Will do!

DanWrites:
Consider sending us your work if you have something great and African.
www.dnbstories.com

Thanks white If you could send me a line on those errors - I'm all ears!

whitemosquito:
Aha. Thought I recognized the name...But not from wattpad.. Well done. A few errors here and there But Im a sucker for African literature, so there'll be no spoilers.

Thank you! Click the follow button on wattpad to get a notice each time a story is updated. Africa has such a wealth of folklores to mine for great fantasy stories. Read about dragons, fairies and goblins on http://www.wattpad.com/search/ezicat

sage1000:
I've just finished reading your story and I must admit it was a great read. The slow build up and world building are exceptional. The quality of what has been written can be compared favorably with published fantasy novels and if it maintains this quality to the end it would be a real gem.

I will be following this story closely and really hope it ends up published as Nigeria needs great stories like this.

Ada is an Ogbanje, a half-human, half-spirit child. Torn between two worlds - her human mother who desperately wants to keep her in the world of the living, and her spirit sisters, who want her back in the world of the dead. Who will succeed? Who will fail? Will Ada be forced to choose?

7-part short story on http://www.wattpad.com/story/34757785-ogbanje-human-or-other

Heard of wattpad.com? Think of youtube for books and stories! You can find romance, fiction, fantasy, horror, fanfic etc from published and amateur writers. You can find stories set in Africa including Ogbanje and a few other African folklore creatures. Spread the message!

Get the rest of the story, and more medeival African fantasy stories on http://www.wattpad.com/search/ezicat

Part 5

“Mom! Mom!” she yelled as soon as she reached the yard. She raced into the house still calling for her mother. There was no sign of her. The rooms were empty. So was the backyard, the kitchen, the bathhouse. “Mom!” Ada screamed in near panic.

“What’s with all the yelling?” Came a familiar voice from the front of the house.

Ada ran back the way she came and launched herself into her mother’s arms, causing her mother to stagger. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Ada asked.

“Of course I’m okay. What’s wrong? You’re trembling.”

Ada took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “I…you…I heard a crash and thought you were hurt.” It didn’t sound very convincing even to her ears, but it was all she could come up with.

“Oh. I’ll check the kitchen. Maybe one of the calabashes fell,” her mother said. “In the meanwhile, I need you to go and start packing. Enough for a few days. We’re going on a trip tomorrow.”

Ada’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “What? What trip? We’re in the middle of one of our busiest seasons.”

Her mother sighed. “I know. I just got the news.”

“What news?”

“Well…more of a rumour. Some say the silk harvest will be poor this year.”

“So …what does a high silk price have to do with our sudden trip?”

“There’s going to be a severe shortage this year. The caterpillars aren’t thriving. The reapers don’t think they’ll get much silk from their cocoons.”

“Oh.”

“We can’t wait for the merchants to bring the fibres to us; there’ll be none left that late in the season. We have to go to the source and buy it directly from the reapers.”

“Oh. Okay. Now I understand. I’ll start packing,” Ada said beginning to walk away. Perhaps this was a good thing. The further away from their home they were, the less powerful her siblings would be.

“Where are we going?” Ada called over her shoulder.

“Sungbo’s Erodo.”

Ada stumbled to a halt. “Sungbo’s Erodo?” She squeeked.

Her mother nodded, trying to keep a straight face at Ada’s expression.

“The Erodo?”

Her mother nodded again before bursting into laughter. “You should see the look on your face, Ada. It’s priceless!”

Ada couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ll go start packing right now…it’s a few days trek, isn’t it?” she asked, heading once more to her room.

“It’ll take a few days, yes, but you won’t be trekking.”

Ada swivelled around. “You got me a pony?” she asked. “You got me a pony!” Ada declared. “Ahhh!” She hopped first on one leg and then the other, too excited to keep still. She made for her room; changed her mind and ran back to give her mother a fierce hug. “You are the best Mom ever! And this is the best day ever!” She rushed back in the direction of her room, failing to see the grin slip from her mother’s face, or the irony of her words.

