Chapter 1: The Holy Tonic

Pastor tell me make I swallow the pill. E say na holy tonic, say if I take am, e go make me born again, step into Spiritual Awakening. But wetin I see fear me die: For inside the belly of my senior brothers wey don reach Elder status, I see something dey wriggle—one kind wicked, clawed, sticky worm.

As Pastor dey talk, im voice get that kind command wey fit make even stubborn goat humble. But my mind dey jump, my leg dey shake small under my robe, but I hold am tight as I dey look Pastor face, dey wonder wetin dey truly hide behind that calm smile. The air inside the church hall thick, old incense dey mix with sweat, and for one corner, ancient drum wey dem carve with old tortoise and cowrie shell pattern, quiet but dey watch like elder for council. My body cold, e be like say something dey press my chest, as if ancestors dey tap me, dey warn make I shine my eye.

I born for the time of Great Wilderness, get eyes wey fit see through things. I dey help villagers find underground water. Dem believe say I fit see tomorrow, call me Child of the Divine. The story spread reach far, na so church elders from Palm Grove Hills hear am. So, Elder Pastor Obinna waka come down from mountain that night, carry me go Palm Grove Spiritual Camp, say e wan make me im disciple.

As Pastor waka come my village that night, im steps steady, like person wey sure say ground no go swallow am. Moon full, my people gather, dey whisper say, 'Na big man from mountain, dem say e fit command rain.' My heart dey beat double, but I gree follow am, because for my people, if big man call you, you no fit say no without wahala.

Pastor, the old man, even bring out one tonic. E talk say, “Take am. E go ginger your spirit, make you enter Spiritual Awakening sharp sharp.”

“Once you awaken, you fit start to pursue higher calling.”

Pastor voice soft but strong, e get the kind conviction wey dey make crowd nod even if dem no understand. My mind dey full with hope and fear, because for every sweet promise e yarn, sharp warning dey hide inside. I dey see how im hand steady as e hold the tonic, like say e hold small secret wey fit change destiny.

“Disciple thank you, Pastor.” I grit my teeth, hold fear for mind, pretend say I swallow the pill.

I try act brave, my face no show anything, but for inside me, my heart dey shake like leaf for harmattan breeze. The elders wey stand for back dey look me, some dey nod, others dey squint eyes as if dem dey check whether my spirit clean reach.

As I reach my room, I no fit hold am again. I spit am sharp sharp, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smell the bitter aftertaste like burnt ogbono. The sugar wey dem use coat am don break finish, showing one golden-brown insect egg inside. One small pikin worm dey inside transparent membrane. E dey wiggle, dey struggle, im eight compound eyes still close—e just dey wait for host wey go feed am, then e go fit grow fast, strong.

The way the worm dey move for the pill, e weak me. I remember stories wey my mama dey tell when I small—about evil things wey dey hide under sweetness. I feel one old shiver run my bone, as if my ancestors dey whisper, 'Tunde, shine your eye o.'

I carry the knife wey I always dey carry, use am stab the egg for chest. Juice scatter everywhere. I throw the dry skin inside charcoal stove, burn am to ashes.

The sound of the fire swallowing the egg make me feel small relief. The smell of burnt flesh rise, mix with charcoal smoke. I cross myself small, murmur prayer inside my mind, beg God and ancestors make dem protect me for wetin I don enter so. My hand dey shake, but I tell myself, 'No go fear. No allow these people use you.'