Who Fears Death

by Nnedi Okorafor

  “Your mother is the Ada of Jwahir,” I said. “She’s highly respected and she paints all the time,” I said. “Her name is Yere and she’s married to Aro, the sorcerer who is my teacher. Do you want to hear more?”

  “Yes! Of course!”

  I smiled, glad to finally give him something good.

  “When she was fifteen, a boy was interested in her . . .” I told him his mother’s story and whatever else I knew of her. I left out the part about the Eleventh Rite juju she’d asked Aro to work on the girls.

  We both slept well that night out there, Fanta’s arms around me. I wondered how Mwita felt about this but some things are more important than a man’s ego. In the morning, Mwita sent Diti and Luyu to the house of the Banza elders to give the news of Nuumu’s death. The house would soon be full of mourners and people helping Fanta. It was time to go.

  Fanta also planned to leave. After his sister’s ceremony and cremation, he said he was going to sell his house and travel to Jwahir to find his mother. “There is nothing left for me here,” he said. Without his twin, soon Banza would stop funding him. When a twin died, the remaining one was bad luck. We said good-bye to Fanta as the house filled up. Many of the people gave Mwita and me dirty looks and I feared for us. We’d come into town yesterday and now one of their precious twins was dead.

  We took a different road down the hill. It led straight out of town. It also took us past the Goat Hair Brothel. It was a sight that I’ll never forget. Though early in the day, the women were already out. They sat on the balcony of the three-story house. Their skin was bright and they wore clothes that made them even brighter. Mwita and I were much darker from traveling in the sun, so to my eyes, they practically glowed. They lounged on chairs and hung their delicate feet over the balcony. Some wore tops cut so low that their nipples showed.

  “Where do you think their mothers are?” I asked Mwita.

  “Or their fathers,” he whispered.

  “Mwita, I doubt any of them are like you,” I said. “They have no fathers.”

  One of the girls waved. I waved back.

  “They are kind of pretty, in their own way, maybe,” I heard Diti say to Luyu.

  “If you say so,” Luyu said, doubtfully.

  As we passed the last building, we heard a haunting rise of wailing voices. Banza’s women had arrived at the house of their twins. Fanta would be well taken care of, at least for now. Once his sister was cremated, he would disappear into the night. I felt for Fanta. His other half had left him, had been happy to do so. But getting out of Banza was probably for the better. At its core, the town was good, but parts of it were festering. And now Fanta would be able to have a life instead of being an idea that gave other people selfish hope.

  As we walked, that brothel not far behind us, I felt a wave of anger. To be something abnormal meant that you were to serve the normal. And if you refused, they hated you . . . and often the normal hated you even when you did serve them. Look at those Ewu girls and women. Look at Fanta and Nuumu. Look at Mwita and me.

  Not for the last time I suspected that whatever I’d do in the West would be violent. Despite what Mwita said and believed. Look at how Mwita reacted to seeing Daib. It was reality. I was Ewu, who would listen to me without the threat of violence? Like those disgusting men outside the tavern. They hadn’t heard me until they feared me.

  Just before we came to the road, we met the three camels. To the left was a large pile of dung and it looked like one or two of them had gone and brought back clumps of dry grass to munch on. “You waited,” I said smiling. Without thinking, I ran to the one that had threatened me and threw my arms around its shaggy dusty neck.

  “What in the name of Ani are you doing?!” Fanasi shouted.

  The camel groaned but welcomed my hug. I stepped back. The camel was large and probably female. I cocked my head. One of the other camels was not very big. A baby that soon wouldn’t be. Possibly weaned recently. I wondered if the female would let us milk her. Camel milk had Vitamin C. My mother said she’d done this several times when I was very young.

  “What should we call each of you?” I asked. “How about Sandi?” Mwita laughed and shook his head. Luyu was staring. Fanasi brought out the dagger he’d bought in Banza. Binta looked disgusted. And Diti looked annoyed.

  “You’re probably covered with lice, you know,” Diti said. “I hope you’re ready to cut off your lovely hair.”

