Chapter 3: Palace Feast and Old Ghosts

For the palace feast, I see say Shaoshan no lie. Palace hall bright with lamp, drums dey beat, laughter dey fill air. I never see so many big men for one table since my papa burial. Servants dey dance upandan, aroma of jollof rice, pepper soup dey steam, goat meat dey smell, and fried plantain just dey vanish for plate. Palm wine just dey flow everywhere.

Shao Daoji really get plenty adopted sons. Apart from the four wey dey there, another four dey border, plus Shaoshan, na nine altogether. Dem arrange seat as if dem dey market, all the sons dey shine eye, dey measure each other. I look, try count, na so I know say palace wahala no dey finish.

He whisper to me, "Papa harem empty, e no even wan marry or born son."

I nod, pretend say I surprise. For this land, chief wey no marry again dey rare—palace boys dey gossip am. So, his eight brothers dey form group, dey fight for chief’s heir position, but Shaoshan just dey hide, dey find peace, so dem no dey reason am.

Shaoshan just dey corner, dey use smile cover him own, no dey follow dem drag anything. I fit see say e like peace more than power. This kind lively feast for am, e never happen before.

He dey look around like person wey no dey sure if na real. For Shaoshan, happiness no dey come often—so e just dey catch small joy, like pikin wey never chop sweet before.

I look well, see say all the adopted sons resemble age, like say all of dem na Shao Daoji trusted warriors before. Dem dey dress alike, talk alike, eyes all sharp. The way dem dey talk, you go know say all of them don see fight, don bleed for Okpoko Hills.

Dem all get presence, just like Shao Daoji. If Shao Daoji waka enter, air go change—na so e dey for these boys too. Even their laugh dey carry weight.

Among them, one face dey familiar. My heart beat slow, eye dey search the crowd. Light from lantern just dey shine for him face, and memory dey run come back.

The man catch my eye, look me back from far, face strong, no smile. E just dey watch me, steady. The kind eye wey no dey blink, like say e dey weigh my spirit.

Lantern light shine for the scar for him eyebrow. Scar long, cut eyebrow into two. I know that face—even if dust full am, even if darkness cover, I go still know.

My body shake, I quickly look away. Na so spirit of past dey find person—when you think say you don hide finish, memory go just show.

That year, when Shao Daoji send me enter palace as hostage, Musa nearly craze, hold golden reins, no gree leave, even as Shao Daoji flog am till blood full body. I still dey see am—him hand red, face strong. Nobody fit hold am, but Shao Daoji too stubborn. That fight, palace walls still dey remember.

I still remember the way him eyes red, full of hate. No be small hate—na fire. I fit smell am, like burning bush. Sometimes, I dream am, e dey burn me for sleep.

He hold keke window, tell me, "Madam, no fear. One day, I go finish that wicked chief and him, come carry you go house."

Those words stick for my heart, like glue. That promise dey sound for my ear anytime I see Musa Garba.

Then... Everything scatter. Rain fall, people cry, I disappear—no news reach Musa again. Nothing again after that.

My mind gradually calm down. I no go fit hold onto past forever. Person fit turn stone if e carry too much memory. People heart dey change; nobody promise dey last forever.

Na true. For Naija, dem talk say even snake fit forget old hole if new bush sweet pass. Everybody dey move on as dem fit.

Just then, Shaoshan pour me palm wine. As I drink am, I sense wahala, wan spit am out. I remember say for this kingdom, people like bitterleaf wine, but anytime I drink am, my body go just break out red, dey scratch me all night.

I just dey pray make person no see rash for my neck. In this palace, small thing fit become big story.

That time, because I like wine, Shao Daoji vex ban alcohol for house, make sure I no fit drink. People dey call am chief wey sabi discipline. For his house, e no like nonsense—anything wey fit spoil name, e go ban am quick.

Now, with old faces around, I no fit act anyhow make dem suspect me. I just dey form steady, dey sip like say I dey enjoy. My inside dey hot, but my face dey cool.

I just force am down, dey pray make rash no show quick, make I fit survive the feast. My eye dey sharp, dey watch everybody. I dey prepare excuse if wahala start.

But Shao Daoji na real wahala for my life. He host the feast by himself, come late, and this time, no hurry go. E just sit for chief’s throne behind beaded curtain, face hard to read.

The whole hall dey wait am—his presence heavy like raincloud. Even big men dey act humble, dey watch am with respect. He no talk much, and even the marriage matter, he just leave am dey hang, no rush.

For Naija, real power dey talk with silence. Everybody dey try read chief mood. He no gree leave, so nobody fit waka. People dey sweat under cloth, but nobody go stand up unless chief nod.

Shaoshan sef feel say e no get luck, lean close, whisper, "Papa dey always vex after e come back from ancestral grave. Before, e go lock himself for side hall, dey vent for one person. I no know why today different."

I just nod, dey wonder which kind spirit dey follow chief. For who? I never ask finish.

Suddenly, palace door open, two palace boys drag one crippled man with shackles for leg. Palace go pin-drop silent—everybody dey stare. I hold my breath, heart dey pound.

Everybody shock. Even my hand dey shake. Na so person dey see ghost for daylight.

As I see the red and black thread wey Baba Ifa tie for Musa wrist—juju wey dem say dey protect warrior—my body freeze. That thread, I remember am—na only Musa Garba dey wear am. E be like family juju, no fit tear.

Somebody whisper, shocked: "The former chief, Musa Garba—e still dey alive?"

I no believe my eye. People dey tap each other, whisper fear-fear. Spirit of old chief no dey die easy.