Her euphoria didn’t last long, however. It evaporated as soon as she stepped into her room. “Get. Out!” she hissed through gritted teeth, closing the door so that her mother wouldn’t hear. “How dare you show your face after what you tried to do today!”

“We are sorry,” chorused the still figures on her bed.

“Sorry?” Ada echoed. “Sorry?” She repeated, her voice rising before she remembered to keep it down. “You tried to kill me!”

“No. Never. We would never try to kill you,” they responded. “We only wanted to release you from your physical prison.”

Ada stared at them. She didn’t recall ever calling her human body a prison. “As I said before; get out!”

“You still need our protection,” they reasoned. “There is so much that can harm the human being.”

Ada snickered. “Like malevolent spirits?”

“We are still your sisters; your family.”

“Are you?”

She reached under the bed for her suitcase, and began filling it with clothing. If they wouldn’t go away, she would just ignore them.

“A truce, sister. An oath to Ani, the Mother Creator that all will be as it once was--”

Ada’s head snapped up.

“--that we will never again betray your trust.”

A grin was once more beginning to spread across Ada’s face, but she tried to fight it. She couldn’t forgive them so easily, could she?

“You promise?”

“We swear.”

“We’ll see…” Ada hedged even as she scrambled up on her bed and pointed to a blue dress in her open closest. “I want to pack that one.”

And out it came on its own, folding itself and landing neatly in her suitcase. She giggled and applauded, beginning a game of ‘point and pack’ while jumping up and down on her bed in her excitement.

“Where exactly are you going?” they asked.

“Sungbo’s Erodo,” Ada promptly replied.

The cup of marbles making its way across the room fell, spilling the round, smooth stones across the floor.”

“What?” Ada asked, pausing in her antics.

They gathered together and floated closer to her. “Sungbo is a holy city, Ada.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Oh,” Ada added a moment later, the reason for their concern clicking into place. “You can’t enter a holy city.”

“No, we cannot. A shield stretches across the entirety of the city, from gate to gate, a dome throughout its circumference. It keeps out the likes of us.”

“Oh,” Ada repeated, her earlier euphoria dissipating as she slumped on the bed. Then she shrugged a moment later. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Mother will be right there with me.”

They glanced at each other. “What if she tries--”

“She won’t!”

“We won’t be there to protect you.”

“Don’t ruin this for me!” Ada warned. “I’m going, and that’s that! Besides, I can take care of myself. I showed that at the river,” she finished, folding her arms, a stubborn pout to her mouth.

They drifted even closer, a circle of faces around hers. “That energy. Like that of the whiskered snake fish. Only more intense. More…palpable. It forced us back into the spirit world.”

Ada nodded importantly, even though she had no idea how she did what she did.

“It is known as a Starburst, a concentration and explosion of spiritual energy. It is a rare ability, Ada. Perhaps you should practise using it. Perfect the skill.”

“Practise?” Ada squeaked.

“Yes. The priestesses of Erodo are amongst the most powerful. You must practise. We must be sure that you will be able to defy their Seekers, if need be.”

Ada swallowed. Seekers. She might remember little of her past lives, but that word alone sent shivers down her spine.

Part 4

Amadi, eager to shift the attention to what he believed to be the greatest career path of all launched into a detailed description of his meticulous education – anatomy, geography, history, experimentation, technology, techniques... “Do you wanna see the aquaculture? Papa and I have raised the dams to reduce the flooding with the rains. It’s filled with sardines.”

“Can I go, mama?”

“I don’t want you around those mangroves unattended.”

“Please. We’ll be careful. Pleeease.” Eyes wide, imploring; hands clasped together.

Her mother sighed. “Don’t go past the rice paddies and make sure to walk on the dykes. I don’t want you stepping on those plants. You two are in enough trouble.”

They were already tearing down the stairs, in case she changed her mind. “We promise,” she called back.

