Oriade doesn't enjoy being alone.

Different heads will all seek the crown.

But Ifá said, "Ìgàkéjì Orisa cannot die alone."

The beads and the ìrukèrè on Alafin's body don't frown.

All you can see is culture:

Chariots, lion's skin, leopard's skin.

Who is Alafin?

A man who is also the Supreme Being.

Alafin is Ìgàkéjì Orisa.

Ifá and Orunmila laid down our culture.

Our deity doesn't want the king to die alone.

He will die with a man called Abobakù.

The white birds came calling; this seems a callous culture.

Abobakù will sup with the king like a king.

Abobakù will dine till he's full.

Abobakù is the king's eye.

Whether he's still growing, aging, but not dying,

Who can predict the one who will meet his ancestors?

Abobakù cannot die before the king.

He must be living.

Abobakù's death is always around the corner.

He dare not try to abscond from his oath,

Or Şango will strike him dead.

Abobakù knows who Ògún is.

The white birds came with their feathers

Into this culture to save Abobakù.

Abobakù was abolished, and Abobakù can now go anywhere he wants.

The fear of dying with a man can no longer fear Abobakù.

*Abobakù - Companion or confidant to the king, destined to die with him.

*Alafin - King or ruler.

*Ifá - Yoruba oracle or deity of wisdom and knowledge.

*Orunmila - Yoruba deity of wisdom, knowledge, and divination.

*Ìgàkéjì Orisa - The one who accompanies the deity.

*Oriade - Title or prefix for a king or noble.

*Ìrukèrè - Beads or adornments worn by royalty.

*Şango (Şàngó) - Yoruba god of thunder.

*Ògún - Yoruba god of iron, war, and craftsmanship.

Under my feet, the earth trembles and shakes,

Down where I am at the tipping point of the change,

Not having a clue what will come next.

There was a sunset in this world,

Just as the moon is getting ready to rise.

I am there all by myself, in that incomplete darkness.

Both fear and hope are entangled in the fight,

The storm in my heart,

Where the wind murmurs of its secret strength.

Tired of waiting, I observe the world and feel myself wasting away,

I am located at the place where the waves hit the rocks.

A scary reminder of the risks I shall take.

But when the curtain of the night is lifted,

A few shining stars also enter the scene,

And in the darkness, stars begin to shine,

Glimmers of light in the midnight sky,

Guiding me toward my divine path.

With the glow, I will be flying over there,

To face the great unknown that lies ahead.

I was weeping softly and quietly. Just then, I heard footsteps approaching my room. So, I switched off the reading bulb close to my bed and pretended to be asleep. My mom called my name severally, but I didn't answer her. I didn't want her to see me crying in my bed at night, so I kept mute. Shortly after she didn't hear me speak, she left the corridor. My name is Ariana, but you can call me Ari.

Yea, that night was just like all other nights when I wallow in pain and sorrow. It had become a habit, but I was fed up deep down. I am the only child of my parents; I always acted strong and happy, but deep down, I was dying in silence. I was at the hardest and probably toughest teenage age, fourteen years. I consider it a tough age because I went through a lot.

It all started some months ago when Dad's company folded up, we went bankrupt, and Dad became depressed and decided to leave us. So, since then, happiness has left me, or should I say I lost happiness. At school, things were not all that good. I did not have many friends, but only one close friend; I would rather call him my best friend. His name is Maxwell, and we were inseparable.

We shared everything you could imagine: joy, sorrow, pain, money, gifts, groceries, and more. But sadly, some weeks later,  I noticed he started hanging out with the mean kids at school; they were known for bullying other timid and nerdy kids. I wasn't happy when I discovered Maxwell going around with them.

Hence, I confronted him on his way to the locker room. His reply was nothing to write about; he also gave flimsy excuses, so I left angrily and went home. The next day, Mom told me she would work at the cafeteria in the evenings and on weekdays to make ends meet. I offered to join her, but she declined and said I should focus on my studies.

She missed Dad, but I didn't; he left my Mom and me. I never wanted to hear from him again, so I blocked his number and also blocked him on all social media platforms. Time flew by; two years later, I was going through my mailbox when I came across something intriguing. 

It was a letter from my Father, apologizing for his misbehavior and abandoning us. He said he was now well-to-do and would handle my financial needs. I was surprised and very angry; he had left all this while, and now, he would throw money at us. After thinking about all this, I decided to tell Mom and see her reaction.

