Chapter 2: Blood and Silence

The air choke with strong, fishy smell and heavy blood odour, the kind wey go rush your nose straight reach your brain.

Fly dey full everywhere, mosquito dey bite leg, and my own stomach dey turn like say I chop rotten mango. For that kind early morning, death no dey hide—e dey shout. If you see the blood, you go know say spirit no dey smile today. Rain no fall, but everywhere still dey wet, cold from fear.

When police show, I still dey check the last dead body.

Dem burst enter, torchlight shine for everywhere. Some dey cover nose, some dey talk under breath. Nobody dey ready see this kain thing. Na silence just hold everybody. My own body dey calm, I just dey touch Uncle Musa leg, dey look am.

Na Uncle Musa, the man wey dey give me sweet when I small.

I remember as I go his kiosk after school, him go gimme TomTom or sometimes garri, dey call me "professor." If I get wahala for maths, na him go solve am for me. Na Uncle Musa teach me how to write letter to university. Na so the world wicked.

E no dey drink water well, so the poison take time before e work for am. E face be like old tree bark, wrinkle everywhere, pain just full am.

If you see as him dey struggle for breath, eya, my own heart move small. But I no let am show. The wrinkles wey full him face tell plenty story—village wahala, lost wife, hard farm work. Still, na sweet him dey give me, not trouble.

"Stop! Drop am!"

As their torch shine for my face, I fit see one small tear for police eye. E be like say dem no believe say person fit do this kind thing. Their shout no loud reach the silence wey just dey for the room.

Click—

Before police shout finish, I don already twist Uncle Musa neck sharp sharp, like say I don do am before.

The snap loud like dry stick for harmattan, my hand still dey shake small even as I try form strong. Na so my hand move, quick, sharp. You go think say na me dey act film. For my mind, I dey wonder whether na really me dey do this. But I no stop. E shock the police.

Out of the ninety-eight people wey dey Umuola Village—apart from me—nobody survive.

Dem count head, dem check register—ninety-eight name, all dead. Only me dey waka dey look. The police dey ask: "How? Wetin happen?" E be like evil spirit waka pass. My clothe full blood, my hand no dey shake. Na so everybody shock.

"Hands up! Put your hands for your head! No try anything!"

Their voice dey shake, but their gun strong. The shout echo for my ear, but I just dey look like say nothing concern me. I know say my own don finish.

Police rush me, surround everywhere, gun ready.

Some dey fear say I fit get juju, but dem still hold courage. Dem no wan lose their job for my matter. One officer even dey call for backup for walkie-talkie. "Abeg, this pikin no normal."

I raise my hands, dey look my handiwork with small smile, come let dem handcuff me. I no struggle at all.

My smile dey small, like say e pain me but I still get small pride. For my mind, I dey wonder if dem fit understand wetin dey inside my head. No fight, no wahala. I just surrender. Some police dey shake head, dey ask God why.

Before I waka, I even use leg push my papa and mama body for ground like say dem be log of wood.

As I push their body, I remember as I dey small, how papa go carry me for back. Now, na me dey send am go ground. My eye no blink, my heart dey heavy but my hand no shake. One police woman cover her mouth, dey cry.

"Ngozi, why you do am?"

The shout come from back. My uncle voice, him just dey tremble. For a moment, everywhere quiet. Even breeze stop.