  I scoffed. “Only domestic camels have that problem.”

  “That thing could have bitten your head off,” Fanasi said, still holding his dagger.

  “But it didn’t,” I said with a sigh. “Will you put that away?”

  “No,” he said.

  The camels weren’t stupid. They were watching each of us closely. It was only a matter of time now before one of the camels spit at or bit Fanasi. I turned back to the head camel. “I am Onyesonwu Ubaid-Ogundimu, born in the desert and raised in Jwahir. I’m twenty years old and a sorceress apprenticed to the sorcerer Aro and mentored by the sorcerer Sola. Mwita, tell it who you are.”

  He stepped up to them. “I’m Mwita, Onyesonwu’s life companion.”

  Fanasi sucked his teeth loudly. “Why don’t you just say you’re her husband?”

  “Because I’m more than that,” Mwita said. Fanasi gave him a dirty look, mumbled something under his breath and proceeded to ignore everyone. Mwita turned back to the camel. “I was born in Mawu and raised in Durfa. I’m a pre-sorcerer. I wasn’t allowed to pass initiation for . . . reasons.” He glanced at me. “I’m also a healer, apprenticed to and passed by the healer Abadie.”

  The three camels just sat there and looked at both of us.

  “Give it a hug,” I said.

  “What?” he asked.

  Diti, Luyu and Binta giggled.

  “Ani save us,” Fanasi grumbled, rolling his eyes.

  I pushed Mwita forward. He stood before the great beast. Then he held up his arms and slowly wrapped them around the camel’s neck. The camel grunted softly. Mwita did the same to the other camels. They too seemed pleased by this gesture, grunting loudly and nudging Mwita hard enough to make him stumble.

  Luyu stepped up. “I am Luyu Chiki, born and raised in Jwahir.” She paused, glancing at me and then at the ground. “I . . . I have no title. I was apprenticed to no one. I travel to see what I can see and learn what I’m made of . . . and for.” She slowly hugged the head camel. I smiled. She scampered behind me instead of hugging the others.

  “They smell like sweat,” she whispered. “Like a fat man’s sweat!”

  I laughed. “You see their humps? That’s all fat. They don’t need to eat for days.”

  I didn’t look at Diti and Binta. The sight of them still made me want to spring at them and start slapping and slapping and slapping as I had before.

  “I’m Binta Keita,” she said loudly from where she was. “I left Jwahir, my home, to find a new life . . . I was marked. But I made it better and I’m not marked anymore!”

  “I am Diti Goitsemedime,” Diti said, also staying where she was. “And this is my husband Fanasi. We’re from Jwahir. We’re going west to do what we can do.”

  “I go to follow my wife,” Fanasi added, looking bitterly at Diti.

  We started southwest, using Luyu’s map to get on course. It was hot and we had to walk covered by our veils. The camels led the way, moving in the right direction. This surprised everyone but Mwita and me. We traveled well into the night and when we made camp, we were too tired to cook anything. Within minutes, we’d all retired to our tents.

  “How are you?” Mwita asked, pulling me close.

  His words were like a key. All the emotion I’d held down suddenly felt ready to burst through my chest. I buried my head in his chest and wept. Minutes passed and my sorrow became fury. I felt a rush in my chest. I wanted so badly to kill my father. It would have been like killing a thousand of those men who attacked me. I would avenge my mother, I would avenge myself.

  “
Breathe,” Mwita whispered.

  I opened my mouth and inhaled his breath. He kissed me again and quietly, carefully, softly, he spoke the words that few women ever hear from a man. “Ifunanya.”

  They’re ancient words. They don’t exist among any other group of people. There is no direct translation in Nuru, English, Sipo, or Vah. This word only has meaning when spoken by a man to the one he loves. A woman can’t use the word unless she is barren. It is not juju. Not in the way that I know it. But the word has strength. It’s wholly binding if it is true and the emotion reciprocated. This is not like the word “love.” A man can tell a woman he loves her every day. Ifunanya is spoken only once in a man’s life. Ifu means to “look into,” “n” means “the,” and anya means “eyes”. The eyes are the window to the soul.

