Chapter 8: The Cowrie Pendant

After we waka like some hundred meters, when nobody dey around, Baba Afolabi bring out old cowrie pendant, press am for my hand.

He look left, look right, make sure say nobody dey. The pendant old, brown, and e shine small for moonlight. He fold my fingers around am, whisper low like say spirit dey hear.

Surprise catch me. Baba Afolabi sigh. "Take am. I watch you grow, you always get sense. This thing fit save your life."

His voice soft, almost like father to pikin. Na rare thing for man like Baba Afolabi to give person his personal juju. He pat my shoulder, squeeze my hand as if e dey transfer strength.

The cowrie pendant warm for my palm.

The heat small, but e reach my heart. I feel small hope. For our side, cowrie dey carry power—dem fit use am swear, bless or curse.

I no fit hold myself, I ask, "Baba, why my sister-in-law hang herself?"

My mouth heavy, but I gats ask. The question dey boil for my mind since.

Baba Afolabi suddenly look up, eye dey shine as he look me. E look me taya, I begin fear. I think say he no go answer, but he talk:

He eye dey sharp, the kind way eagle dey see rat. His silence long, but finally he talk, his voice low: "Listen well."

"If you wan survive, remember these three things. One, keep that cowrie pendant well, no let anybody see am. Two, when you wan sleep, no sleep on top bed—sleep under am. Three, no ever ask about why your sister-in-law die again. No ask anybody. Na all I get to talk be that. If you go hear word, na your choice."

He count each rule with finger, eye never blink. His words heavy, my head dey swell as I hear am. Na warning wey no get second chance.

Before I fit talk, Baba Afolabi just waka comot, like say e dey run from me.

He waka fast, his wrapper dey fly for breeze. For that night, even shadow no follow am go. I stand alone, cowrie dey burn my palm, cold dey grip my body.