The trip to the mangrove fish farm was uneventful. They kept to the back paths, preferring to stay off the main roads and out of sight of any prying eyes that would tattle to Amadi’s mother. The paths meandered behind the bamboo fences between the homes of Sector Two, which housed the long term residents. Most of the homes looked alike. They were all large and rectangular with pale clay walls, triangular roofs, front and back porches and a hallway through the middle, connecting the front yard to the back. A few of the larger, wealthier families who lacked the space to expand outwards had, instead, expanded upwards with a second story added to their homes.

They soon reached the green sea of young rice seedlings, the growing fields separated by brown dykes. Thousands of oily black-silver sardines glinted in the sunlight, darting between the seedlings.

“They tickle your feet if you dangle them in the water,” Amadi was saying as he led the way to the end of the field, and the final pond and dam that separated the paddies from the deeper estuary. “Look at the difference in levels,” Amadi marvelled as he looked from darker higher water on one side to the shallow, clearer pond on the other. He gave her one mischievous grin before jumping into the deep end.

Ada gasped. “You promised!”

Amadi emerged, grinning. “It’s not that deep. Look I’m standing. The water just comes up to my shoulders. Just the middle is deep and that’s all the way over there,” he said, pointing ahead. “There’s tons of bonga fish in here and they are massive! Help me catch one.”

“No!”

“Common! Don’t be afraid of a little water.”

“I’m not afraid.” She watched his unsuccessful attempts at hand fishing for a few more moments. “Don’t you have safer, better methods of catching those bonga?”

“Yeah…but they aren’t as much fun,” he responded, spluttering, finally able to hold onto one, which soon escaped by smacking him across the face.

Ada burst out laughing.

Amadi frowned and lunged for her feet.

“Ahh!” She stumbled backwards and sat heavily on the dyke. It was his turn to burst out laughing. She jumped in after him without giving it a second thought. He quickly darted out of her reach, still laughing.

“You’re going to be sorry you did that!”

“You have to catch me first!”

The task proved fruitless. He had spent far too much time in and around water to be easy prey. Just when she thought she was close enough to pounce on him, he would flit to one side or the other.

“Stay still!” she commanded, which made him cackle even more loudly.

She would get him, she promised herself. And when she did, she was going to throw her weight against him so that he stayed under for just a bit longer than he liked. That would teach him. Focused on their game of catch, she didn’t realize that they were drifting further away from the shores of green paddies and exposed mangrove roots. She didn’t realize how much time had passed. She didn’t feel the sudden increased activity of the fish that bumped against them as if spooked.

Ada paused suddenly and looked quizzically at Amadi.

“What?” he asked.

She was pulled under before she could utter a single word, her mouth frozen open in shock, her flailing hands the last to disappear into the opaque waters.

She heard him scream her name. She tried to grab the fingers that reached for her, but they slipped from her grasp. Lower and lower she was pulled; further into the depths. Her lungs began to scream for air. She kicked to no avail and opened the eyes she’d instinctively closed. They confirmed what she already knew; the ghostly shimmer of four children now climbing up her body, determined to keep her under.

Ada’s heart leapt, tripping in her chest.

And panic turned to rage.

It coiled within her, a roiling mass of anger, seeking a way out. And in that stretch of seemingly infinite time between life and death, she was able to connect with her vessel, and awaken her demon spirit. It unleashed her anger, surging outwards in an aura of blinding white light, throwing her siblings backwards and away from her.

She quickly kicked her way to the surface, coughing and spluttering, to find legions of fish leaping from the water as though it burned them, only to fall back in.

She spied Amadi scrambling up the dyke and swam towards him.

“Ada!” he called in relief the moment he saw her.

By the time she reached him standing on the dyke, the fish had quieted, the water still once more.

“What happened?” Amadi was asking as he helped pull her out, excitement rapidly replacing the worry in his eyes. “Are you okay? It looked like you were pulled in. I didn’t know there were large fish in there. Did you see it? How big was it? How did you get away? And that light in the water? Did you feel it? It burned…”

“I’m okay,” Ada responded, eventually able to get a word in. She scanned their surroundings, still wary even though her sisters were nowhere to be found. “I have to go home. I have to go home now!”

