Daydreamer.

My fingers tapped away on the keyboard as you sighed soundly in your sleep.

The words burned into the back of my eyes became images as they were brought to life with the stroke of a key. I am with you but far away, lost in the world behind my eyelids. You tossed and turned as you walked on the other side; what you dreamed of I wondered when I watched you fall asleep initially. Now, those thoughts are gone and I danced with the tales being spun on the wheels of my imagination. The light from my desk lamp cast a bright ray of light across my table, illuminating my immediate area, dark enough for you to ride the waves of slumber but bright enough to light the path for my eager fingers as they moved to the tune of creation urgently pouring out of me. I had been casting spells and making lives here at my desk for an hour until I heard the sheets ruffle and the softest sigh that brought me back.

“Mel”.

I turned around when you whispered my name; light in my eyes so I could not see you but I knew exactly how you looked half asleep. Your eyelids will be droopy, and half shut to hold on to the strings of your sleep—it is not morning yet, your head still resting on the pillow but your body is waiting for mine, poised in wonder at my absence. I said no words and switching off the desk lamp, I moved to you, found you, and merged into you. Our bodies met and I am here with you fully, all of me, mind, body and spirit.

You buried your head in the crook of my shoulder as you wrapped your arms around me. A soundless sigh escaped and just as quickly as you came awake, you fell right back to sleep. I almost thought I dreamed you call my name, and the last hour writing never happened. I shut my eyes and felt your body rising to the rhythm of your breaths. In, out, in, out…till we were in sync then we weren’t. I ran my hands across the rise of your buttocks, cupping it lightly where it meets your thigh. I feel the slight bumps and bruises on your arms, scars that have stood the test of time and tell their own tale.

Feeling your body on mine, rubbing my hands over your skin… I lost track of time and place, getting lost in the softness and smoothness of your skin. Your head rose and you kissed me fiercely. Without missing a beat I kissed you back, tongues dancing in and over each other as our bodies seemed to become one, all over again, in a different way.

The alarm rings loud and jerks me awake—the pen in my hand falls and I bang my head on the table trying to catch it in my sleep fueled haze. I wipe the drool off my cheek, as I slowly make sense of my surroundings. I am not in bed with you, no, rather I am at my table where I recall sleeping off while I penned my journal entry for the day. The alarm keeps blaring; a quick look at my phone and I remember that I have a Zoom meeting in fifteen minutes.

Sighing, I rise and shut off the alarm. My heart is heavy and I close my eyes as I yearn to feel your touch one more time—holding on to the sensation that is you in my dreams.

INKTOBER DAY 29: Injured

Tega ran. Fast!

The man was running after her and she knew she needed to hide to be safe. The road was dark and there was no car in sight, this was not how Tega wanted this life to end. Yes, she had done so many cruel things in this life but not like this please, God. Somehow Tega had time to laugh, God, really? Funny how you only say that name when you are in trouble; you honestly think they give a fuck about you now? Focus woman! Tega kept running as fast as her feet could take her, the scars on her face were itching but there was no time to stop and scratch. The only way in her sight was to dart left into the bushes and try to hide. Her attacker entered after she did from wherever he was, Tega could hear his movement. The darkness was her only cover as she decided to stop moving, she could hear him thrashing around trying to find her. He seemed to be getting closer to her so she got on her hands and knees and crawled away from his sounds slowly, using her hands to make sure nothing would give her away. When he stopped moving, she stopped moving; he was trying to find her location from her sounds just like she was doing to him. Tega prayed with all her might, called on God even though the voice in her head said it was futile; begged for a miracle. She was bleeding out from the gash on her leg from when the mad man had grabbed her and stabbed her with a blunt knife. She remembered how the pain shot up to her brain and how all she saw was white; the pain moved to second place when he crawled out and got on top of her. He didn’t know that she too, walked around armed and dangerous as she used her knife to stab him back. She recalled taking the life of her neighbour’s daughter for following her suspiciously. Right there in the street while people watched but knowing no one would dare question her; the scars on her face made her a legend of sorts and everyone stayed clear of her. She touched the scars now, images of how she got them flashing behind her lids; it was a fight she was not ready for apparently but it had to happen and her opponent clawed at her with faux metal claws that dug deep into her flesh. Her scream echoed in her head and the pain from her leg caused the one in her mind to feel real, resulting in a very audible yelp. When she realised what she had done, Tega waited to hear if he had heard her too. His sudden movements made her understand that he was closer than she thought, probably on his hands and knees as well. Refusing to die at the hands of an unknown man who probably wanted to violate her, she got up and with what was left of her strength, ran in the direction of the road. The fight, the ridicule, stabbing of the girl in red shoes, the nights she spent crying over that life, having to run away, and this night with this psycho. Lost in her thoughts, she ran blindly into the road, the impact of the car bringing her back forcefully back down to earth. She saw herself travel in the air and land on the floor; when her head made contact with the asphalt she knew that it was time. So much for not wanting to die tonight, was her last thought.

