Akata Witch: A Novel

by Nnedi Okorafor

  Anatov held up a small vial containing a light blue substance. “You’re to go to Leopard Knocks on your own time and buy some of this,” he said. “It’s called Healing Hands powder. Come and take a pinch. You should have this with you at all times—just in case.”

  The powder was hot between Sunny’s fingers, but not unpleasantly so.

  “If you hold it long enough, the part of your skin that is touching it will develop a cancer,” Anatov said.

  They all froze. “What!” cried Sasha.

  “Patience,” Anatov firmly said. “I know this might be hard, knowing what you know, but you need to stand still enough to hear your heartbeat. If you don’t, it won’t work.” He waited.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. “The blood your heart pumps nourishes every part of you, including the part you wish to heal. Imagine sailing through your veins to that ailing place. You see it? Now imagine that you’re bringing that part of you forward. It detaches and now floats before you. See it rotate so you can look at it from all angles.”

  Sunny imagined the dark purple black bruise on her bicep where Jibaku had punched her, the bruise she wished would go away before her mother saw it. She imagined the flesh under her skin, full of burst blood vessels.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Anatov said. “Now, quickly, blow the powder at what you see!”

  She held her fingers to her lips and blew. Immediately her bicep felt as if it had caught fire. She screeched, grabbing her arm.

  “Looks like we have a result,” Anatov said, smiling wide.

  Sunny’s arm gradually began to feel better. She looked at it and laughed. “It’s gone!”

  “Yours worked?” Chichi asked, surprised. “Nothing happened to the rash on my ankle.”

  “Nothing happened to my scratch, either,” Sasha said.

  Sunny smirked, feeling even more satisfied with herself.

  “You didn’t visualize well enough,” Anatov said. “Orlu? What of you?”

  “Yeah, the scrape I had on my leg is gone,” he said. “But I didn’t feel any pain, like Sunny did.”

  “You have more control,” Anatov said, placing a hand on Orlu’s head. Then he placed a hand on Sunny’s. “You, Sunny, have more power. Sasha, Chichi, you need more practice. I’m not surprised you couldn’t get it to work at all. All of you, go scrub your hands of every trace of the powder.”

  The next two hours were tough. Sunny could barely keep up, even when he discussed things from the juju knife book. And because she had no juju knife, she was forced to shadow everyone else’s motions, which felt silly. She soon went from feeling powerful to pathetic. It was more than clear that Orlu, Chichi, and Sasha had years on her, had upbringing on her. They were so natural as Leopard folk, whereas she was stumbling around in the dark.

  When they were finished, Anatov made an announcement. “Next Saturday, we go to Abuja. We go for two reasons. First, Sunny will pick out her juju knife.”

  “We’re going to see Junk Man!” Chichi exclaimed.

  “Second, I’m taking you all to the Zuma Festival to see your first Zuma National Wrestling Match finals. I need to be at an important meeting of scholars, so this trip will kill multiple birds with one stone.”

  Sasha looked delighted, and for once, Orlu’s reaction matched his. “I’ve always wanted to see the finals,” Orlu said. “I hope no one’s killed, though.”

  “Yes, it’s often a fight to the death,” Anatov said with a mysterious smile.

  How was Sunny supposed to pull this one off? An entire day and night? And Abuja was hours away by car. She had to lie. It was the only way.

  Chichi was in on the plan. Two days later, Sunny invited her to dinner. Chichi made sure to dress up. She wore a nice yellow rapa with green designs on it and a yellow shirt. Her short Afro was brushed out. She even wore silver hoop earrings.

  Sunny’s father was still at his office working on a case, but that was fine. It was her mother they had to really convince. Why did her brothers have to be around, though?

  “Good evening,” Chukwu said as she showed Chichi in. He looked her up and down. Sunny almost wished Chichi had come in her usual shabby clothes. Chukwu held out a hand. “I’m Sunny’s oldest brother, Chukwu.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand. She looked him in the eye as she did so. Sunny didn’t like that, either.

  “My sister has told me so much about you,” he said.

  Sunny rolled her eyes. She hadn’t told him a thing. Ugonna stood behind him, apparently unable to speak.

  “Mhm.” Chichi smirked flirtatiously. “There’s plenty of me to talk about.”

