Chapter 2: The Rules of Survival

I shift back, sweat dey rush from my palms, spear for my hand dey almost fall. 'Jesu, abeg, cover me with your blood.' The warriors stop to chop, all their face don turn to something else, dem dey come near me, blood smell dey make my head turn. E be like say, next moment, na me dem go chop join.

My mind dey shout make I run, but leg stiff like wood. Na so dem dey look me like say I be next meat for Sunday yam porridge. As my back dey touch cold tent wall, I dey pray inside my heart—chai, Mama, if na dream, abeg wake me up!

Suddenly, feather fan brush for back of my head, comot some flesh wey dey there.

“General Musa fit don chop too much just now. After you face those people from the other side, e no too strange if you lose yourself small.”

Pastor Lanre smile, help me escape wahala.

I look down, see flesh full for my body—fingers, ears, all those kind things.

I pull my sword, see my face for the blade—fine but cold, blood still dey for my mouth corner. Abi me sef don turn spirit?

I rub my mouth, red stain no gree commot. E shock me.

Even the smell of Pastor Lanre camphor dey strong, like say e dey ward off evil. The way Pastor Lanre arrange him agbada and fan na old school, but even for inside this palava, him eyes dey sharp. Na im I take small courage stand well, but still my hand dey shake like person wey cold dey catch. I remember say na only juju fit explain how flesh dey waka like this.

By now, Chijioke don finish, everybody dey waka go their side, belle full. I pick the cloth wey dem take wrap Chijioke, e full with red writing:

[Rule One: Baba Kongming don craze finish. The thing wey dey fuel the Seven-Star Lamp na sense wey never spoil.]

[Rule Two: If person don craze, abeg, no reject anything wey dem ask you.]

[Rule Three: If you dey for side of the one wey God don choose, na there sure pass. Na only him be hope.]

[Rule Four: No trust those masquerades. Dem be spirits wey sabi chop pass.]

[Rule Five: Na woman hand truth dey. Abeg, no touch am.]

I press the cloth for my chest, like say na only this fit save me. My hand dey shake as I hold the cloth, spirit dey rise for my body like say Harmattan breeze blow reach my bone. I dey look the rules, dey try remember who even dey for my side. This kain thing na only for inside Nollywood film I dey see am before.

Wetin do this world? How all these heroes wey I sabi before come turn to this kind wicked people? How I go take save the world and go back my real life?

Na real madness, I talk for my mind. The ground wey I dey step dey feel like another world, like as if person carry me waka enter shrine for midnight, spirits just dey waka everywhere. I grip my spear tighter, swear for myself say I go find answer, even if na Babalawo level wahala.

I just bone face, waka comot for main tent, begin patrol the camp. Na real wahala I see. Soldiers full blood, dey gather, dey shout, dey happy. Sometimes, person go fall out, fight begin, dem go kill each other for nothing. Just small time, seven or eight don die for fight. But other soldiers just dey watch, dey happy, dey even bet who go survive.

The camp dey hot like pepper soup pot, with everywhere dey scatter, no elder to hold ground. As some dey fight, others dey dance, dey shout bet, dey throw cowries and small change for ground. The sky dark but the camp dey shine from torch fire and madness.

Noise full everywhere—like Lagos market when rain dey fall. Two soldiers, weapon don lost, dem begin bite each other like dog. Even when their body don break, dem no dey feel pain, na only more wickedness dey show. I look around, shock dey catch me—Chief Obiora always dey care for people. After defeat, he suppose carry commoners run. But why only soldiers dey camp?

The air heavy with blood, and memory of when Chief Obiora dey share kola nut and break bread with poor people dey my mind. Something no add up. My village for Jos no even see this kain evil for civil war time.

I hold one ask am, the guy just laugh anyhow. 'Oga, na those people you dey talk? Dem don waka since. When we dey go, we carry all the people for town. But as we dey go, we don chop them finish. If General dey hungry, abeg go kitchen, you fit see some hand to chew.'

E be like say ground wan swallow me, my belle dey turn. This kain answer fit make even strong man weep. For my mind, I dey call God, ancestors, even Sango, make dem send help.

Madness. Everybody don craze.

Pastor Lanre show for my front, from nowhere: “General Musa, Baba Kongming get request.”

Pastor Lanre just waka show like breeze, voice cool but eye dey shine small. My body dey vibrate, but I stand because say e no dey good for soldier to show fear for front of pastor—even for juju time like this.