Chapter 2: Spirit No Fit Forget Pain

I don forget how long I don die.

For this place wey dey between dream and dust, time no get meaning. Sometimes, I fit hear night masquerade drum for far village, or smell fried akara from burial ground. But as days pass, memories dey fade like old wrapper wey sun beat tire.

The memory of my life dey fade small small. Na only my name remain—like last kobo for empty pocket.

I dey hold onto that name like person wey hold last kobo. The rest—my mama face, papa laughter, even the way I take die—dem be like picture for rain.

I dey lie down for my grave, dey enjoy moonlight.

For night, I dey watch stars wey full sky, dem dey blink like eyes of ancestors. Sometimes, I dey sing small song, the one my mama fit sing if I fit remember am. The earth cold, but the moonlight dey warm my ghost.

Baba Ojo waka come, appear for my side, come lie down beside me.

Him waka dey always gentle, like say e no wan wake dead. E go shift small, then sigh, drop prayer for ground before e talk to me. Na old man, him beard white pass salt, him wrapper dey tie well.

"Aunty, you don decide which family you wan enter for your next life?" Baba Ojo ask, his voice soft but his eyes sharp. "Aunty, time no dey wait for anybody o. Even palm wine get expiry date."

As him talk, e dey smile, but e eye dey sharp. The way e call me Aunty, na respect. For spirit world, everybody sabi say Ijeoma get name.

As I no answer, Baba Ojo come dey worry. "Your time to reincarnate don reach; if you delay again, e no go good for you or for others."

E voice low, like elder wey dey beg stubborn pikin. E dey tap him stick for ground, eyes dey shine for night.

"I get some better families here, why you no just choose one?"

E bring list come, dey mention family wey get money, wey dey pray well, wey no get wahala. But my spirit no move. The list long, but my mind dey block am like gutter for rainy season.

Baba Ojo talk say, for my life, I get plenty good things wey I do, so after I die, people build shrine for me, dey pray for me.

Dem dey bring kolanut, palm oil, dey pour libation for my name. Even children dey hear my story for night, elders dey use my name take swear. The shrine na sign say people no forget wetin I do.

So, I fit choose my next parents.

Baba Ojo yarn say no be every spirit get that luck. Most na where dem fit land, but my good work make me get power to choose.

I turn face, back Baba Ojo.

I no wan see him face; my heart dey heavy. The way I dey feel, e be like say I dey float inside river, no get control.

No matter how e talk, I no say anything.

Even as e dey talk, I dey count stars. Silence thick, only night insect dey sing. Baba Ojo voice dey echo, but I bone.

Something dey my chest, I no wan reincarnate.

E be like stone dey press my spirit. I dey ask myself, if I return, wetin I dey return for? This world dey tire person sometimes.

Baba Ojo vex, waka commot. As e waka, the small girl wey dey mistake me for her mama come again.

I hear her slippers shuffle for sand, her small voice dey call. Even Baba Ojo spirit go soft if e see as she dey kneel, dey beg shadow for help.

Three months ago, some people come my grave.

Dem come for night, torchlight dey shine. Dem no talk, just arrange things. As dem finish, dem pour gin for ground, wipe sweat comot.

Dem put empty coffin on top my own.

E shock me. The thing heavy, I feel weight for my spirit chest. The wood fresh, but the air dey cold. I wonder who get mind do this kind thing.

Since that day, one girl wey be like twelve or thirteen dey come greet me every few days.

She no dey miss one day. Rain or shine, she dey come, dey drop small things—sometimes bread, sometimes apple, sometimes only pure water if she no get money.

She dey call my grave mama, dey drop food and other things for front of my tomb.

Her voice dey soft, but e strong. Sometimes, she go sing small song for me. E dey make my spirit wan cry.

She dey talk some things wey no true.

She go dey comfort herself with sweet lie. I dey hear her, but I no fit talk.

She go say, "Mama, your pikin dey try manage for house, you no need worry for me."

Her voice dey break. E dey clear say na lie, but she dey try brave.

But e clear say she dey suffer. Her wrist get mark like when mama dey use broom flog goat wey steal yam.

My spirit dey pain me. I remember as I dey alive, if person touch my pikin, wahala go burst. Now, I dey powerless, only dey watch.

E clear say dem dey beat her. How she go dey okay?

I dey see as she dey try hide hand for wrapper, but mark full everywhere. My anger dey rise, but for spirit world, na patience be key.

She go still ask, "Mama, you cold for there? You get food chop?"

The way she dey ask, e be like say she wan swap place with me. She dey use all her small strength hold onto memory.

I think for my mind, small girl, na yourself you suppose dey worry about.

My heart dey talk say, if to say I fit send dream, I for tell her make she run. But who go believe dream for this kind family?

For this cold season, she dey wear thin cloth, her hand red from cold, her face white like person wey never chop.

Na harmattan dey blow, dust everywhere, and still she no miss to come. Her lips dey crack, but smile dey her face as she dey talk to my grave.

Her body weak, breeze fit carry her go. If her mama really dey buried here, to see her like this go break her heart.

For village, dem dey say no spirit fit rest if e pikin dey suffer for world. I dey wonder if my own mama dey watch me too, dey cry for where she dey.

As I think am, my mind just dey vex, my heart dey heavy.

Anger dey boil like ogbono for fire. Sometimes I wan scatter grave, but only small wind fit blow sand here. My spirit dey shout, but nobody dey hear.

Something dey my head wey wan come out, but no matter how I try, e no gree.

I dey feel say memory dey hide for dark corner, something dey call me, but e far.

I dey float on top the grave, dey enjoy the sun and the things wey she bring.

Small things dey sweet my spirit. Even rice wey don sour, I dey chop am with joy. Na the kindness from her heart dey give me strength, not the food.

The main difference between me and other spirits be say, I fit show for daytime, dey waka among living people.

Dem dey fear me for spirit world, say my shadow no dey rest. Some say na because my work never finish for earth. Me, I no know true reason.

After I chop and drink finish, the small girl go look my grave, her voice hoarse as she dey say goodbye.

Her voice dey sound like old drum, dry but strong. She go wipe face with back of hand, stand for long, like say she dey wait for reply.

"Mama... make you dey alright for there. I go come see you again soon. If you want anything, abeg show me for dream... next time I go bring am for you..."

She dey talk like market woman wey dey make promise. The hope for her voice dey sweet and painful at once. For village, we dey believe dream na road between living and dead.

As she dey talk, her eye red, she sniff, whisper, "Mama, I miss you, abeg show for my dream..."

Her body dey shake, but she still stand. Tears dey drop for sand, form small mud. I dey wish I fit touch her, wipe her tears. The pain wey I feel, e strong pass hunger.

As I see her tears, my heart dey pain me.

For spirit world, na only heart wey never forget love fit feel this kind pain. I dey wish say I fit carry her wahala put for my own head.

E be like say I don see this kind thing before.

Flash of memory pass my mind—me, small like her, dey cry for my mama grave. I no know if na true or dream, but the pain dey the same.

Before I know, I just call her as she wan go.

Voice leave my mouth before I fit hold am back. The word sharp, like thunder for dry season.

"No go."