Who Fears Death

by Nnedi Okorafor

  I decided to return to Aro’s hut. But I couldn’t see anything behind me. I shielded my face with my arm as I looked around. The whipping sand was drawing blood. Soon my eyelids were encrusted with sand, granules paining my eyes. I spit sand out only for more to fill my mouth.

  Suddenly, the wind changed, moving behind me. It blew me toward a small orange light. When I got closer, I saw that it was a tent made of sheer blue material. There was a small fire burning inside.

  “A fire in the middle of a sandstorm!” I shouted, laughing hysterically. My face and arms stung and my legs shook as I tried not to let the wind take me away.

  I threw myself inside and was slapped with silence. Not even the tent’s walls shuddered from the wind. Nothing held the tent down. The bottom of the tent was sand. I rolled to my side coughing. Through my stinging watery eyes, I saw the whitest man I’d ever seen. He wore a heavy black cloak with a hood that dropped over the top half of his face. But the bottom half I saw plainly. His wrinkly skin was white like milk.

  “Onyesonwu,” the man in black said very suddenly.

  I jumped. There was something repulsive about him. I half expected him to scamper around the fire toward me with the speed and agility of a spider. But he remained seated, his long legs stretched before him. His sharp nails were grooved and yellow. He leaned back on one elbow. “Is that your name?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You’re the one Aro sends,” he said, his wet pink flat lips bending into a smirk.

  “Yes.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “Aro.”

  “What are you then?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What are you?”

  “Human,” I said.

  “Is that all?”

  “Eshu also.”

  “So are you human then?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached into his robes and brought out a small blue jar. He shook it and set it down. “Aro calls me here and a female sits before me,” he said. He flared his nostrils. “One who will bleed soon. Very very soon. This place is sacred, you know.” He looked at me as if waiting for an answer. I was relieved when he picked up the container. He shook it and slammed it down. I wanted to rub my eyes they hurt so badly. He looked up at me with such anger that my heart jumped.

  “You’ve been cut!” he said. “You can’t climax! Who allowed this to happen?”

  I stammered, “It was a . . . I wanted to please my. . . .I didn’t. . . .”

  “Shut up,” he said. He paused and when he spoke his voice was cooler. “Maybe that can be helped,” he said more to himself. He mumbled something and then said, “You may die today. I hope you’re prepared. They won’t find your body.”

  I thought of my mother and then pushed her image out of my mind.

  The man in black threw the container’s contents—bones. Tiny, fine bones, maybe from a lizard or some other small beast. They were bleached white and dry, several crumbling at the tips, revealing ancient porous marrow. They flew from the container and landed as if they would never move again. As if they were sure. My eyes felt heavy as I looked at the scattered bones. My eyes were drawn to them. He stared for a long time. Then he looked at me, his mouth a surprised O. I wished I could see his eyes. Then he masked his face with a more controlled look.

  “This is normally where the pain starts. Where I get to listen to the boys scream,” the man in black said. He paused, looking down at the bones. “But you,” he smirked and nodded. “I must have you killed.” He lifted his left hand and twisted his wrist. I felt a crack in my neck as my head turned itself all the way around. I grunted. All went dark.

  I opened my eyes and instantly knew that I wasn’t myself. The feeling was more peculiar than scary. I was a passenger in someone’s head yet still able to feel sweat rolling down his face and the insect biting his skin. I tried to leave, but I had no body to leave with. My mind was stuck there. The eyes I looked through stared at a concrete wall.

  He sat on a hard and cool block of concrete. There was no roof. Sunlight shined in, making the already hot room even more uncomfortable. I heard many people nearby but I couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying. The person whose body I was in mumbled something and then laughed to . . . herself. The voice was a woman’s.

  “Let them come, then,” she said. She looked down at herself and nervously rubbed her thighs. She wore a long coarse white dress. She was not as light-skinned as me but she was not dark like my mother either. I noticed her hands. I had only read about these in story tales. Tribal markings. This woman’s hands were covered with them. The circles, swirls, and lines wove into complex designs snaking up her wrists.