Surprisingly, she was ecstatic. She said I should accept him and find a place in my heart to forgive him. I didn't say anything, I just nodded my head. The next day, I decided to forgive and accept him back after his countless apologies.

He was in New York but promised to come by during the weekend to spend some time with us, which he eventually did. That weekend was like a family reunion; we ate, talked, and bounded like a happy family. Mom stopped her double shift and decided to enroll me in one of the most prestigious private High schools in the City. 

That was my first thought when I picked up the envelope that someone had slid into my house though the gap between the door frame and the door. On days like this, I reminded myself of the need to fix the gate to prevent such nasty surprises. I let out a long hiss as I turned the envelope over vainly to know who must have sent it. I knew then that I shouldn't open the envelope if I didn't know the name of the sender or wasn't sure that the content therein was addressed to me but curiousity got the better of me. I opened the envelope and went numb.
I didn't need to unfold the paper to know what was written on it. I was all too familiar with the dusty brown paper on which I had scribbled my deepest, darkest secret as a teenager. I had cut it out of one of Mummy's old journals and it smelled like old books. It must not have been as white as the pages of my notebook even when it was new, but I could tell that time had done some disservice to whatever was left of it's brilliance when it was purchased.
I certainly could not remember what I had written years ago verbatim, but I could recall the experience I had narrated in the letter so vividly. It wasn't an easy experience to forget.
Mummy had taken me from my biological parents in the village when I was only six. I had always called her auntie whenever she visited my parents in the village. Auntie was really a moniker for any female who was remotely related to us, but whose relationship was too distant to be expressed in a single word. Auntie came to the village every Christmas, and whenever any of our mutual relatives had a celebration of some sort. I had come to associate her visits with the snacks and gifts she always got me whenever she came around. My mother had said that I was born on the same day that she got married and perhaps that was why she was especially fond of me. I couldn't care less for the reason, all that mattered was that I got biscuits and candies each time she visited.
Then one time she visited. I had gone out to play when she arrived. When she remained seated even when I came in, I sensed that something was wrong. Whatever happened to the usual ritual of running to me and lifting me off the ground, exclaiming shock at how much I have grown, then opening her purse to fill my both palms with snacks while my mother scolded her gently for spoiling me. This time, my mother simply asked me to come to her.
I learnt then that I would be going to live with her and so in two days, when Auntie left, I left with her. As soon as I got to her house, she told me to call her Mummy, and I obliged her. I had my own room and I enjoyed staying with her. I was ten and had stayed four years with her when she had her child.
There was a drastic change in my status with the birth of her child. I moved from being a pampered child to a maltreated maid in no time. I skipped schools on some days, would only sleep when the baby had slept, and generally tended to the child like my life depended on it.
What was a girl to do? I only knew rest for as long as the baby was asleep, and the baby, like the evil child that he was, would burst into a loud cry almost immediately after I closed my eyes.

It was a sleep deprived 11 year old that approached a nanny on the next street for tips to make a child sleep soundly as lullabies had failed me. She had given me a powder to mix in the baby's milk, and had asked me to add a pinch of it to the child's pap and it would get the baby to sleep.
The powder was very effective when I used it at first, and I had the most refreshing sleep in a long time as the baby slept soundly. The next day, I decided to be a bit playful and added a generous quantity of the said powder to the baby's meal. I must have added too generous a quantity because she never woke up from that sleep.
I never spoke of the incidence to anyone, not until I was sixteen and my boyfriend at the time, my first love if you would, asked that we trade secrets. He had told me that he had slept with his cousin during his grandfather's burial, but did not know that she was his cousin at the time. I felt a need to tell him something just as deeply personal as what he had shared, yet I couldn't bring myself to confess to the murder of a baby by word of mouth, so I wrote it in a letter, the same letter I now held in my hand, and slipped it in his book.
He never mentioned anything about the letter. I sometimes wondered if he ever saw it. Now I didn't need to wonder m, he had seen it, and thought the best time for us to talk about it was some twenty five years later, when I was already a mother of three teenage and he had just returned from Europe.

Who is your neighbour?

ANSA invites its storytellers and poets and digital artists and playwrights to answer this question with their art. ?

Submissions should be submitted on or before Tuesday, 5th September 2023. 

Let's come together to honour love in a world that earnestly needs it. ???

PROUDLY SPONSORED BY PENKUP INTERNATIONAL