Ovo woke up with a start, rubbing her face, feeling her legs and her head—the pain was so much behind her eyes. She started to cry out loud attracting her mother’s attention. The Queen rushed into her child’s chambers, arms open and ready to console her baby. “Bad dreams again my princess?” Ovo nodded into her mother’s bosom. “Sorry my baby, it’s just a bad dream.”

INKTOBER DAY 27: Death

“We need to go to the other side; certain things cannot be achieved on this plane.” Mel looked at Mama, “Only time I was able to cross there, I didn’t do it myself”, to which Mama rolled her eyes. “No be spell you do here wey you use travel? Abeg this pikin no make me talk too much. Make we go.” Mama carried her bag and made her way to the back door, Mel followed obediently. As Mel turned around to lock the door, a quick movement caught their eye. Confusion and curiosity made them pause and keep watch; no movements could be seen anymore until they proceeded to shut the door again. Right by the sink, the shadow seemed to spin and fade away. Mel dropped all they carried and walked back into the house. “MEL DO NOT DELAY ME PLEASE I DO NOT HAVE ALL DAY!” Mama yelled from the backyard but Mel was not listening. They had gone to investigate the strange occurrence, attempting to follow its mysterious and obviously unknown lead. Mel went down on hands and knees, checking beneath the fridge, cabinets, and storage compartments scattered around the kitchen. Mama found Mel by her chair, searching beneath the chair for gods knew what “Hope say you never start to mad oh!? Ah, na you get the work abeg. Wetin you dey find there my pikin?” When Mel turned towards Mama, she screamed aloud, her bags dropping from her hands.

Mel woke up in a room with butter yellow walls so soft they believed that if they touched the walls, it would cave inwards. The walls always made Mel think of soft surfaces and clouds…why yellow though? The walls registered in their memory and they groaned, getting out of bed. Then they remembered how they navigated this place before; Mel thought of being in that unending corridor and was immediately standing there. “Emeka are you here?” Mel asked turning in circles. The silence spurred them to movement, deciding to investigate what lay behind the doors they could see. The doors opened upon thought and all that lay beyond could be seen. Behind one door was a plain field with goalposts at either end—Mel recognised the old school they attended before the death of their parents. The other door led to a bedroom that lay untouched—the dresser bearing the weight of their mother’s entire trinkets and toiletries; Mel cried out and rushed into the room. The door slammed shut without their notice because they were too enthralled by the room and overwhelmed by the memories that played out before them in real-time. Mel watched as they danced with their mother, blending into the night they crawled into their mother’s bed for fear of the thunder and lightning, merging with the image of them dancing in a circle with their mother and father. The tears came forth in earnest and Mel sank to their knees, as if they were pulled by an invisible weight downwards.