  She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes in the sunshine and the world became red for a moment. Then someone grabbed her—us—with such roughness that I silently screamed. Her eyes flew open. She made no sound. She didn’t fight. I desperately wanted to. Then thousands of people burst before us, all of them screaming, yelling, shouting, talking, pointing, laughing, glaring.

  The people stayed back as if some invisible force kept them twenty feet from the hole we were being dragged to. Beside the hole was a pile of sand. The men dragged us to the hole and pushed us in. I felt the woman’s whole body shudder as she hit the bottom. The ground was just higher than our shoulders. She looked around and I got a good view of the giant mob that was waiting for the execution.

  Men shoveled dirt into the hole and soon we were buried to our neck. It was at this point that the woman’s fear must have infected me because suddenly I was being torn in two. If I had a body, I’d have thought that a thousand men had one of my arms and a thousand had the other and both groups were pulling. From behind, I heard a man loudly say, “Who will throw the first stone at this problem?”

  The first stone hit the back of our head. The pain was an explosion. Many more came after that. After a while, the pain of our head being stoned fell to the back and the sensation of being pulled apart came forward. I was screaming. I was dying. Someone threw another rock and I felt something break. I knew death the moment it touched me. As best I could, as nothing, I tried to hold myself together.

  Mama. I was leaving her all alone. I have to keep going, I thought with despair. Mama willed it to be so. She willed it! I had too much left to do. I felt Papa catch and hold me. He smelled of hot iron and his grasp, as always, was strong. He held me for a long time in that spirit place where all was colorful light, sound, smell, and heat.

  Papa held me close. The squeeze of a hug. Then he let go and was gone. Soon the world of the spirits, a place I would learn to call “the wilderness,” began to melt and mix with a star-salted darkness. I could see the desert. There I was lying in it, half buried in the sand. A camel stood over me with a woman on its back. She wore a green shirt and pants and sat between the camel’s two shaggy humps. I must have moved because suddenly the camel started. The woman calmed it with a pat.

  Instinctively, I flew down and lay on my body. As I did so, the woman spoke.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  I tried to answer but I had no mouth, not yet.

  “I’m Njeri.” She looked up and grinned widely, the sides of her eyes creasing. “I was Fadil Ogundimu’s wife.” She was addressing someone else. She turned back to me and laughed. “Your papa has much to learn about the wilderness.”

  I wanted to smile.

  “I know your kind. I was like you, though I wasn’t given an opportunity to learn my gift. I could speak to camels. My mother went to see Aro. He refused me. I wouldn’t have passed the initiation. But he could have taught me other useful things. Always walk your own path, Onyesonwu.” She paused seeming to listen to someone. “Your father wishes you well.”

  As I watched her ride off, I felt myself change. I could suddenly feel the air against my skin and my heart beating. There was an odd feeling of being weighed down, as if a weight was attached to each part of me, weights that weren’t so bothersom
e now but eventually would be. My mortality. I was exhausted. I ached all over, my legs, arms, my neck, and especially my head. I retreated into a restless, helpless sleep.

  I woke to Mwita’s humming as he rubbed oil into my skin. Staticky energy coated my body like a computer’s monitor. His touch rubbed it away. He stopped when he realized I was awake. He pulled my rapa over my body. I grasped it weakly to my chest.

  “You passed,” he said. His voice was strange. It was strained with concern, but there was something else too.

  “I know,” I said. Then I turned my head and started crying. He didn’t try to hold me and I was glad. Why didn’t she fight? I thought. I’d have fought even if it was hopeless. Anything to stay out of that hole a bit longer.

  I vividly remembered the sensation of having my forehead caved in by a large rock. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have. It just felt like I was suddenly . . . exposed. A rock destroyed my nose, bloodied my ear, buried itself in my cheek. I was conscious through most of it. The woman was, too. I gagged. Nothing came out because my stomach was empty. I sat back and massaged my temples. Mwita handed me a warm towel to wipe and soothe my eyes. It was soaked in oil.

