“Put my rapa on top of the stalks,” I said. I quickly changed into a vulture and flew off. The cornfield was huge but it was easy to locate the source of the voices. Less than a half mile away, in the middle of the cornfield was a hut.
I landed as quietly as I could on the edge of its thatch roof. I counted eight Okeke men in tattered clothes. Two had long black oily guns strapped to their backs.
“We should still go,” one was saying.
“Those aren’t our orders,” another insisted, looking frustrated.
I took off, flying high to get the lay of the land. The cornfield was flanked by the towns of Durfa on the west side, Gadi on the east, and the lake with no name on the south. I saw what I wanted to make sure of when I flew higher. No more hills. From here on, the land was flat.
With the rapa on the top of the corn stalks, it was easy to find Luyu and Mwita. “Rebels,” I told them as I put my clothes back on. “Not far. Maybe they can tell us where to find Daib.”
Mwita looked at Luyu. Then back at me with a worried look. “What?” Luyu asked.
“We should try to get there ourselves,” he said to me, ignoring Luyu’s question. “I trust rebels as much as I trust Nurus.”
“Oh,” I said, remembering Mwita’s experience with Okeke rebels. “Right. I . . . wasn’t thinking.”
“What about me?” Luyu said. “I could . . .”
“No,” he said. “Too dangerous. We can do things, but you. . . .”
“I have a gun,” she said.
“They have two,” I said. “And they know how to use theirs.”
We stood there thinking.
“I don’t want to kill anyone if we don’t have to,” Mwita said, sighing. He rubbed his sweaty face. Then suddenly, he threw his gun into the cornfield. “I hate killing. I’d rather die than keep doing it.”
“But this is about more than you or any of us,” Luyu said, looking appalled. She moved to retrieve it.
“Leave it,” Mwita said firmly.
She froze. Then she threw her gun away, too.
“How about this,” I said. “Mwita, we make ourselves ignorable. That way Luyu can approach them and if they try anything, we have the element of surprise. Tell them . . . tell them that you, bring good news of the coming of Onyesonwu, something like that. If they’re rebels then they must still have some hope.”
We slowly approached the hut, Mwita on Luyu’s left and me on Luyu’s right. I remember the look on Luyu’s face. Her jaw was set, her dark skin glistened with sweat, there were droplets of blood on her cheeks. Her Afro was lopsided. She looked so different from the girl she was back in Jwahir. But one thing about her was the same—her audacity.
Some sat on stools or on the ground, three of them playing a game of Warri. Others stood or leaned against the hut. They’d all used red paste to draw stripes on their faces. None of them looked over thirty. When they saw Luyu, the two with the guns immediately pointed them at her. She didn’t flinch.
“Eh, who is this?” a soldier asked in a low voice, standing up from the game of Warri. He pulled a dull-looking blade from his pocket. “Duty, ta! Don’t shoot,” he said, holding up a hand. He looked past Luyu. “Check around the hut.” All but one of the gun-toting soldiers ran off into the cornfield. He kept his gun pointed at Luyu. The head soldier looked her up and down. “How many are with you?”
“I bring you good news.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
“My name is Luyu,” she said, holding his eyes. “I’m from Jwahir. Have you heard of the Sorcerer Onyesonwu?”
“I have,” the head soldier said with a nod.
“She’s here with me. So is her companion, Mwita,” Luyu said. “We’ve just come from that village over there.” She pointed behind her. When she moved, the man holding the gun flinched.
“Is it lost?” the head soldier asked.
“Yes,” Luyu said.
“Where is she then? Where is he?”
Some of the men were returning now and saying that it was clear.
“Will you harm us?” Luyu asked.
He looked Luyu in the eye. “No.” His restraint broke and a tear fell from his eye. “We’d never harm you.” He held out a hand and quietly said, “Down.” The soldier lowered his gun. Mwita and I showed ourselves. Four of the men shouted and ran off, one of them fainted, and three of them dropped to their knees.
“Whatever you need,” the head soldier said.
