Chapter 1: Thunder for Okpoko Hills

When I small, my grandpa dey run one small shop halfway for Okpoko Hills. Truck drivers dey always stop there chop. Dem go order steaming hot pepper soup, or ask for Mama Timi’s famous fried yam with palm oil.

The shop no be big, just thatched roof and wooden walls wey breeze dey always blow through. E dey on top sharp bend for the hill, so most times na tired drivers dey use am rest. Sometimes, Harmattan dust go blow enter shop, make everybody dey sneeze. Sometimes, we go see long line of heavy trucks outside, dust everywhere, horn dey blare. My grandpa sabi everybody, e dey always hail them like say dem be family. Na that shop dem dey call Mama Timi Place—everybody for Okpoko know am.

One night like that, one man waka enter the shop. My grandpa hail am with smile. “Young man, wetin you wan chop?”

This man get body like person wey don fight with road since morning—dust full him cloth, e face hard, e eyes dey red like person wey sleep no reach. As he enter, small jingle from the bell for door make all of us look up. He wipe sweat from forehead, mutter, “This Okpoko road go kill person one day.” The man just nod, rub him neck, try arrange himself.

The man look round the shop, face just dey heavy. “Uncle, I don dey drive truck for years. I don see many strange things. Something wey no pure dey your shop.”

As he talk, e voice low, like say e dey confess secret. Even the way he shift chair near the wall show say e no wan too draw attention. My grandpa and the other people for shop just pause, everybody eye dey on am. For that kind time, if person talk say e see juju or any strange thing, people go quickly cross themself or just mutter prayer inside mouth.

My grandpa frown. “Abeg, my shop no be for spirit talk. If na food you wan chop, talk am.”

He look the man well, mouth twist like person wey no like the way the talk dey go. For my side, I just dey peep behind my grandpa, try make sense of wetin dey happen. My grandpa no dey like make anybody dey spoil him shop name; e pride dey for the work wey e dey do.

The man look up at the attic, voice low. “Spirit dey that attic.”

As he point, him hand shake small. The shop light just flicker that moment, and my skin just stand. For Okpoko, once person mention spirit, wahala don dey. Mama Nkechi cross herself sharp sharp, whisper “Chineke, cover us o.” Everybody get story for spirit matter.

As he talk finish, thunder just blast for sky. The iron attic door begin shake, like say something dey inside dey try come out.

Everybody for shop just freeze. Na only the sound of rain and thunder dey beat roof. Even my small hand begin shake, my leg dey tap ground for fear. For my mind, I dey pray make NEPA no take light now, because darkness for Okpoko dey carry stories wey no good.

The man focus eye for the door. “Uncle, abeg, no ever open that attic door. One correct person don put seal for there.”

E talk am like warning—e voice serious, like say na secret wey dem swear am put. My grandpa just clear throat, try arrange him face, but e eye don dey shift for that attic side.

My grandpa answer, “We never open am before.”

He even look me, make sure say I hear well. For my family, if them say make you no touch, you no touch. Na rule. My grandpa voice calm, but I see say e dey reason something for him mind.

The man nod. “Uncle, na you buy this shop or you dey rent am?”

He talk as if the answer go make things better. Some of the other customers for corner don begin pack their things small small—nobody wan hear spirit matter.

“I dey rent am from village chief. Before I move in, he warn me make I no enter the attic—say na him ancestors dem dey worship there, make I no disturb.”

As he talk, e voice dey slow. For Okpoko, if chief talk say place dey sacred, nobody dey use am play. Ancestor matter na big thing; people dey fear abomination.

The man hiss small. “Uncle, wetin dem lock for that attic na wicked spirit, e full of wahala. The seal dey hold am down, but if you stay here too long, e go cut your life short. Better make you comot sharp sharp.”

He shake leg, like person wey wan waka but still dey talk because of say e wan help. For road, stories like this dey plenty, but the way this man dey talk am, e heavy.

My grandpa pause. “The village chief na good person, our own pikin for Okpoko. E no fit do me bad.”