“Can you hear me?” Mel nodded in reply. “Can you hear me, Mel?” Mel said a very weak yes. “MEL WHERE ARE YOU? PLEASE ANSWER ME.” The urgency behind Mama’s voice made Mel realise their nods and verbal replies won’t be heard, “Mama I am in my mother’s room”. Mel was pulled up by arms that led to a body and the face of their mother. Mel hugged her fiercely, crying into her shoulder and holding on to the dress that clung loosely to her slender frame. They recognised the dress to be the one she wore to bed during the cold months; their mother was prone to intense colds which quickly morphed into fevers that could render her bed-ridden for weeks. Mel looked into their mother’s eyes, “I miss you mummy” to which she nodded and smiled in response. “Please say something to me, mummy, please, anything. Tell me why I am here now…what do I need to learn? What do I need to tell Mama?” Their mother seemed to blink; “WAKE UP!!!” was her reply, forcing Mel out of her arms and back to the floor of Mama’s kitchen.

Mama was crying when Mel came to; “What happened to me? Why are you crying, Mama? Why couldn’t you just summon me like you usually do? Why are you crying?” Mama held Mel tight, her lips mumbling words Mel couldn’t hear until she calmed down and the tears seized. Mama looked down at Mel, “Never, ever, EVER, follow that shadow around again. You hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?” Mel’s eyes widen as Mama’s volume increased. “Mama, I can hear you, I heard you stop shouting please; what happened? What is the shadow? How did you know?” Mama let Mel go, getting up carefully, she made her way to gather her belongings that spilled when she saw Mel’s face. “I know it because I too once sought it out and it nearly ended me. Now get up, we been dey go somewhere before.” “But Mama time has gone nau, let’s go tomorrow morning.” Mel refused to stand up. Mama paused her gathering, squinting as she faced Mel. “IF YOU DO NOT STAND UP THERE NOW!” Mama yelled in Mel’s head, which hurt more than it would have in their ears and was all the convincing they needed.

INKTOBER DAY 26: Love

The smell of vegetable soup pulled Mel faster to the final destination—Mama’s kitchen. Mama was cutting eba from the brown bowl she turned it in, to a flat plate while the soup sat in a white bowl on the table where Mel took a spot, waiting on Mama. She arrived shortly after at the table holding two plates of eba, dropped one before Mel then took her seat. They ate together in silence which Mel didn’t mind because they did not want to be interrupted either—this meal was long overdue and enjoying it maximally was very much a part of the plan. Mama watched Mel eat as she consumed the contents of the dishes laid before her, contemplating how to go about telling the child everything. She was tired of keeping the secret, the child was obviously waking up spiritually and would learn the truth sooner than later; Mama knew her role was to make the process easier. This one will come again, Mama thought as she watched Mel eating, so I no go worry too much about ein life. Hm, help me. Mel looked up at last, the last piece of meat dancing in their mouth, Mama had finished her food as well. Mama smiled and started clearing the plates from the table, “Mama let me do that one please, ah. Thank you Mama, the food was delicious.” Taking the plates from Mama, they cleared the table and helped clean up the kitchen. Mama sat by the door the entire time watching as Mel tidied up the kitchen, doing things the exact same way she would have. It was both comforting and troubling, looking at the person that would carry on the legacy, also evidence of one’s mortality. Her loud sigh caused Mel to turn around.
“I’m done, and I am ready for you to tell me everything Mama”, Mel said as they closed the distance between them and Mama, knelt at her feet and looked up at her. Mama sighed again, “It is nothing too serious my child, you are what the oyibo call reincarnate. You are a being blessed with the life of multiple lives. You have been, and as you are, you will be again.” They looked at each other for what felt like eternity before Mel broke away, resting their head on Mama’s thighs. “Tell me the rest”, they said. Mama let the memories take her back in time to one cold Friday night many years ago. She talked of how cold she felt, of how the rattling got so deep into her bones, she thought she would freeze and die. She passed out from the drop in temperature and woke up in a field with no trees, just grass; spirits walking past her in every direction. None of them stopped to say a word to her, they barely acknowledged her presence; she screamed but none acted like they heard her. Right before her senses took leave of her, a hand turned her around, “I saw your face my child, you were smiling. You told me that you would meet me in this world. You told me you were nearby but not ready to come.” Mel was looking up at Mama, the image of that conversation floating on the edges of their consciousness. “You have many names, many faces, have lived many lives, will live to see many more lives. In this life though, you will carry on the legacy of the gods—I must handover to you. To my knowledge, the gods have never asked this of your kind before; I always heard of your kind as a child.” Mama’s hand never left Mel’s hair as she finally passed the message she had been yearning to relay for years.
As she spoke, her eyes meeting Mel’s from time to time, she made sure the child could see that through it all, she was going to be her mother. Mama promised herself to fight for her charge until she drew her final breath on this plane, to move to the next. There was no fear in her heart now as she told Mel all she knew; this one will do just fine, Mama thought. Mel will do just fine!

