Tainted Pepper Soup
INGREDIENTS:
3-4 large tomatoes (Warning: If they are too small, the finished soup will explode within an hour!)
1-2 tainted peppers (Warning: Never ever use a tainted pepper that has turned orange or emits more than light wisps of smoke)
Meat or fish (Warning: Do not use chicken. Chicken will cause the finished soup to explode within an hour!) 4 Maggi cubes (Warning: Do not use chicken Maggi cubes or the finished soup will explode within an hour!) Palm oil
2 perfectly round onions (Warning: If they are not perfectly round, the finished soup will explode within an hour!) Sea salt (Warning: Do not use table salt when using tainted peppers unless you plan never to have children) 50 g/2 oz ground crayfish (Warning: Make sure there is not one grain of sand in your ground crayfish or your soup will taste like glue)
Dry pepper
Water
Ice
INSTRUCTIONS:
Place the meat in a pot, add very little water (most meat produces water as it cooks), dice one onion in with the meat, add some sea salt, and cook the meat until it is almost tender.
Grind the tomatoes, the remaining onion, crayfish, and tainted peppers together. Add ice to cool it all down (tainted peppers will make the blended mixture boil).
Pour the blended mixture into the pot with the meat. Also add the Maggi cubes. Then add palm oil, not too much, not too little (palm oil is extremely high in cholesterol).
Allow the soup to cook itself (the tainted peppers will cause it to boil) for about 20-30 minutes, stirring constantly. Do not use a metal spoon unless you want to poison your husband.
Add sea salt and dry pepper to his taste.
from Fast Facts for Free Agents
8
Red Stew and Rice
Sunny could barely keep her eyes open at school. What kept her awake was the bruise on her hip, which throbbed miserably. To top things off, Jibaku was laying it on thick.
“Get out of my way,” Jibaku snapped, shoving Sunny aside to get to her seat. Sunny nearly went flying into her desk. She glared back at Jibaku.
“What are you going to do about it?” Jibaku asked, returning her glare. Sunny could think of plenty of things to do about it. But all those things ended with a beating from her father after her parents found out. When she did nothing, Jibaku laughed loudly like the hyena she was.
“Just ignore her,” Orlu whispered from two desks away as their math teacher walked in.
Sunny sat down, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Gotta get it together, she thought. By lunchtime, she had a pounding headache. Everything around her seemed so normal—and strange. The other students, the walls, the floors, the smell of the hallways. Feeling out of place was nothing new to her, but now she felt even more removed. She’d barely stepped onto the school yard when Jibaku came up behind her and shoved her again.
“Excuse me, ugly girl,” she said. Then two of her girlfriends pushed by. Sunny watched as they all met up with Periwinkle and Calculus and some other friends. Fatigue mixed with confusion, hunger, and anger is a bad combination. She’d taken three angry steps toward the group when her cell phone rang.
“Hello?” she said, through gritted teeth.
“Where are you?” It was Orlu.
“Good timing.”
“I had a feeling,” he said.
“I’m at the door.”
“I’m right behind you, then.”
She turned to see him coming out of the classroom. “Can’t we do something to her?” she whispered as they walked across the yard.
“Never use juju on Lambs for petty revenge,” he said. “You’ll find yourself standing before the Library Council trying to defend your actions. You don’t want that, trust me.”
“Have you told Sasha?”
Orlu laughed. “He knows. It’s the same where he’s from. He’s been in front of the council before.” He paused. “But you’re right, he’s in Nigeria now; punishment here is swift and painful, not verbal and lawful.”
“I’m so tired,” she moaned.
“You’ll get used to it.”
She looked at him, shielding her face with her hand. Remembering, she opened her umbrella and held it over her head. “Orlu, how long have you and Chichi been going to see Anatov?”
Orlu shrugged. “A long time. Since I was about two years old.”
“But you and I have been going to the same school since we were about five.”
“Mhm.”
“But how . . . no wonder your grades were suffering,” she said.
