Dada said I needed to be strong to attend the next Tales by Moonlight night. He also promised I could play and hunt with other children if I recovered quickly. So I took my medication and exercised hard. The Tales by Moonlight nights happen once every two weeks; sometimes, they might be postponed, especially during the rainy season. It was every child’s dream to listen to those ancient stories sitting outside, under a tree, feeling the fresh air on their skin. The older women who told stories were called mama and sometimes brought fresh coconut juice and dried bush meat or fish for everyone. The moonlight nights were also secret dates for young lovers. This was the main reason many teens looked forward to the event.

Before the tales are told, some older children organize quizzes, talk shows, debates, and games like wrestling, hide and seek, and nchokotoro, which was the girls’ favorite game. The boys gather not to play but to cheer on their crush. I can’t remember precisely what moral I learned from the past tales, but I was determined not to miss the next.

But who knew what might happen to me next? All the dibia Dada brought had failed to cage the spirit, and each time I was attacked, I was left at the mercy of others. I couldn’t control it. With each passing day, I grew afraid of myself and wished I could live my life as a normal boy. Who says you are not normal? I heard a voice question. There were strange voices in my head—mild, sometimes harsh, but never sinister. I could connect with them somehow, but not for long. This was a mystery even to Papa, and he was unhappy to see his son suffer for no reason. Maybe I could find out what I could achieve with this power, just perhaps. Only that a leopard was not faint-hearted like me. I shrugged at the thought of comparing myself to a wild animal. In character and thinking, I was just the opposite.

My friends came that afternoon to check on me. I smiled at their goofy, locally-made fishing suits. Odo had made one for himself from a fishing net. He wore it to my room and boasted about how the villagers admired it as he walked through the clan. I knew he was bragging, and I saw nothing special in this strange fishing net suit. The boys brought some udala and mango fruits. Although my friends weren’t privileged to attend school, I would never trade them for anything!

“Thanks, guys!”

“Did you hear that the strange crocodile has resurfaced and is even digging again?” Obi asked, cutting off my happy moment.

“That’s old news. The animal has turned our clean stream water into mud; we can’t even swim in the stream anymore,” Odo replied.

“Really?” I asked. “I thought it was captured when I was away?”

“No. The hunters caught a beaver. A beaver is not a crocodile,” Chimdi answered. She was the only girl in our group. She rarely spoke and was always the first to laugh when the boys got into mischief.

“Can you cook or bathe with mud?” Odo ignored her.

“Well, the Igwe has summoned a hunting party at his palace. I knew this because my father is a volunteer for the hunt,” Ekeledi added. He was handsome but a staunch stammerer. He usually pronounced each word twice after striking his foot on the floor. He got angry quickly and would hit anyone with any available object when offended.

To be continued…