It was evening when I reached Mazi Kenem’s house. Dada had asked me to return a basket borrowed from the older man during the New Yam festival. It was an old basket; most of the raffia used to weave it was damaged.
The evening breeze and cloudy skies painted a vague but hopeful imagery in my imagination. Birds flew in echelon. Their cries sounded across the horizon. I wished I could be like the birds, flying from troubles and people who create them to lands far, far away. I shrugged at the thought of leaving town. What if the Leopard spirit followed me wherever I ran, and there was no Dibia to pacify and cage it? I sighed.
Mazi Kenem was preparing to leave when I arrived. He had tattered white hair all over his face and held a walking stick as if it were his third leg. His hands shook with age, and one eyelid sagged.
“Mazi, ndeewo sir,” I hailed him.
“Ndeewo, my child. I can see your father finally decided to return my basket after so many months!” He gave a short laugh, which made his moustache look like twigs sitting on his upper lip.
“He sends his greeting and gratitude as well.” I smiled and handed the basket to him.
“Come, my son.” He held my arm as I turned to leave. His grip was strong, and for once, I felt something, something extraordinary taking over me. It seemed I had blood pumping through my veins. My nerves tightened, and I felt a presence I’m yet to decipher. “Take it easy,” he said. “I just want to talk. Come sit with me for a while.” He felt my pulse, and the tightness in my nerves and the strange feelings went away. He smiled again.
“Do you know about me, sir?” I asked.
“Sure, my son. Do you think your father will send you to return an old, useless basket?” He smiled again. He brought out an old box and generously fed his nostrils with tobacco snuff, shaking his head to hit his mark home. Some minutes passed, and it felt like hours to me. When he finally got hold of himself, he narrated the mysteries I feared most and how I can even control and bid the Leopard spirit to do my wish. “You see, I was your grandfather’s best friend in this village. He was a great Dibia of our time, and no one dared challenge him. Once a stranger from outside this village challenged him to a race, and when the day for racing arrived, a heavy storm came. The stranger attempted to run in the storm and was struck by lightning. Your grandfather ran through lightning and thunder, over seven hills and across seven rivers, and eventually won. He killed a Leopard during a hunt, and the spirit of the animal was invoked on him as is our tradition,” Mazi Kenem was nodding as he told the story. His eyes were nearly closed.
“But why did he choose me?” I asked.
“No warrior with an animal spirit dies without transferring his powers to living relatives. Your grandfather would have hidden this power or transferred it to someone not related to him, but it can only be given to a blood relative. If he died with the power, it would become a curse on his generation. He could have given it to your father, but he chose you, and there must be a reason! He was a great medicine man; he could conjure and feast with the spirits of the dead. People said he could flood the village with rain and make it rain for a week! You might not know this, but you bear a power greater than a king’s! But my child, this power comes with costs. You are very young; with time, you will understand. There is no cause for panicking. If you follow my instructions, nothing will harm your leopard or even you.”
I was scared to hear that if any harm came to my spirit animal, then I would be harmed as well. I shrugged, remembering the unexplainable pain I had one morning. My left arm was broken but when the physician who set bones came he discovered no physical wound…
To be continued…