Grandpa puff air from nose, chest rise and fall. E voice get trust inside, but for the corner of him eye, you go see small fear dey hide. For this Okpoko, trust dey important—nobody wan believe say chief fit plan bad thing.

As my grandpa talk, lightning shine for sky, show the iron attic door. Door no get padlock, but for each corner, red anointing oil cross dey—dem draw am like say na blood, usually dust and rust dey cover am. If no be the storm, person no go ever see am.

The thunder shake everything, the light from lightning flash just scatter for the room. The crosses for door shine red, like when church dey do anointing service for December. Na that kind ancient fear dey catch person for bone.

The man face come strong. “Uncle, that seal no go last again. Abeg, move out as soon as you fit.”

He talk with finality, as if e no get time for argument. Some people for shop don begin dey eye the exit, whisper dey pass back, and small children wey dey there dey hug dem mama tight.

Na that day my grandpa first see those marks. He just dey mutter, “Wetin dey happen for here? Tomorrow morning I go ask the village chief.”

My grandpa face change, e voice low. He just dey scratch chin, e heart no dey for ground again. I see am check the attic door, e dey count the crosses like person wey dey count him blessings. For Okpoko, if old man begin mutter for himself, wahala dey near.

The man sit down for bench. “Uncle, abeg, give me one bowl of indomie, half bottle kai-kai, and some goat head meat.”

He voice soft now, like person wey dey beg for forgiveness. For Okpoko, if you order indomie join kai-kai, na sign say your mind dey heavy. He just dey look ground as e talk, e eye no dey meet anybody own.

My grandpa nod. “No wahala, relax. Make I go bring the drink from backyard.”

He adjust him wrapper, wipe sweat from head—even with rain, Okpoko heat no dey pity. He pick key and torch, waka go backyard with small grumble. E shadow long for the floor as e disappear go fetch kai-kai from the store room behind shop.

He waka go backyard, leave only the man and me for shop. Breeze just blow enter, everywhere cold.

The rain begin increase, breeze scatter some pepper and onion wey my grandma arrange for shelf. The whole shop come smell like wet earth and faint scent of kai-kai. I shift close to counter, try warm myself.

The man look me. “Small boy, how old you be?”

E face relax small, voice gentle. Na that kind uncle wey like children, even as e dey talk scary things.

“I be six,” I answer.

I stand small-small, chest high. For Okpoko, even small pikin like to talk age with pride. E mean say you dey grow, and people go dey respect you soon.

As I talk finish, I hear one small creak—like door dey open. I look the attic door sharp. E still dey closed, black and rusty.

The sound just be like person dey drag something heavy, but when I peep, nothing move. I touch my chest three times, just to calm myself. My mind begin wonder whether na rat or na spirit.

The man no notice anything. He smile. “Abeg, small boy, bring small garden egg for me.”

He try lighten the mood, give me small wink like say everything dey okay. For Okpoko, some men sabi make pikin feel like champion even when wahala dey ground.

I nod, begin climb upstairs. The iron stair tight, every step dey make gbam gbam. As I reach the eighth step, I just feel as if person dey follow me. I turn quick—nobody dey.

My heart beat like drum. I clutch the banister, whisper small prayer, “God abeg, protect me.” For Okpoko, nobody dey play with things wey you no fit see.

I continue climb, but as I wan move again, from corner of my eye I see something white dey crawl enter shop. E resemble person dey crawl for ground.

My leg nearly fail me. I grip stair harder, try peep again. For Okpoko, dem say spirit dey move like breeze, sometimes like shadow. The white thing just flash, disappear before my eye fit catch am well.

I look down again. Na only the man dey there—nothing white. I come dey wonder if na my mind dey play trick.

I wipe sweat from forehead, try convince myself say na too much pepper or hunger dey worry me. For inside night like this, eye dey see things wey no pure.

I reach, carry one plate of small garden egg. As I come down, the man no dey again.