Worry returned to Amadi’s eyes. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

“Tell what?” Ada asked before realization dawned. “No. Of course not. I just…my Mom…it’s getting late,” she fibbed. “If we don’t return now, we’ll definitely get into trouble.”

Amadi started, then glanced at the descending sun. He winced. “You’re right, we should leave now,” he said, breaking into a quick trot.

Ada fell into step beside him. She’d never seen him look so serious. “You weren’t supposed to leave your house today, were you?” she asked.

Amadi shook his head. “If I don’t sneak back in before Mom returns from the market…I’m dead!”

“We should run,” Ada suggested.

Amadi needed no further prompting as he promptly broke into a run with Ada taking off after him.

They didn’t stop once, parting ways where the path branched with shouted goodbyes.

Ada raced home, hoping she wasn’t too late.

Part 3

Ada had heard this story before. The tale of her last death. The ritual of trying to force her to reveal her vessel had been so traumatic, she’d called the demon spirit trapped in it, and shed her human shell, permanently. She’d died. Ada had little memory of the incident. Only a vague recollection of smoke and fog, of a blinding white, and of fear.

She stole a glance at her mother, who was bent over her work, seemingly oblivious to the spectres around her. She wouldn’t, Ada thought. She wouldn’t summon the conjurer. Not again. Not only was the last time a complete disaster – she’d died! - her mother must know that her vessel was precious to her. It housed her demon spirit, the second half of her. The half that contained all the memories of her past lives. The half that she could summon to walk the night as an apparition with her siblings; to possess both plants and animals - to stretch above the earth like the palm; to run like the leopard; to soar like the owl; to slither like the serpent; to swim like the fish. Her mother wouldn’t take that from her.

A face peeked over the fence at the end of their property, and Ada brightened immediately. She grinned and waved, before dropping her hand guiltily to glance at her mother.

Her mother looked from the young male who now stepped out from behind the fence, toeing at the ground, his eyes downcast, to the young female who was looking up at her hopefully. She sighed. “You know you can’t play with him anymore.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Ada defended for the millionth time. “He climbed up a tree and he fell!” She spread her hands in confusion. “That’s what happens when you climb trees! Why did everybody blame me?”

“He broke his arm--”

“That’s what happens when you fall!” She paused at her mother’s warning ‘turn down the attitude’ look.

“He got injured. You didn’t. He always gets injured. You never do,” her mother continued.

“Well, that’s because…you know…I have…I’m careful,” Ada finished lamely. She didn’t want to say the obvious. She had her guardian spirits - the four who happened to be glaring at her at the moment; the four who probably wouldn’t be doing any more guarding. Most other people needed charms and talismans for protection. She didn’t. And half the time, those charms didn’t work, anyway. Ada could tell. The fakes didn’t glow. Regular humans couldn’t tell the difference, it seemed.

“Then you need to get him to be more careful,” her mother pressed.

“How? He’s the one who always starts it. He said I couldn’t climb higher and faster than him because I’m a girl. And he was the one who found that bat cave. And, and the Udi hill when he banged his head? We were hoop racing - his idea- when he slipped and rolled down. And he dared me to jump from the Nsude pyramid,” Ada finished. Anyone could see that she was the innocent party in all of this.

“So he challenged you,” her mother repeated.

“Yes.”

“He dared you.”

“Yes.”

“You had no choice.”

“None at all.”

“You had to follow his lead. If he jumped off a cliff, you would too.”

She was being led into a trap, Ada realized just in time. The appropriate response was no. No, she couldn’t be goaded or cajoled into doing dangerous stunts. But, honestly, sometimes adults said the silliest things. Obviously it would depend on why he jumped off the cliff. Were they being chased by some creature? A charging elephant was a perfectly legitimate reason to jump off a cliff. And if it was just for fun, then there was the height of the cliff to take into consideration. And whether there was deep water underneath to cushion their fall….she realized that her mother was scowling at her.

