Chapter 2: Village Confrontation

Next morning, early momo, everywhere for village entrance full—everybody come for land sharing.

Men and women gather, wrappers and agbada bright under early sun. The young boys dey climb guava tree, to see drama well. The drummers for corner dey beat soft, tension hang like rope.

Musa show too. E talk, "Uncle Bala, na six people dey my house."

He stand for middle, chin up, voice loud. His face show say he don ready for fight, even as sweat dey drip for neck.

As e talk finish, Baba Jatau shout, "Musa, your papa head don scatter, wild pig kill am. How you go count am join?"

The crowd murmur, some laugh, others hiss. Baba Jatau big voice scatter everywhere, he no dey fear trouble. He adjust cap, spit for ground, chest out like cock ready for morning fight.

Musa glare am, "Who talk say my papa die? E dey alive!"

He step forward, fist tight. Even children stop play, waiting to see if fight go start.

Baba Jatau hiss, "If e dey alive, why e no come press thumbprint?"

He spit for ground, chest out. For him mind, Musa dey joke with elders.

Musa answer, "Chemist say my papa no fit see breeze. E dey house dey recover."

He voice dey shake, but e still stand ground. Sweat dey him brow, but him no wan show fear.

Baba Jatau twist mouth, "Musa, ask everybody here—who believe you? You just wan cheat us collect land."

He wave hand to crowd. People nod, some mutter, 'Na true.' The matter don pass family, na village wahala now.

Musa face come dark, e shout, "Baba Jatau, if you talk anyhow curse my papa, I go skin you!"

He raise voice, chest out. Some boys for back start to move close, ready to separate if wahala start.

Baba Jatau no fear, "I don talk am. If you fit, come skin me!"

He clap hand, mocking. People laugh, some shout, others shake head—'Kai, trouble go burst today.'

Musa vex, stamp foot, wan fight, my grandpa shout, "Enough! Everybody quiet."

His voice thunder, crowd calm quick. Even small pikin wey dey cry hush mouth. Authority show for his face.

E face Musa, "Musa, your papa dey house dey recover, e no fit come out. Make all the villagers follow you go house, make we see am with our eye. If your papa fit press thumbprint, the land go be your own."

He talk slow, clear, make everybody hear. The elders nod, women whisper prayers. Law don talk, no more argument.

Baba Jatau join, "Na true! Make everybody see am."

His voice strong, he point at Musa, daring him to argue. The crowd begin shift, getting ready to march.

Musa face twist, "Uncle Bala, my papa really no fit see breeze."

He voice low, almost begging. His hand begin shake, feet tap ground, eyes roam.

My grandpa look am well, "Na breeze your papa no fit see or na people e no wan make dem see am?"

He narrow eyes, challenge inside. The way he talk, truth dey force come out.

Musa pause, then talk with fear, "If my papa die because of breeze, who go answer?"

He voice crack, almost like person wey wan cry. The crowd quiet, waiting for grandpa answer.

My grandpa reply with cold voice, "I go answer. Everybody, make we go Musa house."

He wave hand, start to march. The elders follow, women tie children for back. Village move like river, all dey flow go one house.

E begin lead road, villagers follow.

Dust rise for air as slippers and bare feet stamp ground, children run ahead, shouting, "Wahala dey!" As we waka, songs start small, some women pray, men carry staff and stick. Even the masquerade for shrine look up, sensing trouble. The ground dey tremble with footsteps.

Musa begin panic, block my grandpa, "Uncle Bala, wetin you dey do? You wan kill my papa?"

He hold my grandpa sleeve, voice high. Sweat drip, fear show for face.

My grandpa reply, "Small breeze no go kill am. If you still block, you dey hide something?"

He draw hand free, step past Musa. The elders behind murmur, eyes sharp, some men grip staff tight.

All the villagers dey look Musa, suspicion full their face.

Women mutter under breath, 'If e no get fear, make e open door.' Even the children hold hands, sensing evil.

Elders don talk say: living dead don appear for village before, half villagers die because of am. Everybody dey fear.

Old men tap ground with staff, cross themselves, mutter incantations. The air thick with memories of past evil.

Musa begin stammer, "No...no be like that."

He back away, hand cover face, voice tremble. Some women start to cry, sensing wahala.

My grandpa hiss, waka straight to Musa house, villagers follow.

The crowd push gate, the old iron break, sound loud. Everybody rush enter, curiosity and fear for body.

As dem reach, gate don break, people force am open. For inside compound, fresh blood stain everywhere, footprints scatter. House look like say dem scatter am.

Even the chickens run mad, feathers everywhere. One goat dey bleat loud, rope drag for neck. The air choke with smell of fear and old blood.

My grandpa ask, "Musa, where your papa?"

His voice steady, but I hear pain inside. He look round, eyes scan every corner.

That time, weak cry come from sheep pen—sound like animal wey dey die, pain full am.

The cry long, dragging, almost like person wey no wan die. Everybody stop, look the direction. Even the bravest elders step back small.

Musa shout with fear, eye wide like say e see ghost, e run commot yard.

He push crowd, jump fence, disappear. Some boys try follow, but fear grip them. One woman shout, 'Blood of Jesus!' clutching child tight.

Villagers freeze, dey look sheep pen. Door open, blood full everywhere. Nobody get mind near am.

The smell from the pen choke throat, thick with old blood and fear, make even strong man eye water.

The fear thick, like old curse. No one move, even the chief priest stand still, mouth open. The pen dark, but eyes dey peep, waiting for who go move first.

My grandpa face come hard as e waka go near, wan check inside the pen.

He hold my hand, voice low, 'Seyi, stand back.' He move with boldness of old lion, staff raised, ready for anything. As grandpa push open the pen, the whole village hold breath—because what come out next fit change everybody life forever.