  Chukwu’s eyes were flashing with interest as he sidled closer, a lazy smile on his face. Sunny wanted to gag.

  “You know,” he said, “I’m captain of my school football team and the best player.”

  “Oh,” Chichi said. “Is that because Sunny can’t play in the sun?”

  Ugonna and Sunny snickered.

  “Come on now,” Chukwu said in his buttery voice, trying to hide the fact that Chichi had thrown him off. “Football is a man’s game.”

  That was enough. Sunny groaned and took her friend’s arms. “Back off,” she said, pushing Chukwu aside. She took Chichi to the kitchen to meet her mother.

  “Your brothers are pretty,” Chichi said as she pushed her along.

  “Yeah, pretty stupid, maybe.” But Sunny was more nervous about what was coming next. “Okay, now don’t say anything weird or anything, all right?”

  Chichi sucked her teeth.

  “Hi, Mama,” Sunny said. Her heart was beating so fast. “This is Chichi.”

  “Hello,” her mother said, putting down her wooden spoon. “So finally I get to see this girl that my daughter spends so much time with.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Nwazue.” Chichi said. Sunny had never heard Chichi sound so respectful, which was a good thing. If Chichi stepped out of line once, Sunny knew there was no way they could get her mother to agree to a sleepover.

  “How is your mother?” Sunny’s mother asked, looking Chichi over and sitting before them at the table.

  “Oh, she’s fine,” Chichi said.

  “Your mother and I went to the same secondary school.”

  “Really?” Sunny asked, truly interested.

  “I didn’t know that,” Chichi said, frowning.

  “Mhm,” her mother said. “Asuquo was a year ahead of me, but we all knew her. She was good in literature and writing, like Sunny here.”

  “My mother doesn’t talk too much about her school days,” Chichi said, sounding annoyed. “Not the ones here, at least. She says school is—”

  Sunny stepped on Chichi’s foot.

  Chichi smiled. “Oh, never mind.”

  Her mother’s smile wavered. “What does your mother do now?”

  Sunny pressed her foot harder on Chichi’s foot.

  “She—she teaches,” Chichi said. “She teaches writing.”

  “Oh? Where?”

  “There’s a—small school in Aba,” she said. “She teaches there.”

  “Well, that’s very nice,” her mother said. “Is this the school you attend, then?”

  “Mama, her father’s that famous musician Nyanga Tolotolo,” Sunny blurted out.

  “What?” her mother said, surprised. “Really?” Chichi nodded. “Sunny’s father absolutely loves his music. I didn’t know that!” Her mother looked more closely at Chichi, probably remembering the hut that Chichi lived in.

  “Yeah,” Chichi said. “We don’t hear much from him, though. The most I’ve seen of him has been on his DVDs and TV commercials.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” her mother said. There was an awkward pause. “Well, there’s some jallof rice and plantain. Take as much as you want.” She got up. “It was good to finally meet you, Chichi. Greet your mother for me.”

  As she was leaving, Chichi said, “Mrs. Nwazue?”

  She turned around. “Mhm?”

  “Can S
unny sleep over at my place this weekend?”

  Her mother stood there for a moment.

  “We’ll be good,” Chichi added, with a winning smile. “I know how Sunny was late getting home that day and all. It won’t happen again.”

  Her mother looked shrewdly at Chichi. Then she said, “Make me a promise, then. Promise that—promise that you’ll both behave and be responsible.”

  Sunny almost shivered at her mother’s intensity. “We will, Mama,” she said.

  “Certainly, Mrs. Nwazue,” Chichi said.

  Her mother stood there looking from Chichi to Sunny. She seemed to think for a moment, as if she was making a big decision. Then she nodded. “Be back on Sunday, by dinner.” The girls stood in silence as her mother filled a plate and left the room.

  “What was that about?” Chichi asked. “She sounded like she was sending you to your death.” Sunny just shook her head. Chichi grabbed Sunny’s shoulders. “You’re going! This is going to be great!”

  Sunny smiled, but still felt ill at ease.

  “Woohoo!” Chichi said, sitting down. “That felt like a job interview.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Well, it’s over. Cheer up, eh? Come on, let’s eat! I’m so hungry.” Chichi took a few mouthfuls. “Your mother is a great cook!” She paused. “You ever been to Abuja?”

