JAGUNLABI✔

PART TWO: CHAPTER SIX

Four weeks after being inspired to conduct a historical investigation on Jagunlabi, there was silence.

The absence of supernatural activity was terrifying.

Niyi and I were hail and hearty. We went to work and returned home each day, safe and sound. My mother returned to the United States with a promise to be back soon. Wedding preparations were running smoothly. Eye n ke bi eye, birds chirped as usual. Ile n su, ile n mo, the sun set and rose each day.

Aya mi ja, I was afraid.

Everyone knows there is calm before a storm. My spirit was troubled by the inactivity.

Each time I attempted to see deeper into the situation, my mind collided with a force field. Similar to what I experienced when trying to discern why and how Maxine betrayed me. She had been declared missing, and her whereabouts was still an unsolved mystery.

"Sista, won ran mi si yin. Sister, I was sent to you."

I whipped my head in the direction of the voice, to see a blind man with a crooked leg.
Assuming that he intended to beg for alms, I dipped my hand in my bag to find my purse.

He looked at me with glassy eyes which could perceive more than perfect physical capacity. "E ma fun mi l'owo, oun ko ni mo ba wa. Don't give me money, that isn't what I'm here for," he said.

Toh, ki le wa fe nigba naa ati pe ta lo ran yin si mi? Okay, what do you want then, and who sent you to me? I wondered.

"Eledumare ni kin so fun yin pe, The Almighty said I should tell you that 'When you get to the point of no return, you will find the answers that you seek.'"

I bristled. In a potential knee jerk reaction, it was on the tip of my tongue to respond with bitter sharpness. For instance, "S'ori baba yi o buru sha? Hope this old man isn't an unfortunate fellow? Or perhaps, "Iya la ya yin lo ma lo si point of no return. Your great, great grandmother will go to the point of no return."

Instead, I decided to say a silent prayer to rebuke the negative utterance, and go on my merry way. After all we were in a public place, and Yoruba people would be quick to blame me if I had an altercation with an elderly person.

Our location was a busy area, on a main road at Oja Oba, The King's Market. It was close to the Aafin Olubadan, the palace of the king of Ibadan. Being an open market, buyers and sellers argued at the top of their voices over the prices of goods. Some street hawkers delicately balanced their goods on their heads as they passed through the crowds. There was loud music playing at a nearby game centre, and the aroma of fried fish mixed with roasted plantain in the air.

Before I could respond to the man, a labourer pushing a wheelbarrow overloaded with goods barrelled through the crowd.

"E kuro! E kuro! Move out of the way!" he shouted.

People parted like the Red Sea, and I escaped being knocked over like a bottle —just in the nick of time. Shortly after I dodged the wheelbarrow pusher, a woman carrying a row of hens in cages knocked right into me.

"Sista, e ma binu o! Sister, don't be offended!" she cried with a quick look over her shoulder as she kept walking. I did not even expect her to acknowledge me at all. No offense was taken.

I dusted the front of my Ankara shirt dress, and adjusted my small hand bag which had been twisted behind my waist.

When I looked up, the old man was gone.

Something was not right.

Something was quite wrong.

My eyes darted from left to right. From in front of me to behind me. The man was nowhere to be found.

"Baby, ki lo fe? Baby, what do you want? Bata ati baagi imported wa o. We have imported shoes and bags," an over eager salesman said beside me. He tried to make eye contact with me, but I ignored him.

"Baby, would you—"

I snapped. "No. Thank you. I am not buying anything."

"Ye! Won gbe le mi ni sha. Ouch! I have been insulted." He recoiled from my side, and when I looked in his direction he put his hand on his chest.

A smile tugged at my lips despite the situation. "To ba d'ojo miran. Some other day," I said to him and looked away.

With my hands on my hips, I took a deep breath. Tightening my grip on the bag of yam and gari cassava flour in my hand, I wove through the swarm of people to locate an okada rider. Motorcycles were my transportation of choice after a hectic day at the market.

A lone raindrop fell on my cheek.

I looked up at the sky, but it was clear, pastel blue. No a cloud was in sight.

Another raindrop fell, then another till a steady flow of rain made the outdoor marketers rush to secure their goods.

A lone bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by an earth shaking roar of thunder.

Little children screamed as they ran to their mothers, and people scurried to shelter.

Several flashes of lightning, and more bone rattling thunder led to wide spread chaos. People collided with one another as they fled. The clear blue sky darkened as if a light switch was turned off.

With my food items clutched to my chest, I joined the scramble for safety—stumbling and slipping along the way.

"Teniola Oyeyinka!" A deep voice roared.

There was no time to stop and ask who it was, but the sound chilled me to the bone.

Just before I could run to cover at a nearby store, a blinding, bright bolt of lightning struck the ground right in front of me. And I fell.

Prayers for Teniola?

What would you do?

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