Akata Witch: Chapters 4–7

Imagine some inebriated old man shambling down the street, a bottle of palm wine in his hand, shouting, “My face is no longer of this world, o!”

Chichi smiled sheepishly. “Yeah.”

When she got there, something possessed her to stretch herself into an arabesque.

Directly below, she saw something undulate. The river creature!

She’d traveled to Jos in Northern Nigeria to visit relatives. She’d been to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, too. She’d been to Amsterdam, Rome, Brazzaville, Dubai. She, her parents, and her brothers were seasoned travelers.

“Efik women and girls are the craftiest charlatans,” he said.

He looked at Sunny for a long time and then said, “You should take her to my second wife for a divination reading.”

Sasha, now sweating profusely, dove back into his pepper soup.

“Let’s start from the start. So there are Leopard People. We’ve always been around, all over the world. In some countries, we’re called witches, sorcerers, shamans, wizards—things like that, I guess. So it’s not just black people.”

These poor children were blamed for anything that went wrong, from illnesses to accidents to death. Eventually, the community would rise up and enact all kinds of punishment to get rid of their “magical powers.”

“What is—is that hair?”
There were tufts of it all over the table. It looked like the floor of a barber shop.

Sunny wanted to burst out laughing at the nastiness and absurdity of it all and at their nonchalance.

Crossing the bridge was much easier the second time, once Sunny managed to call up her spirit face. It took ten minutes, and Chichi had to conjure up classical music three times before Sunny felt her body go languid and her face tighten.

And when she looked down at the roiling creature below, she laughed loudly and blew it a kiss.

Sunny didn’t want to zip about like Chichi; she wanted to dawdle and dance.

She could never tell them about being a Leopard Person. Her mother was a devout Catholic. She’d have screamed and accused Sunny of running about with “heathens.”

You will be dumbfounded and disoriented.

What a pompous, discriminating idiot of an author.

As she grudgingly got up to get the book, something began to happen to it.

Even you, free agent, have an ability given to you by the omnipotent, distracted Supreme Creator.

But here is something to think about: one's ability lies with those things that mark him or her. They can be talents, like an affinity toward gardening or being able to play the guitar well.

Once Sunny got past the book’s rude, condescending tone, she found it had plenty to teach her.

Its mouth was open, its pink-purple tongue lolling out to the side.

There was no roof, but when the vehicle moved, the smell of sweat, perfume, cologne, stock fish, and cooking oil hung in the air, thick and oppressive.

The open top also didn’t dilute the loud hip-hop that played from huge speakers in the back, or the raucous laughter and conversation of the passengers, most of whom were their parents’ age.

Tonight, he wore a blue, green, and yellow dashiki and long jean shorts.

Anyway, while there, she developed the idea that free agents like you, Sunny, are the scourge of the Earth.

Most people would dismiss Chichi and Sasha as disrespectful, uncouth children who can’t even get through a year of school.

“The moment the teachers told Orlu’s parents this, they were elated. Orlu wasn’t too happy. He was ashamed. The influence of Lamb society is strong. But his parents knew that this was the key to what their son would be. And to have such a serious ‘disability’ meant his talent would be amazing..."

“Everyone can work juju charms, some of us better than others, but few can undo them on instinct. Once I started teaching Orlu how to hone this skill, his ability to read kicked in,” Anatov said.

“What has the Supreme Being endowed you with, eh?” he said.

“Don’t forget the premonitions,” Chichi added. “That’s what happened with the candle, right, Oga?”

“Because you can go into the wilderness, you are susceptible to wilderlings showing you things for whatever reason.”

Certain attributes tend to yield certain talents.

“Today’s lesson is camaraderie,” Anatov continued. “I want you to go and greet a friend of mine. Orlu, Chichi, you know of Kehinde.”

“Kehinde’s a close friend of mine,” Anatov said. “He’s a recluse to folks he doesn’t think are important. I was discussing you four with him yesterday. He wants to meet you.”

“It’s just an insect specter,” Orlu said as he touched the sting with his knife. He made a popping sound with his lips. “They’re the result of insects people smash. Most angry spirits come from deaths by acts of cruelty. If the insect is angry or a vengeful type, it’ll return as one of these.”

He scrutinized them, a lit pipe in his mouth.

It threw a bottle at Sunny. Thankfully, she was quick enough to catch it. The Fanta was ice cold. Orlu caught a malt, Sasha a Coke, and Chichi a bitter lemon. All were thrown with equally wild finesse.

Like her second time crossing the bridge, getting inside was wonderfully easy. In seconds, she materialized inside her room.