Chapter 9: Paradise or Death—The Truth of Riverland

But the thing wey surprise me: as he hear say we dey go Riverland, Musa fear just turn to joy:

His whole body change—shoulder straight, eyes bright, like pikin wey see sugar cane.

"Sani, you mean say you dey carry me go land of spirits?"

Mallam Sani nod, gesture slow, face serious. Camp dey watch.

"Good! Sani, you sabi me well! Those palace people dey talk say only spirits fit enter, but I be king, God give me mandate—why I no go fit go?"

Chest rise, pride return. Men cheer quiet, hope small. Even I feel small respect for Musa.

All this dey worry me. Baba Ojo warn say Riverland dangerous—how e go be paradise?

I hold my fear. I remember old stories: ‘Every river get spirit, every paradise get snake.’

We reach Riverland border, doubt strong. Everywhere fresh, birds dey sing, rabbit dey run, fish dey jump—true paradise.

Grass green, water shine. For one moment, I think say na afterlife my grandmother promise—the one with endless food, laughter, no sorrow.

How this place go dangerous?

As we dey find way cross river, thick fog come, then clear as boatman paddle come. Boat big enough, plenty gourds hang for side, dey jingle for breeze.

Fog roll, thick, cover world. Out of mist, boat appear, glide like spirit. Gourds rattle, sound like distant voice.

Boatman wear white head to toe, simple but neat. Steps silent, hand steady. White cloth shine for weak sun, eyes calm, deep like river.

"Abeg, enter."

Voice soft, polite, but firm. No greeting, no story, just command.

White-cloth ferryman—na Zubairu, Zubairu the Riverland Lion. At once, I remember tales: Zubairu the fearless, the one wey fight river spirits, vanish without trace. Heart skip beat.

We waka, shore far. Next thing, we dey middle river. Suddenly, my head turn, when I open eye, everywhere don change.

Clean river don turn to dirty blood, full of animal and human pieces. Gourds for boat na head without eye, dey cry, dey shout. Cry fill ear, rot dey smell. Nnenna hold me, eyes wide. Musa cover face, dey mutter prayer.

I look up—Zubairu face no fresh, cloth dirty, face dry like old yam. Suddenly, he open mouth, black smoke dey come out:

"You... fit see?"

Voice deep, no human. Skin crawl, but I no blink.

Hand touch my shoulder. Strong grip, familiar. I turn, hope flicker.

"Ignore am. Just act like say you no see or hear anything."

Voice low, urgent. I nod, heart dey beat like bata drum.

Na Mallam Sani. Face grim, eyes dey run. Even trickster dey fear—this place pass him power.

I form like nothing happen till we reach land. I ask Mallam Sani, "Wetin be all this?"

"Once you enter Riverland, dem go collect your sense, leave you with only fake things," Mallam Sani talk. "You think say na paradise be this?"

I look round—except me and Mallam Sani, everybody dey happy, no know say na fake.

"Why we fit see true?"

Mallam Sani raise three fingers. "Only three people fit see through am. One na me, with blood magic. One na Musa, with king fate. The last one na you."

He talk last part slow, dey try see if I go talk.

But I no even know why I fit see, and even if I know, I no go tell am. So I point Musa. "That one no look like person wey fit see anything."

Mallam Sani grin, shake head. ‘Na so,’ he say. ‘Kingship no dey always bring sense.’

"Na normal. I lock him king fate for him body. Musa no be him papa Alhaji—he soft, go expose himself quick."

"If e happen nko?"

Mallam Sani smile, teeth flash but warning dey inside.

"Dem go pluck him eyes, cut him head—hang am for boat."

Mallam Sani sabi Riverland wahala pass wetin I think. Every danger we meet, he get answer. He guide us like papa with stubborn pikin—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh. River spirits bow to him charm, monsters run from him shadow. Still, I watch am with one eye open.

E clear say he dey bet say I sabi where next to go. But he no know say me self dey bet. Baba Ojo no tell me the exact point. But he once talk, "Battle of Palm Creek na scam."

So my own bet be say, the truth—dey hide inside the fire for Palm Creek.

And so, as we prepare to face that hidden fire, I hold Baba Ojo’s seven warnings close, pray for strength, wisdom, and courage to finish wetin our ancestors begin.