  “Shhh, lower your voice.”

  “Sorry,” Chichi whispered, giggling.

  “Twice. My aunt, my father’s oldest sister lives there.”

  “I love Abuja,” Chichi said. “The air is so dry, and that big mosque is lovely.”

  “And the roads aren’t so bumpy.”

  Chichi laughed. “Yeah, that, too.”

  “So is there anything I’ll have to do?” Sunny asked. “You know, like when I was initiated?” She shuddered, remembering the mud, dirt, and rushing river water.

  “No,” Chichi said. “But don’t get too cozy. You know what we have to do about Black Hat.”

  Sunny shuddered again. “Just—just tell me about this juju knife stuff.”

  “We go see this man called Junk Man and you buy one from him. It’s simple.” She smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Sunny hoped so.

  12

  Abuja

  It was Saturday morning and the sun was just getting into gear. The friends were part of a crowd in front of the path to Leopard Knocks. Sunny couldn’t stop smiling. Since she was with Leopard People, there was no reason for her to pretend she needed her black umbrella. She was standing in the sunshine, just like everyone else. She’d considered asking Anatov why she was no longer light sensitive, but really she didn’t want to know.

  In the distance, they spotted an ominous red cloud—the funky train, approaching at a ridiculous speed. “Wish you’d brought a box of tissues?” Sasha asked Sunny.

  “Not funny,” she said. She didn’t tell him she actually had. This was going to be a snot fest.

  The funky train was covered with sayings embellished with colorful loops and swirls. JESUS IS MINE, O!; NO ONE BUT CHRIST!; THE BLOOD OF GOD!; NOTHING BAD!; SLOW BUT SURE!; LIFE IS SHORT!; JESUS SAVE US! In the center was a crude painting of a very white-faced blond-haired Jesus flashing the peace sign.

  “Is this for Leopard People?” she whispered to Chichi. “Or Christian fanatics?”

  Chichi only laughed. “It’ll change to different things about Allah when we enter Hausaland. And the Jesus painting will become a crescent moon and star. You know the saying—‘When in Rome do as the Romans do.’”

  The driver was a man who called himself Jesus’s General. But there was nothing holy about him. Every other word he spoke was a jolly swear word. Loud profanity-laced hip-hop blasted over the sound system. Sunny wondered if he changed his name to Allah’s General when they crossed into Hausaland. She laughed to herself.

  “How many are you?” Jesus’s General shouted, getting out of the vehicle.

  “Sir,” said a stately woman, “does this piece of junk run on fuel—gasoline?”

  “Oh, this no be so!” A man groaned a few steps away. He spat something in what Sunny thought was Yoruba and then threw his dusty backpack on the ground.

  “Eh, eh, eh,” Jesus’s General protested humbly. “Na hybrid vehicle. A little fuel, a lot of juju, and plenty plenty of God’s will. Come, ah beg. I no go disappoint you. Step aboard. I give you good price to get to festival.”

  “It’s a piece of rubbish! We’ll probably all die of the fumes,” a woman said. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

  Jesus’s General waved an annoyed hand at the angry people and turned to Anatov.

  “Anatov,” Jesus’s General said, shaking, slapping, and snapping hands with him. “Good as hell to see you, my man.”

  “Likewise,” Anatov said, putting an arm around the driver’s shoulder. They moved a few steps away, obviously to discuss prices. Anatov looked at them and said, “Get on,” then turned back to negotiate.

  It took a while to find a seat because the long vehicle was mostly full. Sunny’s backpack was slung over her shoulder, and as they made their way to the back, it smacked a boy in the head. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she cried, patting his head. She snatched her hand away when she realized what she was doing. “Sorry,” she said again.

  Rubbing his head, the boy nodded. Her face grew hot. He was gorgeous. Of all people she could have bashed in the head, it had to be him. He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” he said in Igbo. “I’m still conscious.”

  She laughed and quickly moved on.

  There were exactly five seats at the very back of the funky train. The chair in the center was large, clean, and throne-like with much more legroom than the others. It was obviously for Anatov. Chichi plopped down beside Sunny, Orlu, and Sasha on the other side of Anatov’s seat. Not surprisingly, Sasha took the window seat.

