‘‘The child that dances Surugede should know that Surugede is the dance of the spirits.’’

— Igbo proverb.

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LOOK AT HIM! Look at him walking with hunched shoulders as if he controls the whole universe. Ever since he burnt the statuette, that symbol of my presence and power, he’s become too audacious to my liking.

At first, I thought his attitude was spurred by his possible move to become the white man’s convert and worship his God, but I’ve not seen him at any of their gatherings where they clap their hands with such frenzy that the earth shakes underneath them. In fact, he repels the white man’s moves to convert him with incongruous aggression.

But his atheism is to my advantage. He would have escaped my wrath if he had accepted the white man’s God as his God. The white man’s God is the only God that can stop me. Ikemba now thinks that his wealth, valor and victories in battle are his own making.

Look at him now razing down the entire territory of his enemies with the fire flickering from his sophisticated torch, and slaughtering both the civilians and the soldiers like animals meant for a special feast.

He’s not perturbed by the cries of the women and the children. He just goes ahead slaughtering everybody with impunity. He buries his sword in the chests of his enemies, and cuts off the heads of those that please him, brandishing the blood-dripping heads before elusive beings( perhaps me) and howling like a wolf, his face red with his enemies blood.

His comrades have retreated earlier, in fear, before he arrived and took charge, having the upper hand in this battle of supremacy. But he still thinks that his strength comes from no being at all.

‘‘I’m Ikemba, the Strength of the Community, the Invincible One!’’ He raises his face to the flamy sky, the blood on his face gleaming. ‘‘No one can stop me! I say, no one.’’

He sees a woman who is hiding nearby with her baby, her trembling hand over the baby’s mouth to muffle its cries. He quickly snatches the baby from the woman, paying deaf ears to her pleas.

‘‘Watch this beautiful sight,’’ he says to the woman, and throws the baby high in the air, positioning his sword very well. The baby reaches a certain height in the air and falls back, landing on the sword with a gush of blood and spewing of intestines.

‘‘No!’’ The woman’s cries reverberate across the hills and reach the other realm.

I’m enraged.

Suddenly, blood gushes out of Ikemba’s mouth. He looks at his chest and sees the head of an arrow protruding from it like a relief artwork. He turns back and sees a boy, who has shot the arrow.

The boy watches the Invincible One fall to the blood-smeared ground like a giant Iroko tree, and kiss the dust.

The boy is shocked. He shivers. A surge of my power escapes from his body, and he realizes his ‘costly act.’ This is a shocking victory, and, instead of celebrating, he just stands there, like a mannequin, gaping in astonishment. How can ‘The Invincible One’ die by a single shot of his arrow?

The survivors in the enemy territory gather round Ikemba’s corpse like vultures, shocked by his defeat.

I’m Ikenga, the god of protection. No one dares me and goes scot free.

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