  I could have died when he spoke this word because I’d never ever thought any man would speak it to me, not even Mwita. All the filth those men had heaped on me with their filthy actions and filthy words and filthy ideas, none of it mattered now. Mwita, Mwita, Mwita, again, Fate, I thank you.

  CHAPTER 34

  WE TRAVELED FOR TWO WEEKS before Mwita decided we should stop for a few days. Something more had happened in Banza. It started when we left Jwahir but now it was more pronounced. The group was splitting in multiple ways. There was a split between the men and the women. Mwita and Fanasi would often walk off together, where they’d talk for hours. But a divide between the sexes seemed normal. The split with Binta and Diti on one side and Luyu and me on the other was more problematic. And then there was the most problematic split between Fanasi and Diti.

  I kept thinking about what Fanasi had said to the camels, how he’d come along mainly to follow Diti. I thought the vision I showed him of what was really happening in the West was his greater motivation to come. I’d forgotten that Fanasi and Diti had loved each other since childhood. They’d wanted to marry since they knew what marriage was. Fanasi had been heartbroken when he’d touched Diti and she’d screamed. For years, he pined away for her before finally gaining the courage to demand her hand in marriage.

  He wasn’t about to let her leave without him. But, by leaving Jwahir, Diti and Binta discovered life as free women. As the days passed, when Diti and Fanasi weren’t bickering, they ignored each other. Diti permanently moved into Binta’s tent and Binta didn’t mind. Mwita and I could hear the two talking and giggling in hushed voices, sometimes well into the night.

  I was sure that I could resolve things. That night, I built a rock fire and cooked up a large stew using two hares. Then I called a meeting. Once everyone was seated, I ladled out stew into chipped porcelain bowls, handing them to each, starting with Fanasi and Diti and ending with Mwita. I watched everyone eat for a while. I’d used salt, herbs, cactus cabbage, and camel milk. The stew was good.

  “I’ve noticed tension,” I finally said. There was only the sound of spoons hitting porcelain and slurping and chewing. “We’ve been traveling for three months. We’re a long long way from home. And we’re going to a bad place.” I paused. “But the biggest problem right here, right now is with you two.” I pointed at Fanasi and Diti. They looked at each other and then looked away. “We only survive because of each other,” I continued. “That stew you enjoy is made with Sandi’s milk.”

  “What?” Diti exclaimed.

  “Ew!” Binta screeched. Fanasi cursed and put his bowl down. Mwita chuckled as he continued to eat. Luyu was looking doubtfully at her bowl.

  “Anyway,” I said. “You two say you’re husband and wife yet you don’t sleep in the same tent.”

  “She was the one who ran off,” Fanasi suddenly said. “Behaving like an ugly Ewu prostitute in that tavern.”

  There it was again. I pressed my lips together, focusing on what I intended to say.

  “Shut up,” Diti snapped. “Men always think that when a woman enjoys herself, she must be a prostitute.”

  “Any of them could have had you!” Fanasi said.

  “Maybe, but who did they go after instead?” Diti said, smiling devilishly at me.

  “Oh, Ani help us,” Binta moaned looking at me. I stood up.

  “Come on then,” Diti said, standing up. “I survived your other beating just fine.”

  “Eh!” Luyu exclaimed, putting herself between Diti and me. “What is wrong with you all?” Mwita merely sat and watched this time.

  “What’s wrong with me? ” I said. “You ask what’s wrong with me?” I laughed loudly. I didn’t sit down.

  “Diti, do you have something to say to Onye?” Luyu asked.

  “Nothing,” Diti said, looking away.

  “I know how to break it,” I said loudly, barely able to breathe I was so angry. “I want to help you, you insipid blockhead! I realized how when I was healing Nuumu.”

  Diti only stared at me.

  I took a deep breath. “Luyu, Binta, there is no one out here, but maybe in one of these villages or towns we pass through . . . I don’t know. But I can break the juju.” I turned and went to my tent. They would have to come to me.

