Chapter 1: Awakening Under the Baobab

Dem talk say that day, Baba Mengde—formerly known as Cao Cao—dey warm palm wine under baobab tree, dey gist about strong men. After e see Musa Xuande off, im drink some more, head come dey turn, so e sleep early.

The baobab tree for that compound big like village legend, roots stretch well-well, its shade cool like rainy season breeze. Baba Mengde like to sit under am, gisting about men wey carry power for chest, men wey their hand strong reach seven. The palm wine dey bubble small-small for him local pot, the sweet aroma of fresh tap mixing with the dust of evening, as if the whole village dey hold their breath for his next yarn. When Musa Xuande waka finish, Baba Mengde nod, pour one last calabash for himself, feeling the palm wine warmth slide down like family blessing. As the drink settle inside belle, e close eye, body heavy, mind begin float between this world and dreamland.

As e dey half sleep, half wake, e hear person dey shout: "Dalang, Dalang, wake up go sell masa!"

The voice be like early morning rooster wey no dey ever tire, sharp and clear, cut through im sleep. E almost think say na spirit dey call am from dream world, but as e force eye open, the shout still dey ring for ear like old church bell. Added to the noise, e hear the distant sound of mortar pounding ogi from one compound, and the smell of burning firewood dey enter window—true sign say morning don land.

Baba Mengde open im eye see one fine woman. Even though na local Ankara wrapper and scarf she wear, her beauty still dey shine.

She get that soft beauty wey dey humble person—skin like ripe mango, eyes like river after rain. Even with wrapper tie for chest and scarf covering her hair, rough small from sleep, she get wahala beauty, the kind wey dey make man forget im sorrows. Her face fine, and she carry herself with the quiet confidence of somebody wey don sabi suffer and still dey smile.

Na exactly the kind of young married woman wey dey enter im eye.

The way she bend, tie wrapper with one hand, arrange market basket with the other, na that classic Nigerian small wife move, the one wey dey make even old men clear throat. She get that blend of respect and stubbornness wey dey scatter man's head, no be play.

"Abi I dey dream so?"

The room dey smell of early morning firewood and soap, with that distant ogi pounding and the sharp scent of burning firewood mixing for air. One faint memory of old life dey scratch inside him mind. For inside the quiet of dawn, he dey reason if na old spirit dey play with am, or na proper village wahala he don enter. The confusion choke small, but the woman face too real to be dream.

E use im hand pinch im face well.

Na sharp pain burst for cheek, make am realize say this no be fake—na real. The pinch loud reach for ear, like when stubborn goat chop cane. Na that time e realize say no be dream, na say e don cross enter Musa Dalang body, all because of those unserious Nairaland people wey gather their mind together.

As e reason am, the smell of roasted masa and soap, the sound of village fowl, the feeling of hard mat under back—everything real pass real. Those Nairaland people, dem sabi juju, e swear. If dem no get work, dem go dey summon person inside another body. Na wah o.

As dem dey talk am, if bad luck pikin open door—wahala don reach climax.

Na only for Naija dem dey talk say, "if wahala pass your papa own, better hold prayer tight." For here, e clear say big problem don land. If person wey him star dey bend join, just pray make e no spoil pass this.

But at least, those internet people no too do am strong, dem even dash am one small fine wife join.

As he look the woman dey arrange for corner, heart calm small. "Ah, at least e remain better thing inside this wahala. God dey!"