Only three of them would speak to us: the leader of the group, whose name was Anai, and two soldiers named Bunk and Tamer. The others kept their distance.
“Ten days ago, they started again and this time whole armies are amassing in Durfa,” Anai said. He turned and spat. “Another push. Maybe the last. My wife, children, mother-in-law, I finally sent them east.”
I’d built a normal fire and we were roasting ears of corn.
“But you haven’t seen any actual armies pass?” Luyu asked.
Anai shook his head. “We were told to wait here. We haven’t heard anything from anyone in two days.”
“I don’t think you will be hearing from anyone,” Mwita said.
Anai nodded. “How did you all escape?”
“Luck,” Luyu said. Anai didn’t press the issue.
“How’d you traveled so far without camels?” Bunk asked.
“We had camels for a time but they were wild and had their own plans,” I said.
“Eh?” he said.
Anai and Tamer chuckled. “Strange,” Anai said. “You’re strange people.”
“I think we’ve been traveling for five months,” Mwita said.
“I applaud you,” Anai said patting Mwita’s shoulder. “All this way, leading two women at that.”
Luyu and I looked at each other, rolled our eyes but said nothing.
“You seem healthy,” Bunk said. “You’re blessed.”
“We are,” Mwita said. “We are.”
“What do you know of the General?” I asked.
Several of the men nearby listening to our conversation looked at me, fearful.
“Wicked man,” Bunk said. “It’s almost night. Don’t speak of him.”
“He’s just a man,” Tamer said, looking annoyed. “What do you want to know?”
“Where can we find him?” I asked.
“Eh! Are you mad?” Bunk said, horrified.
“Why do you want to know?” Anai asked, frowning and leaning forward.
“Don’t ask what you really don’t want to know,” Mwita said.
“Please, just tell us where we can find him,” I said.
“No one knows where the General lives or if he even has a home in this world,” Anai said. “But he has a building that he works from. It’s never guarded. He needs no protection.” He paused for emphasis. “It’s a plain building. Go to the Conversation Space—it’s a large open space in the center of Durfa—his building is on the north side. The front door is blue.” He stood up. “We move tomorrow to Gadi, orders or no orders. Stay with us tonight. We’ll protect you. Durfa is close to here. Just through the corn.”
“We can just walk in?” Luyu asked. “Or will people attack us?”
“You two, no,” Anai said, motion to Mwita and me. “They’ll see your Ewu faces and kill you in seconds. Unless you make yourselves . . . invisible again.” He turned to Luyu. “We can give you all you need tomorrow to move about in Durfa with the least trouble.”
CHAPTER 56
THEY INSISTED ON GIVING US THE HUT FOR THE NIGHT. Even the soldiers who refused to speak to us agreed to sleep outside. With guards, we felt safe enough to actually sleep. Well, Luyu slept. She was snoring seconds after curling up on the floor. Mwita and I didn’t sleep for two reasons. The first reason happened soon after I lay down. I was thinking about Daib. All it’ll take is his death, I kept thinking. Cut off the snake’s head.
Just as Mwita stretched out beside me and put his arm around my waist, I started lifting. I moved through his arm, my body i
nsubstantial. “Eh?” he exclaimed, shocked. “Oh, no, you don’t!” He reached out and wrapped his arm around my waist and shoved me down. I lifted again, my mind focused on Daib. Then, with a loud grunt, he pushed me back to the floor, back into my body. I snapped out of my angry trance.
“How . . .” I breathed. Daib would’ve killed me. It would have all ended just like that. “You’re not a sorcerer,” I said. “How can you . . .”
“What is wrong with you!” he exclaimed, working hard to keep his voice at a whisper. “Remember what Sola said!”
“I didn’t mean to.”
We stared at each other both generally appalled at things we weren’t even sure of.
“What kind of pair are we?” Mwita mumbled, rolling on his back.
“I don’t know,” I said. I sat up. “But how did you do that? You’re not . . .”
“I don’t know or care,” he said, irritated. “Stop reminding me of what I’m not.”