  “What is this?” I asked in a hoarse voice. “It’s not going to . . .”

  “No,” Mwita said. “That’ll help get it out of your system. Wipe your face with it, too. I’ve rubbed it on the rest of you. You’ll feel better soon.”

  “Where are we?” I asked, rubbing the oil on my eyes. It felt good.

  “In my hut.”

  “Mwita, I died,” I whispered.

  “You had to.”

  “I was in a woman’s head and I felt . . .”

  “Don’t think about it,” he said, getting up. He picked up a plate of food sitting on his table. “Right now, you have to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Your mother made this,” Mwita said.

  “My mother?”

  “She was here. Yesterday.”

  “Eh, but I didn’t see her . . .”

  “Two days have passed, Onyesonwu.”

  “Oh.” I slowly sat up, took the plate from Mwita and ate. It was chicken curry and green beans. Within a few minutes, my plate was clean. I felt much better.

  “Where’s Aro?” I asked, rubbing the back and sides of my head.

  “I don’t know,” Mwita sighed.

  Then I understood what I had sensed in Mwita. It surprised me. I took his hand. If I didn’t address this now, our friendship would die. Even back then, I knew that disregarded jealousy eventually turned poisonous.

  “Mwita, don’t feel that way,” I said.

  He pulled his hand away. “I don’t know how to feel, Onyesonwu.” “Well, don’t feel that way,” I said, my voice hardening. “We’ve been through too much. And, besides, you’re above that sort of thing.”

  “Am I?”

  “Just because you were born a male does not make you more worthy than me.” I harrumphed. “Don’t act like Aro.”

  Mwita said nothing, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes either.

  I sighed. “Well, the way you feel won’t stop me from . . .”

  He pressed his hand over my mouth. “Enough talking,” he whispered, his face close to mine. And then he moved over me; the oil on me made his motions smooth. My body ached and my head throbbed but for the first time in my life, I felt only pleasure. My Eleventh Rite juju was broken. I pulled Mwita closer. The sensation was so succulent that it brought tears to my eyes. It was so overwhelming that at some point, I stopped breathing. When Mwita noticed, he froze.

  “Onyesonwu!” he said. “Breathe!”

  Every part of my body was a sharp point of bliss. It was the most beautiful sensation I’d ever felt. When I only looked at him with bewildered eyes, he opened his mouth and breathed loudly to demonstrate. I began to see silvery red and blue explosions as my lungs demanded air. I had recently experienced death so it was easy for me to forget to breathe. I inhaled, my eyes locked on Mwita’s. Then I exhaled.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “Finish,” I breathed, pulling him to me, my head buzzing.

  As our bodies met, fully, finally, throughout, Mwita reminded me to breathe. As he moved inside of me, he continued to remind me but by this time I wasn’t listening. It was exquisite. Soon I was so hot that I was shaking. Minutes passed. The sensation began to feel earnest, then agitating. I couldn’t release. I had been circumcised.

  “Mwita,” I said. We were both slick with sweat.

  “Eh?” he said, out of breath.

  “I . . . something’s wrong with me. I . . .” I squeezed my face. “I can’t.”

  He stopped moving and the terrible sensation in my loins decreased. He looked at me, beads of sweat dropping onto my chest. He surprised me with a smile. “Do something about it then, Eshu woman.”

  I blinked, realizing what he meant. I concentrated. He began to move inside of me again and immediately, it felt like I had released my very being. “Ooooooooooooooooh,” I moaned. From far off I could hear Mwita laughing, as I fell into sleep with a sigh.

  That tiny piece of flesh made all the difference. Growing it back hadn’t been hard and it pleased me that for once in my life obtaining something of importance was easy.

