Chapter 6: The Devil’s Bloodline

After school that evening, Ngozi grandfather come carry her. Sun low, everything golden, old man shadow long for red earth, stick dey hit ground. I meet the old man before for last life. Gentle face, beard grey, but eye—eye hold storm. Cloth poor, but he love Ngozi pass.

Because the school dey halfway for hill, road steep. Other children no get people to carry them, but Baba Ngozi always dey early, dey wait. No look am say seventy don reach—he get power. Grip strong, vein stand like root of old tree.

"Ngozi, you hear teacher today? You no fight your classmates, abi?" Voice deep, silence children. Ngozi nose red. She sniff, wipe face. Eye dey run to me, dey find support. "Musa pour ink for my head." Voice small, old man face dark.

Old man look Musa sharp, eye change. Anger flare, even adult dey fear. Gentle look turn serious—me self fear catch me. Air heavy, like before rain. "Baba Ngozi, na misunderstanding. I don apologise to Ngozi." I try calm. Musa explain, old man calm down. He pet and scold Ngozi: "Children dey get wahala. Just apologise, e go end."

Ngozi nod hard, introduce me: "Grandpa, na our volunteer teacher, Aunty Morayo. You don see am before." Old man clean hand, stretch am. Hand rough, warm, stained with old blood. "Aunty Morayo, the other day I rush carry pikin, no greet. No vex."

I notice blood don dry and crack, I shock. Old man rub hand with shame. "We hill people no dey clean like city people. I just finish skin wild grasscutter this afternoon, never wash blood." He force laugh, but jaw tight. I smile small, still shake hand. Grip firm, linger too long. I no pull away.

Old man ask: "Aunty Morayo, you and Uncle Bala dey get along, abi?" He peer, head tilt, eye sharp as knife. "We dey okay. Why?" I play dumb. Old man scratch head, shy. "We be classmates. I worry am for school. Now my pikin dey his school, I dey fear say my old friend fit show her pepper."

He try laugh, but e sound brittle. "So abeg, Aunty Morayo, help me beg am, make he look after Ngozi." He join palm, old way people beg. "Hmm... no wahala, I go talk to Uncle Bala." I force smile, hide unease. "But sir, e no necessary. For teacher work, all pikin na our pikin."

As I talk, old man eye red. He send Ngozi go, then tell me: "Aunty Morayo, I old but my eye still dey see. I fit guess wetin Ngozi dey go through. No need comfort me." Eye dey shine, but voice hard. "Ngozi na good pikin. Uncle Bala no like to see me, so na only you fit help us. I beg you." He press my hand, grip tight. Plea real, but threat dey.

After old man waka, Uncle Bala rush come, drag me go wash hand. Grip tight. "No vex, Aunty, make we go wash hand quick." I dey wonder. He whisper, voice dey shake: "He don kill person."

I freeze. Blood run cold, leg weak. World narrow to my heart beat. "Kill person?" I wan laugh, but Uncle Bala face stop me. He dey breathe hard, fetch water. Hand dey shake. "Wash, abeg. You no fit know wetin dey for that hand."

"Back then, law no strong, bush nobody care. So Baba Ngozi no go prison." Voice hollow, like nightmare. I look water, see blood dey swirl. So Ngozi grandfather na Baba Ngozi. Everything click. Uncle Bala continue: "He poor that year. He kidnap family of three, chop their food, then cut them into pieces. The youngest na only two."

My belle turn. I wan vomit, scrub hand till skin peel. Body dey shake, goosebump full arm, teeth dey knock. No wonder Baba Ngozi eye cold. "Nobody call police?" Voice small, fear dey. "Call police for wetin? E happen long time, evidence finish, all witness die. Na gist I hear later."

Uncle Bala warn me: "No ever let anybody hear say I tell you. I dey trust you, Aunty. I dey tell you because you young and no go stay long. No tell anybody. Baba Ngozi talk before, say e no care if e kill three or more. I dey risk to tell you, you understand?" I nod, lost. World suddenly dangerous, eye dey everywhere.

Now I understand why Uncle Bala dey fear when I ask about Ngozi. No just the girl—her blood thick with secret, family history soak in violence. If person dangerous like this, who no go avoid them?

"Uncle Bala, but I no understand. If everybody know say her grandpa bad like that, why students still dey bully Ngozi?" I no fit piece am—fear suppose keep people away?

"This na the only primary school for all villages. Some people no know, you understand?" He shrug, burden heavy. "Some get short memory. Some pikin no care. For bush, matter no dey last."

Uncle Bala give me towel, say: "I still dey talk am: stay away from Ngozi. Your service don nearly finish. No think too much, no ask too much. Na for your own good."

He look me, fatherly concern full eye. As he finish, na like big stone commot from him mind. He relax. "Yes, I go soon comot." I try match his calm, but mind dey race. "Where you dey go, Uncle Bala?" He smile first time, sadness still dey. "I suppose don retire since, but no principal, so I hold on. Time to go back town, enjoy life."

After he talk, Uncle Bala waka go, still remind me not to talk about today matter. Footstep echo for empty corridor. I hear am, cold dey catch me. I hug myself, dey shiver. Staff room air cold. I no believe say this small, far school get this kind secret. Looks like I need to mind myself well. For now, I go keep head down, eyes open. No more hero, only survival.

I must not involve myself for Ngozi matter at all. I vow, let her waka her own path—mine far from hers. After all this, I no wan go back village, because my place no far from Ngozi house. Every shadow long, every knock dey shake me. I dey dream of city light, noise, crowd. After dying before, now I dey fear death well. No courage for mumu. I hold this new chance tight.

But for midnight, I hear sudden news: Bush get own clock. Midnight, owl cry, my phone buzz—new wahala. Say dem kill person for Igbokwe village nearby.