INKTOBER DAY 24: Tradition

Mel didn’t have to look too far or long to know that they were in their room this time. White walls greeted them, the sound of Mama doing gods know what filling the air, the clock Mama used to hang in her room ticking away. Mel needed water for their throat; another dream but this one felt too much like it had happened before. They wanted answers, answers only Mama could give however, now was not the time.
Mama was frying dodo when Mel walked in, “Good…— Mel checked the time —…morning Mama. It is still morning.” Mama was silent, gingerly flipping the plantain slices morphing in her frying pan. Mel was not bothered by her silence—she could be talking to a spirit, who knows? They got a cup of water, and decided to have tea as well. Dodo was almost ready, might as well sit with tea for the final lap.
Mel made tea and sat; Mama fried dodo in silence.

Mama never paced but now, she almost wore a foot shaped line into her already worn carpet. She had enjoyed the weight of the responsibilities that came with being the temple Priestess; comfortable enough for her broad shoulders to bear. She was just a fool this entire time, ignoring all she was told. Someone would come to take over, that was how it was done—her mother handed it down to her and she was to do so to Emeka but she lost him. Was Mel the one? Well, rather obvious isn’t it? The body came to her with Emeka wrapped inside; a 10-year old boy speaking through an older mouth with the voice of another. And she had cried like the day he died, a mad woman in the street; this time he hugged her in the borrowed body—Mel couldn’t hug her like that. Mama knew she got the instruction once a month everyday of her life since she took over from her mother. She dreamed once a month about the handover ceremony, a thing of joy really…but she never saw the face of her successor. So, it’s Mel? This pikin wey never experience life reach anywhere? Mama paced. I have to teach everything I know. Where do I begin?

Mel was drifting in and out of sleep now, brushing the edges of the other world. Mama still hadn’t said a word to them and Mel remained unperturbed. Me I want to sleep sha. Mel rolled over on red sheets, naked as a new born baby; the fan rattling away providing what air it can. Mel fought the pull to go under, why, they didn’t know. Just when they let go and let someone else drag them to their world, Mama sighed.
“Come my room my pikin.”
Mel smiled and got up.

INKTOBER DAY 22: Local Joke

Everyone who lived on this street knew Nnaememka and Orhomare—they were inseparable as little boys in life, and apparently in death. Orhomare attended the school that shared a fence with the hospital, with their purple shorts, white checkered shirt and brown sandals paired with white socks. Fejiro stopped attending school early because he turned out to be more ‘intelligent’ than the other children; speaking, reciting the alphabet and numbers earlier than any child had ever done before. Many parents and guardians were unhappy with the administration for allowing Emeka to remain in the same class with their children, making them look bad and slow to learn. His mother was already regarded as eccentric and different—parents feared that his ability had some connections to her ‘specialty’. They rallied to have Emeka removed from the school; the school administration caved and asked his mother to withdraw him. Emeka didn’t seem to mind because he still had a few friends he played with after school, especially Orhomare. Orhomare was a relatively quiet child until he didn’t get his way, known for his screams and tantrums that could end in a fever if not satiated quickly. He was also highly favoured by everyone but no one understood why; everywhere he went—market, school, church—vendors gave him fruits and sweets for free, even the Oracle recognized him whenever he came walking through town or for a visit to their leaders.