  CHAPTER 20

  Men

  I RETURNED HOME THAT DAY. The sun was just ambling into the sky and the air and sand were warming. My mother shouted my name when she saw me. She’d been sitting on the front steps waiting. There were bags under her eyes and her long braids needed rebraiding. It was the first time I’d ever heard my mother’s voice go above a whisper. And the sound of it made my legs weak.

  “Mama,” I shouted back from up the road.

  Around us the neighborhood went about its business. Everyone was so unaware of what my mother and I had gone through. People only glanced up with mild curiosity. Most likely the sound of my mother’s voice was something talked about that night. Neither of us cared what they thought.

  Aro didn’t request my presence for a week. And in that week, I was plagued by nightmares. Over and over, night after night, I was stoned to death. I was haunted by someone else’s demise. During the day, I was plagued by terrible headaches. When Binta, Diti, and Luyu came to my bedroom three days after my initiation, I was a blithering mess hiding under my covers weeping.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I heard Luyu ask. I threw the covers from over my head, shocked at hearing her voice. I saw Diti turn and leave.

  “Are you all right? Is it your father?” Binta said, sitting on my bed beside me.

  I wiped the snot from my nose. I was disoriented and my confusion caused me to think about my biological father instead of Papa. Yes, he is my problem, I thought. More tears dribbled down my face. I hadn’t seen my friends in days. I’d left school two days before my initiation and I hadn’t told them a thing. Diti returned and handed me a towel soaked with warm water.

  “Your mother asked us to come,” Luyu said.

  Diti opened the curtains and pushed the window open. The room flooded with sunshine and fresh air. I wiped my face and blew my nose into the towel. Then I lay back, angry with my mother for asking them here. How was I supposed to explain my state to them? I had grown my clitoris back and I no longer carried my diamond in my mouth. My belly chain might as well have turned green.

  For a while, they just sat there as I sniveled. If it weren’t for them, I’d have let the snot run freely down my face and pool onto my covers. What does it all matter? I thought. My mood darkened and I reached for my bed sheet to pull it back over my head. I’ll just ignore them. Eventually they’ll go away.

  “Onyesonwu, just tell us,” Luyu said, softly. “We’ll listen.”

  “We’ll help you,” Binta said. “Remember how the women helped me during our Eleventh Rite? If they hadn’t helped me that night, I was going to kill him.”

  “Binta!” Diti exclaimed.

  “Really?” Luyu said.r />
  Binta had my full attention.

  “Yes. I was going to poison him . . . that very next day,” Binta said. “He gets drunk almost every evening. He smokes his pipe as he does it. He wouldn’t have tasted it.”

  I wiped my face again. “My mother once said that fear is like a man who, once burned, is afraid of a glow worm,” I said vaguely. I told them everything but the details of my initiation. From the day of my conception to the day I crawled into bed and didn’t want to leave it. Their faces grew distant during the part about my mother’s rape. I relished a little in forcing them to know the details. When I finished, they were so silent that I could hear the soft footsteps outside of the door. Moving down the hallway. My mother had listened to the whole thing.

  “I can’t believe you kept this from us all this time,” Luyu finally said.

  “You can really change into a bird?” Diti asked.

  “Come on,” Binta said pulling my arm. “We have to get you outside.”

  Luyu nodded and took my other arm. I tried to pull my arms away, “Why?”

  “You need sunshine,” Binta said.

  “I’m . . . I’m not properly dressed,” I said, yanking may arms away. I felt the tears coming back. Life was out there and death was, too. I feared both now. They pulled me from bed, unwrapped my night rapa and pulled a green dress over my head. We went outside and sat on the front steps of the house. The sun was warm on my face. There was no red haze blocking it, no sickly fuzzy mold growing on the ground, no smoke in the air, no looming death. After a while I quietly said, “Thank you.”

  “You look better,” Binta said. “Sunshine heals. My mother says that you should open the curtains everyday because the sunlight kills the bacteria and such.”

  “You made your father breathe,” Luyu said, her elbow on my knee.