I sucked my teeth loudly and turned away from him. Outside I heard one of the soldiers whisper and the other chuckle to himself.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I said. I paused. “Thank you. Again, you saved me.”
I heard him sigh. He rolled me over to face him. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “To save you.”
I took his face and brought it to mine. It was like a hunger that neither of us could satiate. By the time the sun was coming up my nipples were raw from Mwita’s lips, there were scratch marks on Mwita’s back and bite marks on his neck. We ached sweetly. And all of it energized instead of tired us. He held me close and looked deep into my eyes. “I wish we had more time. I’m not finished with you,” he said smiling.
“I’m not finished with you either,” I said, grinning.
“A nice house,” he said. “Out in the desert, away from everything. Two floors, lots of windows. No electricity. Four children. Three boys, one girl.”
“Only one girl?”
“She’ll be more trouble than all three boys combined, trust me,” Mwita said.
There were footsteps outside the hut. A face peeked in. I pulled my rapa more tightly around me. “Just checking,” the soldier said. Mwita drew a rapa around his waist and went out to speak with the soldier. I lay there staring at the scorched black ceiling that in the dim predawn light looked like an abyss.
Mwita came back in. “They need to do something to Luyu before we go,” he said.
“Do what?” Luyu groggily said, just waking up.
“Nothing serious,” Mwita said. “Get dressed.”
Mwita stood behind Anai who knelt in front of a fire holding a metal poker in the flames. The others were packing up. I took and squeezed Luyu’s hand. A soft breeze made the corn stalks lean west.
“What is that?” Luyu asked.
“Come and sit down,” Mwita said.
Luyu pulled me with her. Mwita handed us each a small plate of bread, roasted corn, and something I hadn’t had since we’d left Jwahir: roasted chicken. It was bland but delicious. When we finished eating, two of the soldiers who refused to speak to us took our plates.
“Okeke are slaves here, you know this,” Anai said. “We live freely but we have to answer to any Nuru. Most of us spend the day working for Nurus and some of the night working for ourselves.” He laughed to himself. “Though we obviously look different from the Nuru, they feel it important to mark us.” He picked up the thin red hot poker.
“Ah, no!” Luyu exclaimed.
“What!” I said. “Is it really necessary?”
“It is,” Mwita calmly said.
“The sooner you do it, the less time you have to think about it,” Anai told Luyu.
Bunk held up a tiny metal hoop with a chain of black and blue beads. “This used to be mine,” he said.
Luyu glanced at the poker and took a deep breath. “Okay, do it! Do it!” She painfully squeezed my hand.
“Relax,” I whispered.
“I can’t. I can’t!” But she stayed still. Anai moved quickly, sticking the sharp poker into the cartilage at the top of her right ear. Luyu made a high pitched peeping sound but that was it. I almost laughed. It was the same reaction she’d had during her Eleventh Rite circumcision.
Anai inserted the earring. Mwita gave her a leaf to eat. “Chew it,” he said. We watched as she chewed, her face contorted with pain. “Are you all right?” Mwita asked.
“Think I’m going to be . . .” She turned to the side and threw up.
CHAPTER 57
OUR GOOD-BYES WERE QUICK.
“We’ve changed our plan,” Anai told us. “We’re going around Gadi. There is nothing there for us. Then we’re going to wait.”
“For what?” Mwita asked.
“News of you three,” Anai said.
And with that we parted. They went east, and we went west, to my father’s town, Durfa. We started down the row of lush green corn.
“How does it look?” Luyu asked, tilting her head toward me to show her earring.
“It actually looks nice on you,” I said.
Mwita sucked his teeth but said nothing, walking a few steps ahead. We had nothing but the clothes on our bodies and Luyu’s portable. It felt good, almost liberating. Our clothes were dirty with dust. Anai said Okeke walked about in dirty ragged clothes, so this would help Luyu blend in.
Where the corn ended, a black paved road busy with people, camels, and scooters began. So many scooters. The rebels said that in the Seven Rivers towns they called them okada. Some of the okada had female passengers but I saw none with women drivers; in Jwahir it was the same. Across the road, Durfa began. The buildings were sturdy and old like the House of Osugbo but nowhere near as alive.