“No mama, I wouldn’t.”

“Good.”

“You also won’t roll your hoops down the steepest hills.”

Ada shook her head.

“And no more bat caves! Those things bite!”

Ada nodded. She glanced over at Amadi, who was looking expectantly from mother to daughter.

“Okay, okay, I promise. We’ll be careful. So can he come over?”

Her mother still looked stern; it was time to play sad, lonely child.

Ada’s lower lips trembled. “I have no one else to play with,” she began. At least no one human. “None of the other kids want to play with me.” She added on a tearful note. “They’re afraid of me. Me!” She sniffed, the very picture of sadness.

She watched her mother relent and wave Amadi over. Ada beamed. Wore her down. Yes!

“I’ll bring out the snacks, and we can have our break,” her mother said, heading into the house.

“Okay,” Ada responded, her attention focused on the playmate bounding up their stairs, the beads around his neck rattling against his bare chest, his short wrap flapping with his movement. She took his left hand and shook it vigorously. “Does that hurt?”

“Nope.” He shook his head.

“What about now?” Ada asked, poking it.

Amadi shook his head again.

“What about now?” she asked, squeezing it.

“It’s fine,” he said, pulling his arm from her grasp. “The bonesetters fixed it. I can do cart wheels down the stairs if I wanted to.”

“Ssh!” Ada looked down the hallway through the open door, but her mother was still out of sight. “Don’t. We’ll get in trouble. Well, I will. You never get in trouble because they’re all feeling so sorry for you.”

Amadi grinned unapologetically. “Well, maybe if you got injured once in a while.”

Ada glared. “Nothing. Remotely. Dangerous. Or they’ll never let us play together again.”

That got his attention. And the attention of the spectres silently watching the exchange. They stirred and vanished, to Ada’s added relief. She focused her gaze once more on Amadi’s healed arm as her mother re-emerged from the hallway carrying a tray laden with bowls of fruits and nuts.

“The place settings, Ada?”

Whoops! Ada raced for the rolled rug propped against the wall, jabbering about the magic of healing. “…if I had a brother or sister to take on the tailoring apprenticeship, I think I would definitely apply to be a bonesetter trainee. It’s amazing; with their potions that dull the pain, and their strings and splints and…”

“Good afternoon,” Amadi said to her mother, remembering his manners.

“Good afternoon,” her mother responded smiling. “And how is your training coming along?”

Thanks for your comments. I hope to post weekly until the end of the story. Here is Part 2

Part 2

Once they finished their breakfast and headed down the hallway to the workshop, her siblings reappeared. One minute the space was empty, the next, filled with four children crowded together, as if an invisible curtain had been drawn. Their expressions were mournful, their eyes accusing, as they always seemed to be lately.

Her mother kept walking, discussing the weather, “It looks like a nice day today, Ada. We should be able to work outside...” They parted as her mother passed since walking through them would have given their presence away. “Like the cold winds of the Harmattan cutting right through you”, was the common description humans gave to the sensation of walking through a spirit.

Ada trailed behind, her eyes averted.

“Ada, did you hear me?”

“Hmmm?”

She looked up to find her mother watching her.

“Are you alright, Ada?”

“Yes!” she said nodding emphatically to drive home her words. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, looking neither left nor right at the figures on either side. “I’m fine. Fine.”

“You’re not feeling ill, are you?” The worry was back in her mother’s eyes.

“No. Nope. Not at all.” She went to her mother, took a hand and placed it against her forehead. “See. Normal.”

Her mother moved the hand to her neck, still checking, unconvinced.

“I’m fine, Mother,” Ada repeated before leading the way to the workshop at the front of the house. She let her mother enter first so that she could glare at her siblings and mouth, “Stop it!”

They refused to heed her words.

