Akata Witch

She frowned, thinking about what had just happened with her mother. “Oga,” she whispered, “these days I don’t really think I know who I am.” Anatov was silent. “What do you know of my grandmother? Who was she?”

“Only her oldest daughter, your mother, can tell you that.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” she asked desperately.

“It’s not my place,” Anatov said.

“Was she bad?”

He didn’t respond.

“Why was she Black Hat’s teacher? Of all people?” she asked.

When Anatov remained silent, she pounded her fist against her leg. For a while, the windshield wipers going back and forth were the only sound.

Anatov patted her shoulder. “We have a half-hour drive,” he said. “Take the time to relax while you can.” He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Put on some Lagbaja.”

Sunny closed her eyes and listened to the afrobeat music.

The car stopping woke her up. They were outside of the Obi Library. Sasha and Orlu were already there. “Wait here,” Anatov said, and went inside.

They were too nervous to talk. Instead, they just stood together, shoulder to shoulder. Five minutes later, Chichi arrived with her mother, walking under a large green umbrella. Even with the umbrella, both of their cheeks were wet. Chichi looked shaken. Her mother sniffled and wiped her eyes. Chichi gave her a tight hug and watched her mother walk down the street toward the Leopard Knocks markets.

Sunny hugged Chichi. Sasha and Chichi exchanged more than hugs. Sunny and Orlu just avoided each other’s eyes. Standing out there in the rain, it was as if they were waiting to be sent into battle, to their deaths.

“Okay,” Sasha said, standing up straighter. “Everyone lighten up. God.”

Orlu sighed. Chichi put her arm around Sasha’s waist and said, “Children are dying and being maimed, right?”

“Right,” Sasha said. “We’re lucky, really. We’re going to have a chance to prove what we’re made of. Some people never get that, man. Not in their whole life. But what’s up with this rain?”

“That’s what bugs me,” Orlu said.

Sunny was about to say something when Sugar Cream came up behind them. She held a white umbrella and wore white pants and a long top with fringe. She smelled like flowers, even in the rain. “They’re ready for you,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The library felt different. People weren’t smiling and no one spoke, even when they reached the university on the second floor. Students walked close with their heads together, whispering. And when they saw the four of them, they stared, some occasionally giving them fake reassuring smiles.

To Sunny’s surprise, there were buckets and towels all over the floors and on the stairs, catching drips. She’d have thought that the library, of all places, would be protected from something as simple as heavy rain. She hoped the books were okay.

They followed Sugar Cream to a large door on the third floor. “Your best behavior,” she sternly told them. “Don’t ask any questions until you are told you may.”

She opened the door. Another indoor jungle. Sunny had to work not to groan. She was reminded of the tent at the Zuma Festival, and that brought back memories of the terrible masquerade.

But this jungle was more controlled-the foliage grew only around the edges of the room. A toucan sat in a tree near a window. The bird looked at them suspiciously. In the center was a large oval table. Around it sat seven people, all of them ancient except for Taiwo, Kehinde, and Anatov. Sugar Cream motioned them to sit in the four empty chairs.

A bent woman with black skin and milky blind eyes laughed loudly and said something Sunny couldn’t understand. The language she spoke was full of click sounds, most likely Xhosa. The man beside her wheezed with laughter, slapping the table with a rough hand. Sugar Cream sat down in a chair beside the blind woman and said something. Sunny only understood the last word: “English.” Two of the scholars on the far side of the table, both women, sucked their teeth loudly.

The blind woman said something else in her click language and the old man beside her added his two cents, pointing accusingly at Sasha. Sugar Cream responded soothingly. The two old women on the other side of the table joined the conversation. One of them switched languages and started speaking something that sounded like French. Kehinde, Taiwo, and Anatov remained silent.

As the heated conversation ensued, the toucan whistled and flew a circle over the table. It landed in an empty seat next to the two women on the end. Sunny gasped as the bird slowly grew into a large-nosed old Middle Eastern- looking man with green eyes. He wore a white turban and a white caftan. He slapped his hands on the table and scowled at Sasha.

Sugar Cream politely said in English, “It must be this way. Sasha’s American. And this one here is American, too, though she’s Igbo also and speaks the language.”

The toucan man scoffed. “They don’t teach them to understand others, they teach them to expect others to understand them,” he said in English. He humphed and said, “Americans.”

“Hey,” Sasha said, growing annoyed. “I’m not deaf! Don’t insult my country.”

“Yes,” the toucan man said. “You are deaf. Dumb and blind, too! Now shut up!”

Sasha jumped up, angry.

“Sasha, sit,” Anatov said firmly.

“Now!” Kehinde said, pointing a long finger.

Sasha sat down, looking pissed. There were even tears in his eyes.

“Let me open your ears, mind, and eyes a little,” the toucan man said, leaning forward. “Your beloved country, Sasha and Sunny, the United States of America, has made Black Hat economically wealthy enough to push his plan forward.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ali,” Sugar Cream said.

“We’re actually way behind,” Ali said, looking away and thumbing his long nose.

Sugar Cream got up and stood behind them. “These are the four of the Oha coven brought together to handle Black Hat,” she said. She touched them each on the head. “Sasha Jackson. Sunny Nwazue. Chijioke of Nimm. And Orlu Ezulike. If you object, speak up.”

The room was silent, but Sunny could feel the deep scrutiny. The two women on the left had closed their eyes. The blind woman had turned an ear to them. The old man next to her was staring. And Ali, the toucan man, hummed to himself. A small breeze flew through the room, rustling the leaves of the palm trees in the corners.

“That one carries rage,” Ali said, gesturing at Sasha. “At small, small things like his country and his awareness of the politics.”

“They fight plenty,” said the blind woman.

“They make up just as much,” one of the women on the left said. “There’s love, too.”

“And lust,” Ali added, laughing slyly. “That’s good.”

“Mhm,” one of the women on the end said, nodding. “You’re right, Ntombi and Ali-love and lust. They have checks and balances.”

“Otherwise, they’ll be dead moments after they meet Black Hat,” Ntombi said.

“So this is Ozoemena’s granddaughter, eh?” the blind woman said, nodding at Sunny. “Looks nothing like her.”

How can she tell? Sunny thought, irritated.

“I was born blind, but I see better than everyone in this room,” the blind woman snapped. Sunny felt her face turn red and she looked down.

“What does it matter that she doesn’t look like her?” Ali said. “I hear she’s an athlete like Ozo.”

“That one,” the man next to the blind woman said, pointing at Chichi. “Fast, fast, fast, and sharp like a Ginen- made sword.” He clapped his hands together. “Oh, I’m impressed. But royal blood will mean extra danger for her.”