Chapter 4: Village Blood

Before, na just to escape I dey plan, even if e mean say I go hide my name. But that day, I hear say dem kill everybody for my village. My papa and mama die since I small, na the whole village raise me. So, Umuola village people be like my papa and mama too. So, when I hear, “Dem wipe Umuola village finish?”—my body just freeze. I hide for bush, no even fit move.

As I dey squat for bush, my heart dey race, my hand dey shake. Old memory come rush me—my childhood, how Mama Ngozi dey tie wrapper for waist, how Uncle Chuka dey whistle when e dey split wood. The world quiet, except for small bush-cricket wey dey sing for darkness. Mosquito dey bite my leg, but I no even feel am, fear don swallow all other pain.

I remember am clear, na the third month wey I reach Palm Grove Hills. I dey hold my new disciple white bead token, happy dey go find second senior brother Abdul, wan ask am which town for hill foot get better palm wine, use chance know the area well. But as I waka reach, na so I see Abdul, wey dey always gentle, dey laugh soft as e dey clean im long cutlass. E talk slow, “Wipe finish, nobody remain. Even Chief Okoli wife and her belle pikin.” Abdul click im tongue, “Over hundred people, e tire me, so last last I just use ice spikes.”

The air cold for that place, as if harmattan just enter body. The way Abdul dey clean im cutlass with care, e show say e don dey used to blood. I dey hide for corner, dey hold tree like say the tree fit cover my shame and fear.

The gentle eldest senior brother Musa talk with cold voice wey I no know. “You sure say all of dem die?” Abdul look am side-eye. “Of course, I no dey leave work half-way.” E clean the blood for im cutlass, put am back with joy, come smile, “Just make sure little Tunde no hear. I no wan make my precious junior brother hate me. If e hate me, who go sneak follow me drink again?” Musa reply, “No wahala, hide am from am first. Tell am after e reach Spiritual Awakening.” “Yes, by then e go understand us. Disciples no need emotions, or all those mortal weakness—ah, e pain me say junior brother slow for Spiritual Awakening, else e for use im own hand kill im people prove im way.”

I dey grip the tree hard, sweat dey my palm even as cold breeze dey blow. The talk wey dem dey yarn sound like play, but I dey feel the wickedness behind the laughter. The kind chill wey catch my bone, na only people wey see real evil fit understand.

My teeth dey shake. I cover my mouth, no even dare make sound. But tears of fear and pain still dey drop from my face. Dem waka comot. I hold the white bead token for my other hand so tey my knuckle white. The word ‘Palm Grove’ wey dem write for am, e just dey mock me.

For that moment, I dey wish say make ground open swallow me. I dey feel the bead for my palm, but instead of pride, na pure shame and sorrow full my chest. My body dey tremble, but I no fit drop the bead.

Na this one be spiritual camp for discipleship? Dem dey do am for people? Why dem go kill innocent people?

The question dey ring for my head like church bell for Sunday morning. I dey remember how my people dey call me 'hope of Umuola', now na my name bring death to all.

Chief Okoli na the village chief, my uncle join. Before I go, e hold my hand, dey smile, say our village go produce better person, say when im pikin born, e wan make me, the ‘spiritual elder’, give am name. That time, e dey look im wife wey get six months belle, dey happy. E no ever believe say e go die three months later, im pikin never even born. Why una go kill dem! Why una go say na for my sake! You ask me? I agree? E just dey mad—

Pain dey knot my chest, the thing dey make me almost shout for bush. My mouth dey open, but no sound dey come out. My tears dey wet ground, I dey wish say I fit fight thunder with hand.

And again: When I reach Spiritual Awakening, I go understand you? Wetin that one mean? Cold just dey climb my back. E be like say, to reach ‘Spiritual Awakening’ mean I go turn monster wey I no fit even understand or accept myself. I remove my hand from my mouth, hold the urge to vomit. Word by word, through my teeth, I talk: “I no go ever gree.”

For that bush, as I dey whisper my vow, e be like say ancestors dey listen. I feel small breeze pass my ear, the one wey dey come before big rain. I swear with all my soul, say I no go turn to monster, no matter wetin e go cost me. I rub ground, carry small sand, wipe am for face like say e go hide my tears. No matter wetin dem plan, I swear for this bush—my spirit no go break.