Emeka and Orhomare lived a few houses from each other, their friendship forcing their families to create a cordial bond. Orhomare’s mother was not comfortable with Emeka’s mother or Emeka either; his friendship with her son was a thorn in her ample flesh. She couldn’t stop the boys from playing together without looking unduly suspicious so to help protect her son, she dug up old rumours. She called Emeka’s mother a witch, seductress, and trickster, citing her frequent trips to the bush as something only a witch would do. “That woman goes there ANY hour of the day, I’m sure she even goes at NIGHT, hmmm. Was it not in the same forest she was found on the floor and later claimed mysterious pregnancy that brought Emeka? The same Emeka wey come dey talk before normal pikin suppose talk? Let us sha be careful with them oh!!! I’ve said my own.” If she got attention anywhere, she would gleefully spin her tales, filling listening ears with all sorts of stories and theories. When one fellow mother pointed out how often her son played with Emeka, she said she didn’t want to look like a wicked mother; “What a parent sees, a child doesn’t. How do I just stop them like that? I have no one to support me.” Her new friends agreed to rally around her if she was ever ready to cut the boys’ friendship.

And just like that, tales of Emeka and his mother spread like wildfire beyond their street, to neighbouring streets and even as far as the next town. It did not stop the boys from being friends however; Emeka would come to Orhomare’s house but get chased off the front step. Orhomare in turn would sneak out of the house to play but this didn’t last long as his mother’s friends started to separate them too. He would cry and scream as he was hauled or chased back home, his tantrums getting worse each time he missed a play date with Emeka. Emeka’s mother noticed that she had become a pariah in the town and with each day, she lost what few friends she had. During her pregnancy, her husband paid her no mind because she was yet to explain where the pregnancy came from; he could not bring himself to ask her again. The first and last time he tried, he had such terrifying dreams, he was scared to silence. He was sure it was the things she convened with in the forest that tormented his sleep. His actions fuelled the rumours, more questionable looks and treatment she got; with the birth of her son, she was deemed somewhat acceptable again. That was until Emeka started talking though… Barely a year old and talking…? Orhomare’s mother’s rumours were justified! It gave people the ammunition to further taunt the woman and force her into a life of seclusion. Emeka would ask his mother why he couldn’t play with anyone anymore and her response was “You are special my boy, so you can only play with me…for now. When you grow older, we will move to another place and you will have all the friends you want.”

Emeka’s mother’s former friends came to her door on a beautiful Thursday afternoon; smiles on their faces, arms filled with gifts. They came to greet her and offer support—they knew she was alone raising Emeka. They begged her to forgive them for abandoning her and letting rumours separate them and their friendship. They bought numerous toys, clothes and sweets for Emeka; foodstuffs, cooking utensils, some clothes and curtains for his mother. She was so happy to have people cast shadows on her front door once again, she gladly let them in. She ignored the voices summoning her to the forest that afternoon, forcing them to silence. She did not want to dash out of the house for hours with her eyes glazed over; she didn’t want to leave her son alone with them. NOT NOW! She shut the voices out and entertained her guests—inviting them to even spend the night to catch up on past times. They declined the offer, leaving her house as late as they could to ease Emeka’s mother.

That was the last day she knew joy because upon their departure, she found her son dead in his room. In his hand he held one of the sweets gifted him by these women. When she ran out to find them, they were nowhere to be seen. She ran into the street, her son in her hands screaming and crying and screaming. Orhomare’s mother sat in her house, a smile on her face as she listened to the pain of the woman she hated. The next day, as Emeka’s mother made her way out of the town, Orhomare had a tantrum from which he never recovered. He died in her arms mid-scream.

Mel woke up!