They were there when her mother threw open the wooden window panels of the workshop, bathing the narrow room in sunlight. A long bench stood beneath the one large window, two high stools behind it. Rolls of fabric sat in depressed wooden panels across the opposite wall. Against the far wall stood a second smaller workbench, which housed the trays containing their tally sticks.

They were there when mother and daughter consulted the tills of the trays in the morning sunlight. Two trays sat on the bench, one for the current month, Ọnwa Anọ, the fourth of the thirteen months of the year; the second tray represented the next month, Ọnwa Agwu. Each tray held twenty eight tills, to mark the twenty eight days of the month, arranged in rows of sevens and columns of fours. The columns represented the days of the week - Eke, Orie, Afo, Nkwo - named for the four corners of the Earth – East, West, North and South.

And they were there when mother and daughter read the only tally stick in that day’s till. According to their calendar, Mrs. Iheme would be picking up her order by day’s end. The rounded tally stick had the gourd-like emblem of the wine-making Iheme House across the top. Its body was marked with Nsibidi symbols, nicks and notches.

They read.

8 wraps – 2 adult, 6 adolescent.
2 shirts.
1 hat.
1 silk sash.
1 head tie.

Mrs. Iheme would be the first of many to be dropping by during the following two weeks. It seemed that everyone in town wanted a new outfit for the upcoming masquerade festival celebrating Agwu, the deity of health, patron god of all healers.

The festival was marked by a procession through the streets of their town – of musicians plucking their small, stringed, double-headed koras, leading the three-membered, two-faced, twirling masquerades, spiritual conduits to the god, Agwu. The masquerades would be attired from head to toe in streaming tassels of red, with two wooden masks wrapped around their heads, representing the dual nature of the god – male and female; human and animal. On one masquerade, the square-jawed male and the angular female mask with its high, sculpted coiffure; on the second, the long-nosed elephant and the long-beaked bird; on the third, the two-horned ram and the sharp-eared leopard. Their hands were concealed with white mittens; their feet on short, wooden stilts.

Then came the priests. Then the doctors and bone setters. The healers of mind and body. Then came the townspeople with their offerings of money, livestock and produce, wearing the latest fashions – women in the much-loved, versatile and comfortable wrap, vibrantly coloured and worn in a variety of styles; long and flowing or short and ruffled; one-piece or two-piece; accessorized with beads or silk or an extravagant knotted finish. The men were far less flamboyant; a muted wrap around their waists, topped with a thigh-long shirt and a woollen hat. But all danced to the tune of the kora and for the rest of townsmen, women and children, who lined the streets, throwing cowries at the feet of the spinning masquerades.

It was a busy period for the artisan families of the town – the weavers, tailors, dyers, cordwainers, vintners, jewellers and sculptors. Ada would normally have enjoyed the excitement in the air; the pace and frenzy of their work. But not today.

Not even the bright sunshine could lift her spirits. Not even the occasional sparrow that bravely hopped up the steps of the front porch from which they worked, chirping, “Bread, please. Bread, please.” Not even the red-necked lizards that would scamper over their bamboo fence and across the clay-paved yard, pausing to nod decisively at nothing in particular before going their merry way.

Not with the oppressive presence of her siblings.

They crowded around her. Each time she reached for more thread to attach a tassel to the woolen red and white hat, or complete the hem of a wrap, a ghostly arm or torso was in her way. Each time she chanced to glance up, a ghostly face obstructed her view. Each time she rose to pick up another piece of material, she had to walk through an apparition.

Ada gritted her teeth and suffered in silence. What choice did she have? She couldn’t tell her mother. It would only upset her. What could she say? Mother, they’re still here, and are still pretty angry that I won’t go with them and die for the third and probably last time. She heaved a long suffering sigh, causing her mother to pause in the middle of the origin tale of the weavers, an oft-repeated and beloved work-time story. Ada had briefly forgotten that she was pretending rapt attention to the story of the lonely spider who crafted companions from her web; the center their heart, the strands their limbs, her webs roiling into bones, organs, tissues and flesh. She was supposed to intuitively frown, laugh and nod at the right places.

