Akata Witch

In the distance, they spotted an ominous red cloud-the funky train, approaching at a ridiculous speed. “Wish you’d brought a box of tissues?” Sasha asked Sunny.

“Not funny,” she said. She didn’t tell him she actually had. This was going to be a snot fest.

The funky train was covered with sayings embellished with colorful loops and swirls. JESUS IS MINE, O!; NO ONE BUT CHRIST!; THE BLOOD OF GOD!; NOTHING BAD!; SLOW BUT SURE!; LIFE IS SHORT!; JESUS SAVE US! In the center was a crude painting of a very white-faced blond-haired Jesus flashing the peace sign.

“Is this for Leopard People?” she whispered to Chichi. “Or Christian fanatics?”

Chichi only laughed. “It’ll change to different things about Allah when we enter Hausaland. And the Jesus painting will become a crescent moon and star. You know the saying-‘When in Rome do as the Romans do.’”

The driver was a man who called himself Jesus’s General. But there was nothing holy about him. Every other word he spoke was a jolly swear word. Loud profanity-laced hip-hop blasted over the sound system. Sunny wondered if he changed his name to Allah’s General when they crossed into Hausaland. She laughed to herself.

“How many are you?” Jesus’s General shouted, getting out of the vehicle.

“Sir,” said a stately woman, “does this piece of junk run on fuel-gasoline?”

“Oh, this no be so!” A man groaned a few steps away. He spat something in what Sunny thought was Yoruba and then threw his dusty backpack on the ground.

“Eh, eh, eh,” Jesus’s General protested humbly. “Na hybrid vehicle. A little fuel, a lot of juju, and plenty plenty of God’s will. Come, ah beg. I no go disappoint you. Step aboard. I give you good price to get to festival.”

“It’s a piece of rubbish! We’ll probably all die of the fumes,” a woman said. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

Jesus’s General waved an annoyed hand at the angry people and turned to Anatov.

“Anatov,” Jesus’s General said, shaking, slapping, and snapping hands with him. “Good as hell to see you, my man.”

“Likewise,” Anatov said, putting an arm around the driver’s shoulder. They moved a few steps away, obviously to discuss prices. Anatov looked at them and said, “Get on,” then turned back to negotiate.

It took a while to find a seat because the long vehicle was mostly full. Sunny’s backpack was slung over her shoulder, and as they made their way to the back, it smacked a boy in the head. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she cried, patting his head. She snatched her hand away when she realized what she was doing. “Sorry,” she said again.

Rubbing his head, the boy nodded. Her face grew hot. He was gorgeous. Of all people she could have bashed in the head, it had to be him. He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” he said in Igbo. “I’m still conscious.”

She laughed and quickly moved on.

There were exactly five seats at the very back of the funky train. The chair in the center was large, clean, and throne-like with much more legroom than the others. It was obviously for Anatov. Chichi plopped down beside Sunny, Orlu, and Sasha on the other side of Anatov’s seat. Not surprisingly, Sasha took the window seat.

“Young strong men,” Jesus’s General shouted from the front of the bus, “we need a push.”

Sunny almost laughed. Clearly, even a vehicle powered by juju needed a push so the driver could pop the clutch. Several men got up and went outside, including Anatov. Jesus’s General got behind the wheel.

They pushed and pushed and the funky train began to roll. Finally, the engine popped, banged, and chugged. At the same time, she heard another noise that sounded more like wind blowing through the top of a dry palm tree. Blue lights running along the vehicle’s walls and on the floor lit up. The air began to smell of flowers. Sunny sneezed and groaned.

They were officially on their way to the Zuma festival.

Anatov said they’d be staying at the Hilton, the biggest and most lavish hotel in the city. Even one of America’s presidents had stayed there. Sunny was only able to relax when Anatov said that Leopard Knocks was paying for the room. She barely had enough money to afford two meals, and she doubted they’d take chittim.

It was going to be a very busy day. First they would get her juju knife. Then they’d attend the wrestling finals. After that, Anatov would attend a meeting of scholars from all over Africa. They’d have the rest of the day and evening all to themselves. “There’s an arts and crafts fair all day and a student social tonight,” Anatov said. He looked at Orlu and Sasha and smiled. “And, as always, there’s the Zuma Football Cup match around five o’clock.”

Sunny frowned. Why didn’t he look at her when he said this? She liked soccer, too. And she was good at it.

Their rooms were on the sixteenth floor of the Hilton. And they weren’t just rooms-they had a suite! Orlu and Sasha had one room and Chichi and Sunny had another. Anatov’s room was farther down the hall. “We leave in an hour,” he said. As soon as he was gone, they looked at each other and then howled with excited laughter.

“I can’t believe I’m here!” Sunny screeched, throwing herself onto her bed.

“This place is so toxic,” Chichi said, chidingly. But she ate one of the chocolates that had been placed on their beds. “I’ll bet that’s why Anatov is making us stay here.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Sunny said.

Chichi frowned at her. “Why’s that?”

“Imagine the books they’ll be selling at the festival,” Orlu said, sitting on the cabinet beside the TV.

“Bet there’ll be a lot of hot girls there, too,” Sasha said.

“There’ll be even more hot boys,” Chichi said, giving him a look. “There are always more boys.”

“Hey, don’t go off with anyone,” Orlu said. “We’re not at home.”

“Same to you,” Chichi said.

“I’m a guy,” Orlu said in total seriousness, pulling a book out of his bag. “You’re a girl. It’s not the same.”

Chichi scoffed.

“It’s not,” Sasha said with a shrug. “Anyway, Chichi, come here. Look at this.”

“So what do you think?” Orlu asked Sunny. Behind them, Chichi and Sasha had started whispering to each other and snickering as they looked at Sasha’s book.

“Ask me in a few days,” Sunny said.

“I hate this hotel and everything it stands for,” Orlu said. “The over-extravagance when people are living so badly just outside the hotel, it’s obnoxious.”

“It’s not all bad.”

Orlu shook his head. Chichi and Sasha quickly shut Sasha’s book. Sasha shoved it back into his bag.

“What are you guys up to?” Sunny asked.

Chichi wouldn’t meet Sunny’s eyes. “Sasha’s just helping me out with-something. Nothing you and Orlu would be interested in.”

“Sunny, you going to get in that soccer game with me?” Sasha asked. “Or football, I mean. Whatever you guys call it here.”

“I still call it soccer, too,” she said, laughing. “Part of my Americanness, I guess. You think I can play in the game?”

“Definitely. I’ve seen you handle the ball, man,” he said. “Orlu, you in?”

“Nah, I’ll watch with Chichi.”

“So they let girls play?” Sunny asked, tentatively.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sasha said. “You’re playing.”

They split up to take showers and change. Everyone wore their best. Sasha had on baggy jeans and a short- sleeved blue dress shirt. He paused to look at Chichi, who wore a bright green rapa and matching top. “You look nice,” he said. “You should dress up more often.”

“Only when there’s a reason,” Chichi said, but she looked pleased.

Sunny fidgeted. She knew she looked good in her navy blue dress pants and blue top with orange and yellow designs, but it didn’t really matter to her. “I hate dressing up,” she said.

“I don’t mind it much,” Orlu said. He wore a long light blue caftan and matching pants. “But there are more important things.”