My leg freeze for step. I listen well—no sound, no shadow. The man chair still dey rock small, like say e just stand up rush. For the chair, only small dirty Naira note remain, folded under the plate.

Where him waka go?

I just stand there confuse until my grandpa return with food.

I dey peep inside shop, hope say maybe na my mind dey play tricks. Everywhere just silent, only sound na rain and thunder.

He ask, “Timi, where the man dey?”

His voice loud, worry full am. He check under table, look behind shelf. For Okpoko, if customer vanish, e dey mean something. Sometimes, na sign say market people don offend spirit or witch.

“I no know,” I answer. “He say make I bring small garden egg, but as I come back, he don disappear.”

I try explain, voice dey shake small. I hold the plate of garden egg tight, the bitter taste just dey bite nose.

My grandpa drop the food, look outside vex. “Which kind person be this? Food don ready, you just waka commot.”

He squeeze face like person wey chop bitter leaf, eye dey scan everywhere as if the man fit hide for ceiling. For Okpoko, if person chop and run, na bad omen.

That time, one strange groaning sound begin come from upstairs. My grandpa frown, shout with impatience, “I dey come, I dey come, abeg stop to shout.”

The sound loud, like wind wey dey blow through old calabash. My grandpa try ignore am, but I see say e dey fear small. He rub chest, as if make bad spirit no jump enter body.

He turn to me. “Timi, your great-grandpa don wake. Go upstairs go check am.”

His face change to command. For Okpoko, if elder talk, pikin no fit argue. Even if your mind dey shake, you go still obey.

My great-grandpa nearly reach hundred years, e no fit waka again. E no dey talk, only dey make strange groaning sound. I dey fear am small—he too thin, like say na dry bone remain.

Sometimes, I go dream say he dey turn to masquerade for my sleep. Even the way e dey look person, e fit make you fear. But for family, we dey respect am, even as e old reach.

I whisper, “Grandpa, I dey fear to go alone.”

I shift leg, try hide behind chair. My voice low, almost like person wey wan cry.

My grandpa just give me hard eye. “When your great-grandpa still dey strong, na him dey play with you. Wetin you dey fear? Go check am.”

He raise eyebrow, voice like stone. For Okpoko, once adult don talk finish, you go just obey, else na serious wahala.

The groaning upstairs come loud pass before, sound like say person wey see bad thing. I look the long, dark stair, body just cold.

Even the window dey vibrate. My leg dey shake. I look the staircase, the shadow just long like spirit wey dey drag person for dream.

“Grandpa, abeg follow me. I dey fear.”

I stretch hand, try hold him wrapper. My voice small, almost beggy. I look my grandpa eye, hope say e go pity me.

He just bone face. “Go now! I get work do. Go check your great-grandpa.”

He point the stairs, no smile for face. My mind tell me say if I no move, na slap go land for my back. I just swallow saliva.

If my grandpa vex, na wahala. If I no gree, na slap sure pass. I gather courage, begin climb the stairs small small, dey look back every few steps to make sure say he still dey downstairs. As I still dey see am, fear no too catch me.

I dey count the steps—one, two, three—my heart dey jump every time I reach next one. Each step, I dey use left hand touch wall, right hand dey squeeze my shorts.

As I reach second floor, I see my great-grandpa door open small. When I go carry garden egg before, I check—the door lock. Why e open now? Maybe na breeze?

The air for corridor cold, even though everywhere dey wet. I murmur, “Holy Ghost fire, cover me!” before I enter the corridor. I peep inside, heart dey beat like talking drum. I wonder if maybe na rat or something bigger push the door.

I enter him room. One kind smell jam me. My great-grandpa just dey for mat—mouth open, eyes wide like say fear wan kill am. He no even notice me. Him eyes dey look something behind me—like say person stand there.

The smell dey heavy—like ogogoro mix with old sweat and small pepper. The mat wey he dey lie on don dey old, torn for edge. My great-grandpa hand dey shake small, chest dey move fast. Na the first time I see am fear like this.

I follow him eye look the attic door. Black, just dey scary.