Pasting a brilliant smile on her face, Ada lied, “Sorry, this tassel is a bit crooked. I’ll redo it. Please continue. I think you stopped at the building of the looms…”

Her siblings burst out laughing. A high, cruel cackle. “You’re not fooling her,” they said. Ada’s second sigh was under her breath. Why couldn’t they just go back to the way things were before she turned ten; when they were fun and playful. When their faces alone would line the hallway, sticking out through the walls, right side up or upside down, a tongue hanging out, eyes rolled back. When she would avert her eyes, trying not to giggle, or quickly cover one up with a cough. What difference did a few months really make? None, that’s what. She wanted to yell and scream and throw things. She wanted to beat her fist against the ground and roll around until she got her way. She could do without their complete about face as even now they continued, “Look how drawn her face is. Look how sad her eyes are. She’s as bad at pretending as you are.”

Ada looked up sharply, as if to deny their allegations.

“Oh but you both are,” they stressed. “You didn’t fool us. You haven’t fooled her. She knows we’re here.”

As one, they glided towards her mother, encircling her. “You know what happened the last time she looked so worried, Ada? She called the priest to seek out your iyu uwa; your vessel. She tried to take you from us. We had to protect you; we had to take you away from this world before you were lost to us forever.

Dedicated to those who love science fiction and fantasy, but can't seem to find any of and about Africa and Africans. Most Nigerians know about the Ogbanje - who and what they are... Or do they?

This is an ongoing series - with new parts that will be posted regularly until the conclusion of the story. It is historical fiction - set during the medieval ages. Your comments are appreciated.

All rights reserved.

Part 1

“You can’t remain in this world indefinitely,” they warned. “You can’t keep this up forever.” The figures around her spoke as one, in a low chorus of voices.

Ada ignored them.

She was sitting on a rug in the middle of her bedroom, cross-legged, her hands pressed against the floor. Her eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead, staring at the flame, willing herself to concentrate.

It was a large room, sparsely furnished. To her right, a bed stood against the wall, its frame of spindly metallic swirls visible underneath the covers. To her left sat her wardrobe, made of wood and shaped like a man with short stubbly legs and a broad torso. Two high windows of transparent mica let in the rays of the early morning sun, dimming the light from the candle in front of her. The walls were of pale white clay and the ceiling an intricate network of raffia fibres.

Her entire body shivered in its multi-coloured quilt of yellow and white stripes as she stared straight ahead into the single flame of the candle. The still air quivered, a dome-shaped shimmer enveloping her. It glistened and brightened, brilliant white lights shooting out from cracks that appeared within it. They travelled across her skin, spreading pinpricks of sensation in their wake. They caused her breathing to slow even further, her breath becoming visible in the air before her.

Her barrier had cracked open again; the dome-shaped barrier that separated the spirit world from the physical. It surrounded every living thing, invisible, unnoticed, shut; opening only after death; except for those around a select few - those few who could sense and see the world beyond. When their barrier thinned and cracked, as their’s almost always did, they could see the brilliance of the white light; they could feel the intensity of the spiritual force. And if their barrier remained fractured, if their portal remained open, spiritual energy poured in, sickening their corporeal bodies. Their temperatures would fall, and they would drift into unconsciousness followed by death. If they heeded the call of the spirits.

Ada had to seal off her portal.

She had to concentrate. Focus. Place mental blocks across the cracks and pray they hold.

She exhaled.

Without the cloud of white.

Good. She’d succeeded. For now.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” they asked again, speaking, as usual, in unison.

Ada heaved a sigh before leaning forward to blow out the candle, trickling wax hardening on the globular ornamental stand. She looked around at the four figures that surrounded her like the points of a star. They were seated, as she was, wearing pale wraps around their shoulders. They were children – they always materialized as children - young like she was, their skin the same tawny brown, their hair the same short mass of tiny, wiry curls. But their bodies rippled like reflections in a pool, and she could see right through them to the walls beyond.