“Nah, I’m just not good at school. Not this one, at least,” he said. “You get used to having less sleep. Just make sure you study earlier, so you can go to bed earlier. We’ve got three days before we see Anatov again. You can get ahead on things.”
“Three days? I didn’t know that. Did he say?”
“We see him Wednesdays and Saturdays.” He stopped walking. “It’s important that you keep your grades up. It’s just as important as the other stuff.”
“How am I supposed to do my homework when I feel like this?” she moaned.
“By just doing it,” Orlu said. “Do it and then sleep.”
Easier said than done.
That evening, she felt as if she were fighting a silent tricky monster. Her eyes were heavy and her mind was muddled. But I did it, she thought as she finally put her pen down. She’d done a worksheet of math, read for history and grammar, and written the draft of an essay due in two days. She went to get something to eat. Her mother was there cooking red stew and rice.
“Good evening,” Sunny said.
“Good evening, Sunny. Have you been home all this time?”
“Yeah, studying,” she said.
“You look tired.”
She grabbed a mango and peeled it, aware that her mother was watching.
“Is everything all right?” her mother asked, the wooden spoon in her hand suspended above the pot of bubbling stew.
“Yes, Mama,” she said and smiled. “I’m just tired.”
“Hm,” she said. “You look . . .”
“I’m fine.” She took a bite from her mango. “Mama?”
“Mhm?” She’d turned back to the stew.
“What was your mother’s maiden name?”
She stopped stirring, but just for a second. “Why?”
“Just wondering,” Sunny carefully said. “You . . . you never really say much about her.”
“Yaya isn’t enough for you?”
Yaya was her grandmother from her father’s side. Sunny got to see her on holidays. She liked her well enough.
“I only meant that—”
“Sunny, my mother has passed and that’s the end of it.”
“Okay,” she said quickly.
“When you finish that mango, go get some rest,” she said.
Sunny had always wondered about all the secrecy, and her mother’s response never changed—cold and standoffish. That night, as she lay in bed, Sunny wondered even more.
Something landed on her bed. She jumped up and switched on the light. The red ghost hopper. It sat on her bed staring at her with its large orange compound eyes. Sunny wasn’t afraid of grasshoppers, not even their strong flicking legs. But this creature was the size of an American football. It turned and, with a soft hum, hop-flew across the room, landing on the wall. Sunny stared at it for a moment and then just switched off the light.
Sleep came deliciously swift and easy, as it often does when it is well earned.
Important Non-human Leopard People to Know
Udide is the ultimate artist, the Great Hairy Spider, brimming with venom, stories, and ideas. Sometimes she is a he and sometimes he is a she; it depends on Udide’s mood. Udide lives beneath the ground, where it is cool, dark, where she can put her eight legs to the dirt and know the earth’s pulse. Some say Udide’s lair is a great cave deep beneath the city of Lagos, where she delights in the noise of generators and fast life. Others believe her l
air is beneath the country’s capital of Abuja, not far from the Abuja National Mosque, where she starts her day by listening to the Morning Prayer. Still others think his home is in the swamps of the Niger Delta, where he enjoys the sound of gunfire and sips the oily, polluted water like champagne. And there are a few who swear she lives just under the town of Asaba, for this was where one young Leopard woman found a copy of Udide’s Book of Shadows , a book full of Udide’s personal recipes, juju, stories, and notes. This priceless tome has since been duplicated exactly three times, yet the whereabouts of these copies are unknown. Nevertheless, Udide revels in trickery. Udide obviously wanted the book to be found. Those who choose to use it are idiots.
from Fast Facts for Free Agents
9
Treetop
Come Saturday morning, Sunny was up at seven A.M. She showered, threw on some jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, and made a fast breakfast of fried plantain and egg stew. She poked her head into her parents’ room and said a swift good-bye. They were half-asleep and barely muttered a sentence. Exactly as she planned. Then she was off.
Sasha, Chichi, and Orlu were outside Chichi’s hut when she arrived. They were crowded around a newspaper. “See?” Orlu said. “She’s right on time.”