  Mwita came in an hour later with a bowl of stew. “How’ll you do it?” he asked. I took it from him. I was ravenous but too proud to go out and take from the stew I’d made.

  “They won’t like it,” I said, biting into a piece of meat. “But it’ll work.”

  Mwita thought about it for a minute. Then he grinned.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Luyu will let you but Binta and Diti . . . that’s going to take some coaxing.”

  “Or the last of the palm wine,” I said. “By now it’s so fermented that they won’t know their heads from their yeyes after two cups, if I agree to do it. Binta, maybe, but Diti . . . not without a thousand apologies.” I eyed Mwita as he turned to leave the tent. “Make sure you tell that to Fanasi in my exact words,” I said with a smirk.

  “I planned to do just that.”

  Fanasi came to me that night. I had just settled in Mwita’s arms after an hour of flight as a vulture. “I’m sorry to bother you,” Fanasi said, crawling in.

  I sat up, pulling my rapa closer to myself. Mwita draped our cover over my shoulders. I could barely see Fanasi in the glow of the rock fire from outside.

  “Diti wants you to . . .”

  “Then she has to come and ask,” I said.

  Fanasi frowned. “This isn’t only about her, you know.”

  “It’s about her first,” I said. I paused for a moment and then sighed. “Tell her to come out and speak with me.” I looked back at Mwita before exiting. He was shirtless and I was taking the cover. He waved a hand at me and said, “Just don’t take too long.”

  Outside was even cooler. I wrapped the cover more tightly around myself and made for the dwindling rock fire. I raised my hand and swirled the air around it until it grew hot again. I waved some warm air toward my tent.

  Fanasi placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hold your temper,” he said. He went into Binta and Diti’s tent.

  “As long as she does,” I mumbled. I stared at the glowing stones as Diti came out. Fanasi went into his tent and pulled the flap shut. As if Diti and I really had any privacy.

  “Look,” she said. “I just wanted . . .”

  I held my hand up and shook my head. “Apology first. Otherwise, I’m going right back into my tent to sleep a long guilt-free sleep.”

  She frowned at me for too long. “I . . .”

  “And wipe that look off your face,” I said, cutting her off. “If I’m so disgusting to you, then you should’ve stayed home. You deserved your beating. You’re stupid to provoke someone who can break you in half. I’m taller, bigger, and much angrier.”

  “I’m sorry!” Diti shouted.

  I saw Luyu peak out of her tent.

  “I . . . this journey,” Diti said. “It’s not what I expected. I’m not who I expected.” She wiped her brow. It was hot now from the fire, suitable for the conversation. “I’ve never been outside of Jwahir. I’m used to good meals, fresh hot bread, an
d spiced chicken not stewed desert hare and camel milk! Camel milk is for infants and . . . infant camels!”

  “You’re not the only one here who’s never left Jwahir, Diti,” I said. “But you’re the only one acting like an idiot.”

  “You showed us!” Diti said. “You showed us the West. Who could just sit there after seeing that? I couldn’t just live my happy life with Fanasi. You changed all that.”

  “Oh, don’t blame me!” I snapped. “None of you dare blame me! Blame yourselves for your ignorance and your complacency.”

  “You’re right,” Diti said quietly. “I . . . I don’t know what’s been happening to me.” She shook her head. “I don’t hate you. . . .but I hate what you are. I hate that whenever I look at you . . . It’s hard for us, Onye. Eleven years of believing that Ewu people are dirty, lowly, violent people. Then we met you and then Mwita. Both of you are the strangest people we’ve ever met.”

  “Soon, you too will be viewed as low,” I said. “Soon you’ll understand how I feel wherever I go.” But I was conflicted. Diti and Binta were going through something just as I was, as we all were. And I had to respect that. Despite it all. “You came out here to ask me something?”

  Diti looked toward Fanasi’s tent. “Take it off me. If you can. Will you?”

  “You won’t like what I have to do,” I said. “I won’t either.”

  Diti frowned. Her frown turned to a look of disgust. “No.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Ugh!”

  “I know.”

  “Will it hurt in the same way?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But when it comes to sorcery, you never get without giving.”