The door dey for corner of the room. E look like mouth wey wan swallow person. Every time lightning flash, e shadow dey crawl for wall.

My skin just stand, goosebumps full body. I no even sabi wetin I dey fear—just one kind wahala dey for the shop.

Even my teeth begin dey tap. The whole room cold, but sweat still dey my palm. For Okpoko, when body dey shake like that, na sign say spirit fit dey near.

I try gather mind. “Great-grandpa, wetin happen?”

My voice small, e almost no come out. I dey peep behind me as I talk, dey pray say nobody go answer from shadow.

Even though e no fit waka, e still dey reason well. Normally, if you ask am, he go just dey look. But today, e different. Him eyes big, neck long, one strange groan dey come from him throat. Him body just bone, face yellow for the dull light, make am look more scary.

I dey count how many times e don groan. Na new thing. My heart beat dey loud for ear. E be like say if spirit dey here, na now e go show.

I just step back. “Great-grandpa, wetin dey do you?”

I shift near door, body flat for wall. My leg wan run but my mind dey freeze. Rain outside just dey hammer zinc roof.

Thunder just blast outside. I hear car door slam downstairs—na Grandma and my uncle don come back be that.

I dey thank God say help don land. I rush commot from room, heart dey fly.

“Great-grandpa, make I go call person,” I talk, waka commot sharp. I no wan stay with am—him face just too fear me.

I almost fall for corridor, grab handrail sharp. As I dey rush, my mind dey pray say make nothing grab my leg from back.

Downstairs, my uncle dey offload goods, Grandpa and Grandma dey help am.

The floor dey wet, my uncle dey shout, "Carry am well! Make rain no spoil yam." My grandma dey arrange tomatoes, quick quick, so e no soak.

My grandpa ask, “Wetin do your great-grandpa?”

He wipe hand for wrapper, eye dey search my own. He know say if I run like that, something serious dey happen.

“I no know. He just dey look the attic door.”

I try arrange my voice, hope say dem no go see fear for my face. My mind still dey race.

My grandpa frown. “Make I go check.”

He drop sack, begin waka go stairs, but Grandma block am, face serious.

But Grandma cut in, dey vex. “No go yet. We never finish carry goods, rain dey fall. Make we finish first.”

Her hand dey on hip, voice sharp. She no dey joke with work; food first before anything. For Okpoko, na woman hand dey run house.

My grandpa pause, continue the work. Upstairs, my great-grandpa groaning just dey loud, dey make everywhere tense. I fear sotey I go hold Grandma body.

I hide for her wrapper, use her waist as shield. She rub my head, whisper, "No fear, na old man dey act up."

My uncle look upstairs. “Papa, go check Grandpa. The way e dey groan no good.”

He try talk with respect, but voice low. For Okpoko, we dey respect elder, but when matter reach health, even young person fit question old one.

Grandma wave am. “Wetin you wan check? E don almost reach hundred years, every time e dey make noise. Leave am, e no go die.”

She no like make person disturb work with old people wahala. She believe say if you too pamper old person, na there dem go spoil everything.

My grandpa shout go upstairs, “Papa, abeg rest! When we finish I go come.”

His voice loud, but you fit hear worry inside. He just hope say nothing bad go happen before he fit go check.

When dem finish carry everything, Grandma say, “Old man, me and Seyi never chop since. Quick, prepare food.”

She sit down for kitchen stool, leg cross. My uncle dey beside am, eye dey shine—hunger dey catch everybody.

Grandpa bring the food. “Truck driver waka come before. He order food finish, just waka go, no pay. Na this food una go chop.”

He squeeze face like person wey chop bitter leaf, serve the food sharp sharp. For Okpoko, if customer no pay, na bad luck, but food no fit waste. Everybody just dey eye the meat, even as story dey hang for air.

Grandma bone face. “How many times I go tell you? Collect money first! This goat head meat dey cost, now na waste.”