  “Young strong men,” Jesus’s General shouted from the front of the bus, “we need a push.”

  Sunny almost laughed. Clearly, even a vehicle powered by juju needed a push so the driver could pop the clutch. Several men got up and went outside, including Anatov. Jesus’s General got behind the wheel.

  They pushed and pushed and the funky train began to roll. Finally, the engine popped, banged, and chugged. At the same time, she heard another noise that sounded more like wind blowing through the top of a dry palm tree. Blue lights running along the vehicle’s walls and on the floor lit up. The air began to smell of flowers. Sunny sneezed and groaned.

  They were officially on their way to the Zuma festival.

  Anatov said they’d be staying at the Hilton, the biggest and most lavish hotel in the city. Even one of America’s presidents had stayed there. Sunny was only able to relax when Anatov said that Leopard Knocks was paying for the room. She barely had enough money to afford two meals, and she doubted they’d take chittim.

  It was going to be a very busy day. First they would get her juju knife. Then they’d attend the wrestling finals. After that, Anatov would attend a meeting of scholars from all over Africa. They’d have the rest of the day and evening all to themselves. “There’s an arts and crafts fair all day and a student social tonight,” Anatov said. He looked at Orlu and Sasha and smiled. “And, as always, there’s the Zuma Football Cup match around five o’clock.”

  Sunny frowned. Why didn’t he look at her when he said this? She liked soccer, too. And she was good at it.

  Their rooms were on the sixteenth floor of the Hilton. And they weren’t just rooms—they had a suite! Orlu and Sasha had one room and Chichi and Sunny had another. Anatov’s room was farther down the hall. “We leave in an hour,” he said. As soon as he was gone, they looked at each other and then howled with excited laughter.

  “I can’t believe I’m here!” Sunny screeched, throwing herself onto her bed.

  “This place is so toxic,” Chichi said, chidingly. But she ate one of the chocolates that had been placed on their beds. “I’ll bet that’s why Anatov is making us stay her
e.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” Sunny said.

  Chichi frowned at her. “Why’s that?”

  “Imagine the books they’ll be selling at the festival,” Orlu said, sitting on the cabinet beside the TV.

  “Bet there’ll be a lot of hot girls there, too,” Sasha said.

  “There’ll be even more hot boys,” Chichi said, giving him a look. “There are always more boys.”

  “Hey, don’t go off with anyone,” Orlu said. “We’re not at home.”

  “Same to you,” Chichi said.

  “I’m a guy,” Orlu said in total seriousness, pulling a book out of his bag. “You’re a girl. It’s not the same.”

  Chichi scoffed.

  “It’s not,” Sasha said with a shrug. “Anyway, Chichi, come here. Look at this.”

  “So what do you think?” Orlu asked Sunny. Behind them, Chichi and Sasha had started whispering to each other and snickering as they looked at Sasha’s book.

  “Ask me in a few days,” Sunny said.

  “I hate this hotel and everything it stands for,” Orlu said. “The over-extravagance when people are living so badly just outside the hotel, it’s obnoxious.”

  “It’s not all bad.”

  Orlu shook his head. Chichi and Sasha quickly shut Sasha’s book. Sasha shoved it back into his bag.

  “What are you guys up to?” Sunny asked.

  Chichi wouldn’t meet Sunny’s eyes. “Sasha’s just helping me out with—something. Nothing you and Orlu would be interested in.”

  “Sunny, you going to get in that soccer game with me?” Sasha asked. “Or football, I mean. Whatever you guys call it here.”

  “I still call it soccer, too,” she said, laughing. “Part of my Americanness, I guess. You think I can play in the game?”

  “Definitely. I’ve seen you handle the ball, man,” he said. “Orlu, you in?”

  “Nah, I’ll watch with Chichi.”

  “So they let girls play?” Sunny asked, tentatively.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sasha said. “You’re playing.”

  They split up to take showers and change. Everyone wore their best. Sasha had on baggy jeans and a short-sleeved blue dress shirt. He paused to look at Chichi, who wore a bright green rapa and matching top. “You look nice,” he said. “You should dress up more often.”