her words. “Oh. These are my new classmates, Sunny and Sasha. You know Orlu. Sunny, Sasha-this, unfortunately, is Yao.”
Yao and Sasha looked each other up and down.
“Do I know you?” Sasha asked. “Because you obviously don’t know me.”
“Ah, American,” Yao said.
“Can’t you tell, jackass?” Sasha said.
“All right, enough of that,” Anatov said, pushing Yao toward his teacher. “Save that for the social tonight.”
“Who the hell is that?” Sasha asked Chichi, still shocked at Yao’s nerve.
“He’s the one I told you about,” Chichi said. “You know what we discussed.”
“Oh, I see,” Sasha said. “A’ight, later then.” Chichi nodded.
“What’d you guys discuss?” Orlu asked. Chichi and Sasha just laughed. “Ugh. This is going to get crazy. I can feel it.”
A regal woman briskly walked onto the field. She brought out her juju knife and Sunny nearly screamed with horror as she dragged it across her throat. Then she remembered where she was. There was no blood, not even a cut.
“My name is Mballa and I will be your commentator this fine day,” the woman said in a highly amplified voice. “Welcome to the two hundred and forty-sixth annual Zuma International Wrestling Finals. Make sure to note our sponsors, who have worked sponsorship jujus on your seats. Remember their names when you go to our vendors to ease that mysterious craving. Special thanks, of course, to Abuja’s own Madame Koto and Ibrahim Ahmed for making all this happen.
“Now we all know that this year’s finalists have come a long way to get here. Fifty undefeated victories each, and both have passed the seven Obi Library tasks. These are two truly gifted men, o!”
The entire audience recited the next thing she said. “This is the final test of brains and brawn, so let them show and prove!” Everyone burst into applause, howls, and cheers. People stamped their feet and pumped their fists in the air. Then the drumming began. Sunny looked around. She didn’t see anyone with drums.
“These two warriors are the greatest West Africa has to offer,” Mballa said dramatically. “Kind, generous, loving, loyal, both of these men would give their lives for Africa without a thought. Both of these men know when one must stand up and fight. They are what Western society fears most.
“On this side, from the country of Burkina Faso, comes
The crowd burst into noise as Saye, a brawny brownskinned man of about forty, jogged and bounced around the arena. Orlu leaned toward Sunny’s ear and said, “You see that leather sleeve he’s wearing?”
She nodded.
“When he was young, he was hit by a car and his arm had to be amputated.”
“So his arm is fake?” she asked.
“It’s more complicated than that,” Orlu said. “He was born with this… weird ability that was only discovered when the accident happened.”
“On this side,” the commentator continued, “from the country of Mali, comes
The crowd shouted again as a very, very tall black man ran in. Sunny recognized him-he was the man she’d talked to an hour ago. No wonder a crowd had been gathering!
“Miknikstic can see into the near future,” Orlu said into her ear. “About five seconds ahead. So he’ll know all of Saye’s moves before he makes them! They’re as evenly matched as I’ve ever seen.”
“But if these two guys are so great, why are they fighting each other?” she asked. Orlu just shushed her. “It’s an old West African Leopard tradition,” was all he said. She sat back. At least she knew who she was rooting for.
The opponents stepped up to each other and warmly shook hands.
“Rules,” Mballa said. She spoke more to the audience than the competitors. “One. Stay in the arena at all times. The arena ends twenty feet above the ground. Two. You can only use your natural abilities-no powders, dusts, juju knives, et cetera. Three. This is hand-to-hand. Whatever your ability, the fight must remain so. No mental or spiritual manipulation is to be used against your opponent. The powers who watch over you will decide what the winner wins. Good luck and may Allah help you.” She threw down what looked like a flat black stone and quickly left the arena. She took a seat in the front, two rows away from them.
The two men circled each other, Miknikstic crouching low and Saye moving sideways. The drums beat a steady rhythm. The men ran at each other. When their bodies collided, the crowd shouted, “Wah!”
They grasped each other’s shoulders, their muscles flexing as they tried to throw each other down. But, as Orlu had said, they were evenly matched. They grabbed each other, let go, and grabbed again. Saye’s leather sleeve bulged more and more as the fight intensified. Miknikstic pushed Saye back. Saye paused, then grabbed the zipper of his sleeve. He pulled.
“Now they start!” Mballa announced. “Miknikstic crouches low as Saye prepares to give him the worst.”
The zipper caught a little on Saye’s sleeve and he looked down, but even before this, Miknikstic was in motion, quickly moving to the side and lunging at Saye. Saye had barely ripped the sleeve off when Miknikstic threw a hard punch at his head.
“Wah!” the audience shouted.
“Look at that!” Sasha screamed, standing up.
Sunny wanted to close her eyes. But she didn’t. She knew that no matter what she did, the fight would continue.
Saye staggered several steps and fell. Everyone in the crowd stood up and started shouting.
“Get up, o!”
“Brilliant!”
“
“Why did I bet on that man?”
“Allah will protect you! But only if you
“Use your ghost arm, you idiot!”
Miknikstic didn’t prance about talking trash as Muhammad Ali did in old TV footage. Nor did he spit on Saye, gesticulate, taunt, beat his chest, or laugh, as they did in pro wrestling. Instead, Miknikstic stood over Saye, looking down at him, waiting for him to get up or call it a match.
Saye slowly got up. Miknikstic was ready. He must have seen what was coming next because he did everything he could to block it.
“Oh my goodness!” Sunny shouted when she saw Saye’s right arm. It seemed to be made of a blue substance somewhere between water and mist. At first it was shaped like an arm, but as Saye rushed at Miknikstic, it shifted and morphed.
Miknikstic held his arms up to block it, but it kept changing shape. It split in two. Miknikstic threw himself to the side. Saye’s arm missed Miknikstic’s head by a fraction of an inch. Miknikstic tumbled and then quickly got up.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Sunny muttered. She’d just spoken to Miknikstic, and now he was out there fighting for his life. He’d been so kind to her.
Saye landed a punch, sending Miknikstic flying and the crowd to its feet again. Sunny pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “No, no, no!”
“That was a heavy blow. Is he dead?” the commentator asked. “No. He still moves. Miknikstic is getting up. He spits out a tooth. Brushes himself off.”
Sunny shut her eyes and jammed her index fingers into her ears to block out the commentator’s gleeful descriptions. She sat like this for minutes, listening to herself breathe and the muffled sound of the crowd.
“Okay,” she finally said to herself. Her voice was loud with her ears plugged. “We’ll be going home after this, so-take it in. Even if it hurts. Miknikstic would be proud.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes. When she saw the two opponents, her vision blurred with tears. They were bleeding profusely, and neither would give up. She looked around at everyone. It was as if they’d become actual leopards, leopards who smelled blood. They were shouting and laughing and encouraging-nostrils, mouths, and eyes wide, trying to take it all in in as many ways as possible.
The only people who seemed calm were the scholars, who sat stiffly and clapped once in a while. Anatov had