She tap her chest, “God forbid make customer dey chop and run for my shop!” She vex, voice sharp. For Okpoko, goat head na special part; you no dey use am play. She cross leg, tap floor, dey talk as if na big crime happen.

Grandpa say, “Make Seyi chop am. E good for am.”

He push plate give my uncle, try make peace. For Okpoko, to give pikin good meat na sign of love, even if e mean adult go manage.

Grandma just hiss. My uncle calm am, “Mama, no vex. Business dey move, small goat head meat no be problem.”

He rub her back, smile small. For Okpoko, if pikin sabi calm mama, wahala go pass easy.

“We still suppose manage,” Grandma grumble. “No dey waste money.”

She fold hand, eye still red. But everybody sabi say na just mouth—she go forget when belle full.

She turn to Grandpa. “You don ready the rent? The village chief go come collect am tomorrow.”

Her voice drop, like say she dey count money inside head. For Okpoko, rent day na wahala—everybody dey gather coins to pay chief.

Grandpa just hiss. “When he come, I go ask am direct—wetin dey that attic?”

He voice steady, but you fit see say e mind dey shake. For Okpoko, to challenge chief na big thing, but when matter concern family, man fit do anything.

Grandma shock small. “Old man, wetin you dey talk?”

She eye open wide. For Okpoko, woman no dey like hear say husband wan fight chief; e dey mean serious wahala fit land.

Grandpa explain, “That truck driver talk say the attic no pure, say na wicked spirit dey there, make we pack comot soon.”

He talk low, like say e dey confide in her. Even as e dey talk, he dey rub hand for head, sweat dey drip from forehead.

Grandma pause, then laugh. “Na lie. We don dey run this shop three years. If spirit dey, something for don happen.”

Her laugh loud, like thunder. She dey use laughter chase fear away. For Okpoko, laughter dey cure small fear—even if wahala dey hide.

Grandpa talk low, “Na so I think too, but anointing oil cross dey for attic door—and dem look scary.”

He talk as if e dey confess. Everybody just look the door. The rain outside pause small, like say world dey listen.

Grandma look the door. “How I no ever see them?”

She shift head, squint eye, try remember if she don ever notice am. For Okpoko, woman eye dey sharp, so if she miss something, e mean say e really dey hide.

“Dem dey hide under rust and dust. Na only thunder dey make them show.”

Grandpa voice low, like say e dey talk to himself. For Okpoko, thunder dey reveal things wey sun no fit show.

As he dey talk, lightning shine again, red anointing oil cross show for door. The patterns dey move like say dem get life, but before I see am well, everywhere dark again, the door come look more scary.

My chest tight. E be like say the cross dey shift small for my eye. For that moment, even my grandma silent, just dey watch the door as if she dey expect make person knock from inside.

Grandma look am. “That door dey fear person, but the village chief don dey with us since. We sabi am well—na good person, e no fit harm us.”

She voice strong, but hand dey shake small. She try arrange wrapper, face door with courage. For Okpoko, woman fit use mouth chase spirit, even if heart dey shake.

Grandpa nod. “Na so I think, but those marks dey worry me. We need ask am make our mind rest.”

He take deep breath, voice soft. E mean say e don decide—tomorrow, question must come out, spirit or no spirit.

“Yes,” Grandma agree. “We go ask tomorrow.”

She rub chest, sigh. Everybody just silent. Rain begin fall again, small frog begin croak outside. Na only storm and frog dey talk.

Thunder just blast, window shake. “Time don go, make we sleep,” Grandma talk.

She stand, stretch. E be like say sleep na only medicine for fear tonight.

“Mama, heat too much upstairs. I go sleep downstairs tonight,” my uncle talk. Downstairs dey usually for store things.

He dey fan self with torn newspaper. For Okpoko, heat dey bite well after rain, but sometimes na fear dey make person no wan sleep upstairs.

“No wahala,” Grandma say, “just lock everywhere well.”

She nod, voice strong. For Okpoko, locking door well dey important, especially when storm and strange talk dey fill air.