“We were debating whether your parents would let you come,” Chichi said. “I was saying that you’d come whether they let you or not, but you’d be late. Sasha didn’t think you’d come.”
“I left before they were really awake,” Sunny said. “But I can’t be late getting back this time.”
“Or what?” Orlu asked.
“Or my dad will flog the hell out of me,” she said. “And my mom will die of worry. Black Hat this, Black Hat that. Sheesh.”
“Did you see the paper today?”
“No,” she said, leaning forward to look. “How’d you guys get one so early? My dad usually brings it home in the afternoon.”
“Sunny, Sunny,” Chichi said, shaking her head. She laughed. “I’ll sign you up for a Leopard Knocks Daily subscription. You’ll get it nice and early each day.”
BLACK HAT DOES IT AGAIN
YOUNG BOY FOUND WANDERING MARKET WITH EYES GOUGED OUT
A seven-year-old boy from Aba who’d been kidnapped ten days ago was found wandering aimlessly through the Ariaria market. Both of his eyes had been brutally removed. The wounds were cauterized. A black hat symbol was drawn on his right arm with a dye that doctors are finding impossible to remove. This is the known symbol of the ritual murderer Black Hat Otokoto. Ahmed Mohammed, 45, found the boy and immediately called the authorities and took him to the hospital.
“At first I was not sure if the boy was some sort of evil spirit,” Mohammed said.
The boy is the seventeenth Black Hat victim. He is only the fourth to be found alive. All of Black Hat’s victims have been children under the age of sixteen. Ritual sacrifices and occult activities have long been a problem in Nigeria, but never has Igboland had a serial ritual killer like this.
The Christian community condemns—
Sunny felt sick. “They have to catch this guy.”
“I know,” Chichi said, rolling up and squeezing the paper. “A seven-year-old! It’s awful.”
“It’s shameful,” Orlu said. “This is why I can’t say that I don’t believe in the death penalty.”
“Damn. They actually have serial killers here?” Sasha asked. “I thought that was an American thing. Ha.”
“Oh, shut up,” Chichi snapped. “There are serial killers everywhere.”
When they arrived at Anatov’s, he was playing one of Fela Kuti’s half hour-long songs. Sunny loved Fela. This was one of the few things she and her father had in common.
“Good morning, Oga,” Chichi said.
“Chichi, it’s good to see you.”
She beamed.
Anatov held up a hand and the music lowered some. “My students,” he said, “good morning.”
As always, the hut smelled strongly of incense. Sunny’s nose started to run.
“Sit, sit,” he said. He lit yet another stick of incense and smiled devilishly at her. “Y’all really impressed Kehinde,” he continued, sitting in his wicker throne. “In particular, you, Sasha. He’s agreed to be your mentor for your second level when the time comes. It’s best to have a scholar as a mentor. Most are only able to get a father, mother, grandmother, family member. Kehinde was a troublemaker back in the day, too. You two will work well together. Watch for a letter from him, eh?”
Sasha looked ready to burst with pride and excitement. Sunny wanted to kick him. People only looked like that in cheesy Disney family movies. Orlu glanced at Sunny. She just shrugged. It seemed Anatov had chosen Chichi to mentor, and now Sasha, who had only just come to Nigeria, had been tapped by Kehinde. Sunny felt a little sorry for Orlu.
“Teamwork is the only reason you four lived to see Kehinde,” Anatov said. “There are seriously unsafe places in Leopard Knocks. Places where people try to steal chittim instead of earning it. Where they have forgotten why they receive chittim in the first place. Knowledge is more valuable than the chittim it earns. You four please me. Even you, Sunny, in all your shining blissful . . . ignorance.”
Sunny found herself laughing with the others.
“Nonetheless, I had to risk losing you all.” He paused. “You four have your work cut out for you. Help each other. You each know things the others do not. You each have talents that can keep the others safe. Sunny, Orlu, Chichi, teach Sasha to at least speak Igbo. Sasha, learn it and learn it fast. Do you speak any other languages?”