INKTOBER DAY 21: Treasure

Walking back to the temple, Mel tried to recall everything that happened on that side. The necklace was round their neck now, and they reached up for the pendant again—the blending of both faces was so perfect, if you weren’t looking you’d never guess it was two different faces. Somethings made sense now; all the nightmares Mel had growing up were just other people’s lives they were reliving. Mel had always had access to the other side but had never known…until the little boy reminded them of the dream. They wondered if their mother ever understood why they’d wake up crying for their brother then. They were convinced their mother knew now being on the other side and all, still, it felt strange. So what does this make me? I still don’t understand. Mel stopped suddenly, the sound of movement causing them to pause in fear. They knew what direction it was coming from before they even thought of it, diving behind the mango tree. Mel watched where the sound was coming from; a young man seemed to appear suddenly looking lost and worried. He was trying to decide which way to go when he faced the tree and called out “I know you’re there Mel, I need your help. Please don’t hide from me. They all said you could help me, you and your mother.” In a daze, Mel stepped out. He looked very young, about 26 or 27; he was tall, broad shouldered but slim. He had interesting feet—why he wore no shoes was a mystery to Mel—and his palms were awkwardly big. “What is your name?”, Mel asked. “Fejiro. I died last week when I fell from a tree hitting my head on a stone. No one has found me yet and I need to fix that—my mother would be so worried.” What looked like tears sat gingerly at the edge of his eyes threatening to fall. Mel was so mesmerised by the glittery tears that they forgot he stood there. “Mel, did you hear me?”, he reached out to touch Mel and they both found themselves on a tree, struggling for balance and failing. Mel screamed, he screamed and they both landed on the floor. Mel’s eyes opened and they were back in the forest, his tears gone. They moved away from the being and tried to grasp what just happened. Some things made sense, others didn’t and Mel wanted answers quick. “Follow me. What is your mother’s name?” Mel asked, eyes fixed on the direction of the back gate. “Anna Ikpokpo.” Mel could hear him but not see him now. “And why can’t I see you anymore?” they asked without breaking eye contact with the direction of the temple. “I don’t know. I can see you.” Of course you can, I am still human.
Mel dug into their consciousness and called for Mama angrily. The back gate flung open, Mama running out to meet Mel. She threw her hands around them, taking deep breaths and muttering something inaudible. Mel was comforted by Mama’s arms and could feel the love Mama had for them emanating off her skin. Everything was different now, even the way Mama’s eyes glowed…different.
Looking into each other’s eyes, they stood there without saying anything. Mama broke it off, casting her eyes down as if she had something to hide. “No, no, no, not so easy Mama. Let’s go inside first. I have company and I would like to settle him first before we get into my own matter.” Mel introduced Mama to Fejiro; Mama nodded despite not seeing anyone around and didn’t say a word. Mel dropped the basket of vegetables, took off their slippers and lay on the floor on the kitchen. Mama smiled and watched them, taking her seat by the kitchen door.
“Fejiro is Anna’s son, please help him out.”
“My child, I see no Fejiro anywhere. Only you can for reasons unknown to me.” This caused Mel to turn towards Mama, “YOU can’t see him? Okay well, I stopped seeing him and could only hear him before we got close to the gate. FEJIRO!” There was no reply. Mel got up, walked back out to the last spot they felt Fejiro’s presence and called out for him. No answer. Mel went back into the house, “I don’t know again o! I won’t search more than I have. Now, I have another visitor with me.” Mama looked around, “Ah, where o? I cannot see anyone” “Because it’s your son.”
Mama froze. She looked at Mel again. Mel moved to Mama. “Look into my eyes Mama, you will see him through me”, they joined hands and Mama dove into Mel’s eyes. She began to cry after a few seconds until her gaze fell on the pendant sitting on their chest. Mama touched it, her tears coming to an abrupt halt. “Where did you get this my child?” “My mother gave it to me, just before I came back here. She said you were destined to tell me about it. So, I’m here now. But I want you to talk to your son first.”
Mel remembered how it all started and immediately got into action, assembling the tools used for the summoning spell. “You don’t need those anymore. You are a conduit as well, I just didn’t know before. Just repeat the spell.” “You don’t need the spell Mel, I am here. I’m coming forth now.” Mel seemed to move to the back and watched him take their place. There was no way to explain what they saw around them. The ground and the sky seemed to blend into each other and the windows were…eyes? Because they could see Mama through the windows, in the comfort of her kitchen. Mel sat down, watching the little boy walk to the windows.
“Mama”, he said. Mama started crying. “Mama”, he said again. Mama couldn’t look into Mel’s eyes. She refused to look up, afraid of what she would see. Mel could feel Nnaemeka touch Mama, Mama grabbing Mel’s body and squeezing so hard. Emeka crying through Mel’s eyes. Mel felt the pain Emeka felt, it sat in his chest, their chest, the chest they shared now. No tears from Mel but the pain spread to their bones. Mel sat still on the ground-sky as the two reunited, the sound of Emeka speaking lulling them into a slumber.

