Chapter 1: Return of the Lion Spirit

When Danjuma’s spirit cross enter Obinna body, na so e find himself e hang for that old, stubborn baobab tree, leg just dey swing like goat meat for smokehouse, as all the wahala wey dey happen for the world just dey rush for im head.

E remember Musa Abdullahi wey don already fight reach city gate, and Garba wey get fresh, strong army. E still remember all those civil and military officials wey chop Kingdom money finish. For small moment, Danjuma nearly gree to hang himself again. But as im neck dey tight, im mind just flash quick to when e small for village—when mama dey fry akara and laughter full compound, or when e carry pikin for back, dey play for sand. The memory choke am, fear and regret dey fight for im heart. E wonder if e go ever see im family again, or if e don truly ready let go.

The air for the grove heavy well well, mosquitoes dey buzz for ear, bush rat dey rustle for dry leaf, night full with faint smell of palmwine from one far compound. Danjuma heart dey beat like talking drum wey dey call masquerade, regret and bitterness just press im chest, as e dey dangle like dried meat for smokehouse. For that moment, wind blow, carry im name go round, as if ancestors dey gather for village square dey yan about am.

But as Danjuma turn, e notice say no be only him waka come for this crossing.

The fifty thousand loyal and rugged cavalry wey follow am fight for the Umuola Campaign, wey ride with am go five expeditions for northern savannah, all line up for back, steady like bowl of garri wey no get water—no shaking.

As moonlight flash for their horse mane, some dey make small hand sign wey mean loyalty. One even carry cow horn for waist, another tie sacred red cloth for forehead, sign of oath wey dem swear never to betray. For back, you go hear low murmur—warrior prayers and calls to Ogun and Amadioha.

One monk wey wear black robe waka come front, smile: “Your Highness, e don tey o.”

The monk voice get that quiet power of shrine priest wey don see many dry and rainy seasons. The wind blow im robe, palm leaves for ground scatter small. Under the tree, air thick with old story.