“French, a bit of Hausa; I’m pretty good with Arabic,” Sasha said.
“Arabic?” Chichi said. “Really?”
“My father taught me,” he said. “He’s in the military. He was stationed in Iraq for four years.”
“Can you write in it?” Chichi asked.
“Yep. Even better than I can speak it.”
“Nice,” Chichi said.
“Igbo shouldn’t be hard for you to pick up,” Anatov said. “You’ve learned a non-Romance language, you can learn more.” He paused. “Okay, today’s lesson: go and see another friend of mine.”
They all groaned.
Anatov laughed. “No, no, it won’t be as dangerous, unless you go down the wrong side road. Go and see Taiwo. Another scholar, yes. She lives in Leopard Knocks.”
“Why are we meeting these . . . scholars?” Sunny asked.
“Don’t question my teaching methods,” he said, icily.
“I wasn’t, Oga!” she stammered. “I . . . I was just . . .”
“Don’t,” Anatov said. “And get that hair reshaped. Your’Fro’s been looking jacked up.”
Sunny touched her hair, wishing there was a mirror nearby.
“Chichi,” Anatov said, “give Taiwo this package.” Whatever it was was tightly wrapped in newspaper.
Chichi took it and held it to her ear. “What’s in it? Is it alive?”
“None of your business,” Anatov said. “Taiwo lives at the end of the main street. On the way, I want you all to stop at Bola’s Store for Books and buy two books each. Advanced Juju Knife Jujus by Victoria Ogunbanjo and a book of your choosing. Read them both and write a one-page report on each, due in three weeks, on the Saturday. See you Wednesday.”
Sunny stood before the tree bridge to Leopard Knocks feeling sick. Sasha and Orlu had already gone ahead. “I’m going to show you how to call up music,” Chichi said.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh.
“You don’t have a juju knife yet, so just watch.” She brought out her knife, held it up, and sliced the air. “It looks like I’m cutting the air. That’s the beginning of the juju.” She flicked her wrist the slightest bit. “That creates a juju pouch for me to speak words into.” She held out her hand. “When you get good at it, you do it fast enough where you can speak the words into it without having to catch it first. Once the words are inside, the juju lives and acts on its own. Hold out your hand.”
She put the invisible juju pouch into Sunny’s outstretched hand. It felt wet, soft, and cool.
“My first language was Efik, so I speak the trigger words in Efik,” she said. “Your first language was Igbo, so—”
“English,” Sunny corrected.
“Really?” Chichi said, cocking her head.
“Well, yeah.”
“Okay, your trigger words will be in English.”
“So what are the words?”
“You ready to cross?”
She hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Just say ‘Bring music of my heart.’ But I’ll say ‘Bring music of Sunny’s heart,’ since this is for you. You should still try to bring forth your spirit face yourself. Call it like you’d call me or Orlu, like it’s a good friend.” Chichi spoke the words in Efik and the music started.
Sunny looked out at the fast-moving river and tree bridge. In her head, she said, Come to me! It came as if it had been waiting. From deep within, she heard a low voice whisper, “Anyanwu.” Anyanwu, that was her spirit face’s name, her other name. In Igbo, Anyanwu meant “eye of the sun.” It was a cool name. Definitely fitting. This time she walked in what she knew was a straight, regal manner. She inspected herself as she moved, for the rushing waters below didn’t scare her.
“Hello?” she said, testing out her voice. It sounded rich and a little lower. She considered herself, who she was, what she had learned in the last few days. She stopped and allowed herself to drop into that deep concentration she knew so well. With her spirit face, she was sure of what she was doing. It made sense.
She looked down. She couldn’t see her feet. She laughed and rushed forth. She was wind, mist, air, partially here, but also there. The music was in her ears like the soundtrack of a dream, as she zoomed to the end of the bridge. She got there in seconds, the music still playing. She shot past Sasha and Orlu, behind a nearby tree. All she had to do was think it and she became visible again.
Akata Witch: A Novel Page 10