They woke up in their bed covered in red sheets, in a room with white, white walls and a mirror with the blackest frame ever seen.

INKTOBER DAY 15: Legend

He was not the tallest man, or the most handsome, neither was he the most athletic of the lot. No, he was none of those; however, when he opened his mouth to speak at one of the gatherings in the hall, my attention never strayed. Voice like honey produced by bees maybe only found in heaven, eloquence as smooth as a snail’s glide; never in a hurry, and clear-cut with his delivery. Love at first sound?
My mother always said to me “Never love a man more than he loves you”; although I had that charge stitched on the sleeves of my heart, this man came and undid all the damn seams in one fell swoop.
I did not have to work hard for his attention either as I also captured the minds of people; my small eyes, loud voice and domineering aura put together always get me more than my fair share of curiosity and scrutiny. It was months later before he noticed me, but for some reason in my heart I felt no fear, neither did I at any point in time fret over his attention going elsewhere. Well, the spirits that accompanied me without my consent also helped but—I’ll never admit it.
We courted for exactly six months before we got married—I had just turned 18, more than ready to start a family of my own. Working or farming was never my cup of tea, I wanted seven children, a big house and a garden where I could grow vegetables and herbs. I wanted the big tree in the corner of the compound where I would set up my altar of worship. I had simple, straight forward dreams about the rest of my life—and I was blessed with the perfect man to implement this dream with. If only I had known, I would have been 100% honest with him from the beginning.
My fear got the better of me and I didn’t tell him about the powers I had or thought I had; how would I explain talking to all those people who had died, HIS parents and sister included? Would he still be mesmerised by my small eyes or see them as tools for evil? Would he still enjoy my meals cooked with love or be rife with suspicion? Would he think all our children would be doomed to a life of the occult, as servants to our gods? Not like he was a church going man, but he didn’t subscribe to our traditional gods either. I didn’t ask for this either you know? I just woke up one day and I could see them…or was I born this way? Ah, abeg me I don’t know too, and my parents don’t know. If they do, or did, then they have a great way of acting oblivious. In order for my house to remain peaceful, I relocated my altar to the forest. Even this was not enough because…the gods never tell you “Today you will serve for 30 minutes”, no. There’s no set time, or a schedule for their demands; they just summoned me whenever they pleased. My marriage, my home, my husband—the fear of losing them never stopped me from serving my gods. I was called to this life and no single bone in my body was willing to trade it for the life of marital and maternal bliss. I would be having a conversation with my husband, or be set for the market or even in the middle of a transaction and one of them will whisper in my ear. Just like that, my feet will carry me to the forest to do their bidding.
By the second year of our marriage, everyone knew of my mysterious “walks” to harvest waterleaf. “Why not just BUY in the market like everyone else?”, he asked me one day. “They are not as fresh my love, you understand nau. Please I won’t be long!” and off I go to pick vegetables I seldom needed at that time. When I was unable to keep a child in my womb, my beautiful husband’s patience had worn thin with me. He blamed my distraction and trips to the forest—so imagine me pronouncing my pregnancy two weeks after our neighbours had to search for me in this same forest for hours. I was found on the floor, in a bed of waterleaf, unconscious but intact—my husband checked out of our marriage and finally walked away the night after our son was born.