“Maybe for the next forty or fifty years,” Ada said. “Because mother is forty now, and I want to be here for as long as she is.”

Their eyes widened and their faces paled with shock. “You cannot be serious! You cannot remain with the living for that long!”

“I have to! Why don’t you understand? I will not die again. I will not! Twice before I have died,” Ada said, fingering the two sickle-shaped etchings on the inside of her left wrist, placed there by the burial priest on her past lifeless bodies. One for every time she had died before. They were the markings of the ogbanje. Proof that she was a child reborn, bearing the evidence of her past deaths. “Twice before I have broken my mother’s heart and wrenched her spirit. No more.”

“Yet you choose to break ours. Your kin! Your siblings!”

Ada sighed again. “She’s my family too. She bore me and has raised me for ten full years. I will return to the land of the spirits. I will return to you. Just not right now.” Ada began carefully folding the large quilt. She could feel the heat of the surrounding air again. The warmth stopped her from shivering in her thin cotton wrap.

They wouldn’t give up. “It is the nature of the ogbanje to be transient in the physical world. We are not meant to grow up. With each passing day, your human spirit grows stronger. Stay, and you will eventually be fully human and cut off from us.”

“I won’t let that happen! Will you please stop worrying? I--”

She saw a shadow move beneath her closed door and slapped her hand over her mouth. How long had her mother been standing there? “Oh no, I think she heard us,” Ada whispered.

“She heard you. She can neither hear nor see us.”

“You know what I meant,” Ada said, hurrying from the room. “Just be patient, sisters,” she called back, but she was speaking to an empty room.

They had already vanished.

“Mother?” Ada first checked the room across from hers. Similarly sized, it was more elaborately furnished. Two curved tables on either side of the wardrobe were covered with long, fragile combs, beaded and jewelled bangles and necklaces, gourds of lotions and scented liquids, a square piece of polished reflecting metal, and an assortment of many colored soaps.

“Mother…” Ada called again, heading down the hallway, through the finely woven, sheer curtains, to the backyard where she found her on the porch. She was laying out breakfast on the dining table - a large bowl of fried yams, a second of fried plantains, a third of tomato stew and two smaller bowls of porridge. She looked like an older version of her daughter - skin the same shade of tawny brown, eyes just as large, lips just as wide. She wore a simple wrap of a vivid, patterned blue, the ends tied behind her neck. Her hair was elegantly styled in small plaits across her head, gathered in the middle like the many knobs of the ogwu, the spinal column. Her movements were agitated, clumsy. She had definitely overheard something.

“Good morning,” Ada said, sidling closer to the circular table that stood on three conjoined legs and the two chairs in the shape of kneeling men.

“Mother, it’s okay. They asked and I said no, not yet, not for the next fifty years. So stop worrying.”

“We both know they’ll try again.”

“And I’ll keeping telling them no.”

“For how long?”

Ada wished everyone would stop asking her that. “For as long as it takes. You need to believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere, not for a very long time. You need to trust me,” she added, reaching for a slice of plantain.

Her mother swatted her hand away. “You know the rules.”

Ada pouted. “Ok, I’ll wash up,” she said even as she spied the yams, which were closer. She had to act quickly. With a sudden flick of her wrist, she swiped a nice, thin and crunchy piece and stuffed it into her mouth before darting down the four stairs that led into the courtyard.

“Ha ha ha,” she laughed, turning back to see her mother shaking her head incredulously. Giving a triumphant wave, Ada skipped ahead towards the bathroom, where a bucket of warm water, a ladle, chewing stick, soap and sponge would be carefully laid out on a low shelf.

She’d managed to diffuse the tension. For now. Enough for them to continue their day with some semblance of normalcy.

Some semblance.

Lol at the twists and turns of all the comments. I've just submitted my piece to your e-mail using Word as per the instructions (.docx) BTW White Mosquito - this competition was an awesome idea! Thank you!