream loud so tey people for compound rush come. Everybody dey fear—nobody wan near corpse wey open eye after death. Some women don carry their wrapper tie chest, begin whisper prayer under breath. Fear dey spread for air like pepper.

My mother face change as she waka come near me. She pat my shoulder and say, "No just stand dey look. Quick, go call Baba Afolabi."

Her hand cold for my skin. Her eyes red from too much cry. For our place, when mama talk like that, you no get choice. Baba Afolabi na last bus stop for matter wey pass ordinary. My mama voice dey tremble, but she stand strong. She dey try hide say fear dey catch am too.

Baba Afolabi na the spiritual man for our village—a man wey sabi work well.

Old people dey talk say Baba Afolabi don solve matter wey fit make king dey beg. He get plenty stories; even masquerade dey respect am. His compound get shrine for corner, and nobody dey play with am anyhow. If you see Baba Afolabi for dream, you go better go beg am for real life.

I rush, almost fall, as I run reach Baba Afolabi house.

My feet dey knock ground anyhow, sand dey fly enter my slippers. For our compound, everybody dey watch me with corner eye. You no fit blame them; spiritual wahala dey scare person pass gun.