The loud ringing in her ears forced her back to the present. She looked down at the face sat before her, sighing, she shook her head. “Your son isn’t coming forth Anna. Please, let me rest. Something is wrong on that side and until I can understand what, I may be blocked from our spirit friends.” Anna got up, sadness and disappointment colouring her facial features. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the temple, slamming the door in her wake. Mama sighed.
It had been three days and Mel was not back; neither was their body anywhere in the forest. For the first time in a long time…

Mama was afraid.

INKTOBER DAY 14: Myth

As a little boy growing up in the community I was born into, I didn’t get to play much with my peers. Other children were not allowed to play with me, not to mention touching me. I was stigmatised for something that happened before I was born, or connected to my birth—my mother never told me. The person who birthed me didn’t help make matters any easier, either. I loved her, I still do but sometimes I wonder…if it were some other regular woman, what would my life have been like? Would I have been classmates with Onome and Ruky? Would Mr. Ogaga have taught me agricultural science too? Which school would I have attended? I can only wonder now; that’s all I do: Wonder!
Legend has it that my parents had been struggling to conceive; when my mother fell pregnant mysteriously after a particularly long trip “to the farm to harvest waterleaf”, her husband became a stranger. No one knows why he hung around through the pregnancy, but he did. Alas, he said he would not be part of raising an abomination. All our neighbours finally had justification they needed for the strange circumstances surrounding my conception.

Looking at this one clutching the waterleaf in his mother’s forest, he knew this one will be okay. At least the body will live to a ripe age before it has to do it all again… Unlike me. No. It’s me that was good for a short life abi? 10 years old and I was done in this world, killed by the ones my mother held dear. She never went back after that, she went back to the gods that gave her her child and answered their call to service. She left all reminders of our life behind but always, always, carried me in her heart. A great woman, a loyal and dedicated priestess who could communicate with all the dead—EXCEPT ME!

Mel was already halfway there and he would finally be able to talk to his mother.
“Mama!”

INKTOBER DAY 12: Dragon

She had her back against the headboard as I rolled the joint, upon her instruction. I could feel her big eyes travel over my body as she watched me go about my business.
The prey in me was giddy with excitement from the feeling of being watched. My nether regions pulsated in-sync with my heart beat and I did everything in my power to keep my breathing under control.
Baby’s eyes stayed on me only straying away briefly to peek at her phone—only briefly though—before returning to bore into whatever part of my body her eyes fell on.
I finished the joint and handed it over to her to light up. She kept her eyes on mine as she lit it; I could feel my soul being probed as she watched me through the first waft of smoke expelled through her nostrils.
She ordered me to get up and stand in front of her, between her legs—just close enough for her to scrutinise. Watching her watch me caused a drumming in my crotch and its parts, my southern lips parting from lack of her touch and a deep hunger.
As if she heard my thoughts, her hand reached out and joined her eyes in the assessment of my naked form. Up my thigh, across my belly, a subtle spank of my butt cheek followed by a grab, fingers trailed lines to my breast before pinching my nipple…all the while smoking; exhaling on my body. My pussy was threatening to overflow with juices I could feel gathering inside.
Again, as if hearing my thoughts, her hand stopped just below my navel; she looked at me and handed me the joint, followed by the lighter.
“Smoke”. That was all she said, and I obediently did as I was told.
Last I recall was looking at her eyes through the flame, before her fingers parted my lips and found their way to my bud.
“Look at me”, she said.
My body trembled from the pleasure as I struggled to keep my eyes on her, a willing sacrifice for her passionate flame.