She carry me upstairs, Grandpa follow. Soon we reach our room—the innermost one for second floor, two doors from my great-grandpa.

As we dey climb, each step dey creak. For corridor, shadow long, lamp just dey shake for hook. Grandma hold my hand tight, even as her own hand cold.

Grandma arrange bed, off light. Everywhere just dark. Rain and storm don swallow even moonlight. For the dark, na only Grandpa pipe dey shine small. I just hold Grandma tight, one kind fear just dey my body.

I no fit close eye. I dey listen for every sound—frog, rat, thunder, or even the groaning wey dey come from great-grandpa room. My mind dey run up and down.

“Old man, you no wan sleep?” Grandma ask.

Her voice soft, almost whisper. She dey try hide worry from me. For Okpoko, mama always dey protect pikin with words.

“Old woman, you still remember Mama Ebun?”

He puff pipe, eye dey look ceiling. For Okpoko, once old people begin talk about past, e mean say something heavy dey their mind.

“I remember. Wetin happen?”

Her voice curious, like say she dey prepare for long story. She arrange wrapper, settle for bed edge.

According to old people, Mama Ebun na the village chief first wife—she fine, sabi book. The chief treat am well, but she run follow man when she get belle.

The whole village gossip that year. Dem say the woman too fine, even people from another town dey come see her. For Okpoko, when woman run, na big disgrace for chief family.

After small silence, Grandpa say, “Some years back, I dey drink with the village chief. As e drunk, he point the attic, dey shout Mama Ebun name. Him face just change, no be the usual him. Even now, if I remember, body go cold. You feel say na Mama Ebun dey that attic?”

The pipe for Grandpa hand nearly fall. E eyes dey shine from the small fire. E talk as if e dey try remember something wey e wan forget. For Okpoko, people dey believe say spirit of person wey die with pain fit remain for house.

Lightning flash, Grandpa face just white like ghost—dey scary for the dark.

For that moment, I hold Grandma wrapper tight. Even her own hand dey tremble small. For Okpoko, when lightning flash, old story dey show face.

Grandma shake head. “No possible. The chief dey fear sef—e no dey fit kill chicken. Maybe na drink dey worry am. Besides, he treat Mama Ebun well. How he go fit kill am?”

She dey talk as if she dey chase evil spirit away with mouth. She rub my head, try comfort me. For Okpoko, na woman voice dey scatter fear from pikin mind.

Grandpa puff him pipe. “I hear from Baba Musa say the chief once suspect the pikin no be him own. Dem fight well. Next day, Mama Ebun run. No be coincidence?”

He talk low, eye dey shine for dark. For Okpoko, if pikin no resemble papa, story dey quick spread.

“No fit be. Ebun na good woman. She no fit do that.”

Grandma voice firm. She cross arm, hold her ground. For Okpoko, to defend woman name na pride for another woman.

Grandpa sigh. “When day break, make we ask the chief. If the shop no pure, we no go rent am again.”

He remove pipe, look ground. E voice heavy, like person wey dey talk final decision. For Okpoko, to move house because of spirit no be shame; na survival.

That time, strange groaning start again—sharp, dey bite ear. Grandma vex, “Wetin dey do Papa? Middle of night, person no fit sleep?”

She hiss, turn for bed. My mind just dey race; even I dey cover head with wrapper, hope say nothing go drag me from sleep.

Grandpa shout, “Papa, abeg rest, make you sleep!”

He talk loud, but e voice dey tremble. For Okpoko, if you shout for old person like this, e mean say wahala don too much.

Suddenly, footsteps just dey rush come upstairs. Grandma on light sharp. Person begin knock door hard. Outside, my uncle voice dey shake, “Papa! Mama! Abeg open door, quick!”

The knock loud, like police dey pursue thief. Grandma grab my hand, push Grandpa to door. Fear just hang for air, as thunder roll again for sky. Everybody heart dey beat, nobody fit talk for one second. As thunder roar and uncle knock scatter door, we know say this night, Okpoko spirit no go let anybody sleep.