Chapter 1: Thunder, WhatsApp, and Wahala

After I use the female lead to block thunder from the heavens, na that exact moment the WhatsApp group finally realise say I dey see all their chats.

Everybody just jump inside the wahala sharp-sharp. Their yabis and advice begin fly like mosquito for rainy season.

But as I dey face thunder for Okpoko Hills, their wahala still dey my ear. Even with thunder ready to fry me like akara, the group no dey ever let pesin rest.

When I name my sword "Wait Small," the WhatsApp group drop: [If you call am "Caught Red-Handed Peeping at Pastor Bathing," who no go shock for like two seconds when dem hear am?]

When I give my senior brother the Heartless Pill, the WhatsApp group add: [Since na Path of Ruthlessness he dey follow, abeg just give am castration pill make everything end.]

True true, strangers fit always find new way to do bad thing together. Sometimes, I dey wonder if this WhatsApp group na real, dem for don get shrine of wahala. Omo, Naija people too dey sharp for yabis and mischief; even if you climb Olumo Rock, mischief still dey hide for your pocket. Group chat wahala na spirit—e no dey tire, e no dey old.

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I dey on top Okpoko Hills dey face my thunder tribulation. The heavenly thunder just dey vex, dey strike me back to back like say NEPA no dey pay for light.

Thank God say apart from my patched, torn school uniform, I no get anything else for body. Everybody sabi say we sword cultivators dey always broke. Long before breakthrough, I don already hide anything wey get value for inside Mama Kemi compound.

For this life, na sense person need pass money. Make thunder no go spoil pesin destiny with small careless show off.

The sky just dark, full of thunder and lightning everywhere. Thirty-six bolts of wahala thunder, every single one aim for the middle of my head.

My whole body don roast for outside, soft for inside—like suya wey dem roast for junction—outside burn, inside still dey juicy. If you smell the air that time, e for dey like burnt ogbono and charcoal.

After the thirty-fifth strike, one WhatsApp text just show for my front:

[As expected of Heaven’s favourite pikin—where others go dey battered and full of injury after tribulation, she just get small stain for skirt.]

I look slowly go the female cultivator wey no too far from me, she dey do her own thunder tribulation. Her wrapper na pink, but e still get that fresh lace smell like new market day. Her face fine well well. The lightning wey hit am thin like hair, she just bite her red lips, eyes full of tears. Na real fragile, pitiful beauty. The type wey if you carry go village, elders go dey shake head say, "ah ah, this one fine like new yam festival queen."

I look myself—black like charcoal. If person talk say dem kidnap me go illegal mine to dig spirit stones, e go make sense. (*Spirit stones: na currency and energy source for cultivators.)

Even small pikin for the street no go gree say na the same thunder dey strike me and that fine babe. Heavenly Law, wetin I do you? (*Heavenly Law: the law or will of heaven for cultivation world.)

As my silent curse dey increase, Heavenly Law no fit hold am again. Inside the thick cloud, purple dragon lightning dey twist and gather, dey prepare the last strike.

This last one na Heaven and Earth Wahala. If I survive am, na Golden Seed level straight. (*Golden Seed: big level for cultivators.)

Heavenly Law wicked, this lightning look extra scary. If e hit me, best case na say I go lose all my power; worst case, my soul go waka. Thunder sef no dey pity who no get helper.

For this critical time, I gather all my spiritual power—

My hand dey shake small. If I do am, elders fit roast me later. But as thunder dey gather, fear swallow my shame. Survival first.

—carry the female lead put for my shoulder. Even if e mean say dem go drag me for elders’ meeting later, na survival first. For Naija, nobody wan die abeg; you gats use any chance wey you see. If dem like make dem say na kolo, I just carry am like person wey dey rescue baby goat from rain.