It was as if Sunny had just gotten a glimpse of her own soul.
Now she knew why her grandmother wasn’t married. Like Chichi’s mother, she, too, was Nimm, though Chichi’s mother was some sort of royalty and Sunny’s grandmother was a warrior. What did that mean? And did this make her Nimm, too? Did that mean she couldn’t marry? Was she a warrior?
She looked at the sheet of Nsibidi symbols. It was all too sophisticated for her to understand-yet. She put it back in the box with the letter. She blinked and took the letter and Nsibidi sheet back out. There was one more thing in the box: an old black-and-white photograph of an unsmiling very dark-skinned woman holding a large knife across her chest.
“Grandma,” she whispered. As the old blind woman at the council meeting had said, Sunny looked nothing like her. But what did that matter? She smiled to herself and carefully put the picture back in the box.
22
The next morning, her wasp artist had built a man made out of something like sawdust with a hat of chewed- up leaves. The man was plump and looked suspiciously like Black Hat. When Della saw Sunny looking at it, it flew to the dust man’s head and hovered next to it batting its wings. The head blew away. Sunny laughed hard and clapped and said, “Well done! Looks just like him!” The wasp buzzed its wings with glee and flew out the window.
She grabbed the day’s paper and unrolled it with shaking hands. The headline read:
CHILDREN RETURNED SAFELY TO THEIR PARENTS
ABA, Nigeria (AFP)-A three-year-old girl and a twoyear-old boy, believed to be the children recently kidnapped by ritual killer Black Hat Otokoto, have been safely returned to their parents. They were found wandering the streets by two young men during yesterday’s storms. The two men declined to give their names.
“They were angels sent from God,” the mother of the boy said. “If you are out there and reading this, know that you have saved my life as you have saved my son’s, and I am eternally thankful.” The parents of the girl declined an interview, but were also deeply thankful and relieved.
Further down the page was a photo of Black Hat’s gas station. And that headline read:
GAS STATION GOES UP IN FLAMES
AFTER BEING STRUCK TWICE
BY LIGHTNING
Epilogue
Sunny sat down for her first class after the rains. She felt odd. She glanced over and met Orlu’s eyes. They smiled at each other, as if sharing a joke. Once the teacher started talking, Sunny was surprised that she was still interested in learning normal things like algebra, literature, and biology. She could still concentrate.
During lunch, Orlu told her that Anatov would let Chichi know when they’d next meet. “He’ll probably give us two or three weeks to recuperate,” he said. “But we’ll each also be meeting with our mentors on our own time, I guess.”
“I think I have my work cut out for me,” Sunny said.
“With Sugar Cream as a mentor, there’s no doubt about that,” he said, laughing. “Oh, did Chichi tell you? She and Sasha are going to prepare to pass the second level.”
“I thought you had to be sixteen or seventeen for that.”
“Well, who knows how old Chichi is? Sasha’s early, but after what they just went through, he might as well have gained two years.”
She nodded.
“And you don’t always have to be that age,” he said. “It’s just recommended. But if you don’t pass, you suffer terrible consequences, so you see the logic in waiting?”
“Yeah,” she said. “So you don’t think
Orlu shrugged.
“You’re afraid to fail?”
“What about you? How many of them can say they faced Ekwensu and lived? Not even the scholars can say that. And you have friends in the wilderness.”
“Oh, please, I don’t even remember what the second level is
“
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” she said to Orlu as they walked back in.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Having two lives is better than none.”
“True.” And she laughed.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my editor, Sharyn November, for daring to taste pepper soup (literally and metaphorically). To my mother for telling me about tungwas and my father for showing me how masquerades dance. To my sisters Ifeoma and Ngozi for finding the title of this novel hilarious. To my brother Emezie for exposing me to pro wrestling and naming my character Miknikstic. To my daughter Anyaugo, nephew Dika, and niece Obi-Wan, who are constant reminders that the meaning of this novel’s title runs deep. To Tobias Buckell and Uche Ogbuji for the much-needed help with the soccer/football terminology. And lastly, to Naija for being Naija. One love.
NNEDI OKORAFOR
was born in the United States to two Igbo (Nigerian) parents. She writes for readers of all ages. Her first novel,