“What if someone asks me to work for them,” Luyu said. We still hid in the corn.
“Then say you will and just keep walking,” I said. “If they insist, then you have no choice until you get a chance to sneak away.”
Luyu nodded. She took a breath and closed her eyes, squatting down.
“You okay?” I asked, squatting beside her.
“Scared,” she said, frowning hard.
I touched her shoulder. “We’ll be right beside you. If anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll be very sorry. You know what I’m capable of.”
“You can’t take on a whole town,” she said.
“I have before,” I said.
“I don’t speak Nuru very well,” Luyu said.
“They assume you’re ignorant anyway,” I said. “You’ll be okay.”
We stood up together. Mwita gave Luyu a kiss on the cheek.
“Remember,” he said to me. “I can only do it for an hour.”
“Okay,” I said. I could hold myself ignorable for closer to three hours.
“Luyu,” he said. “After forty five minutes, find a place where we can hide.”
“Okay,” she said. “Ready?”
Mwita and I pulled our veils over our heads and settled ourselves. I watched as Mwita became hard to see. To look at someone who is ignorable is to feel your eyes grow painfully dry to the point of blurriness. You have to look away and you don’t want to look back. Mwita and I wouldn’t be able to look at each other.
We stepped onto the road and it felt like being sucked into a beast’s belly. Durfa was such a fast town. I understand why it was the center of Nuru culture and society. The people of Durfa were hardworking and lively. Of course, much of this was to the credit of the Okeke who flooded in each morning from Okeke villages, Okeke who did all the work the Nuru did not want and felt they didn’t have to do.
But things were changing. A revolution was happening. The Nuru were learning to survive on their own . . . after the Okeke had put them in a place comfortable enough to do so. All the ugliness was on the outskirts of the Seven Rivers Kingdom and Durfa people especially were indifferent to it. Though the genocide was happening mere miles away, these people were far removed. The most they saw was that there were significantly fewer Okeke.
It started
before Luyu even made it to the first of the town’s buildings. She was walking alongside the road when a fat bald Nuru man slapped her on the backside and said, “Go to my house.” He pointed behind her. “That one just down the street there where that man is standing. Cook my wife and children breakfast!”
For a moment, Luyu just stared at him. I held my breath hoping she wouldn’t slap the man in the face instead. “Yes . . . sir,” she finally said submissively.
He impatiently waved the back of his fat hand at her. “Well, go then, woman!” He turned and strode off. He so assumed that Luyu would do his bidding that he didn’t notice when Luyu kept right on going. She walked faster. “Best if I look as if I have somewhere to go,” she said aloud.
“Help me with this,” a woman said, roughly grabbing Luyu’s arm, and this time Luyu was stuck helping a woman carry her textiles to a nearby market. She was a tall lanky Nuru woman with long black hair that crept down her back. She wore a rapa and matching top like Luyu except hers was the bright yellow of an outfit only worn once. Luyu carried the heavy bolts of cloth on her back. This at least got us safely and quietly into Durfa.
“Fine day, eh?” the woman asked, as they walked.
Luyu grunted vague assent. After that, it was as if Luyu weren’t there. The woman greeted several people on the way, all of them well dressed and none of whom acknowledged Luyu’s presence. When the woman wasn’t talking to people in passing, she talked away on a black square-shaped device that she held to her mouth. It made a lot of staticky noise between when she or the other person spoke.
I learned that this woman’s neighbor’s daughter was the target of an “honor killing” to appease the family of a man the girl’s older brother had stolen from. “What has the General made us into?” the woman asked, shaking her head. “The man goes too far.” I also learned that the price of okada scooter fuel made from corn was going down and fuel made from sugar cane was going up. Imagine that? And that the woman had a bad knee, adored her granddaughter, and was a second wife. The woman could talk.
Mwita and I were forced to weave our way around, as we stayed close to Luyu. To stick too close would mean bumping into a lot of people, which would get Luyu into trouble. It was difficult, but what Luyu was doing was much harder.