Abiku

Dirt. Cold, wet dirt and the taste of Lipton tea mixed with the acrid tang of bitter leaves flooded his mouth. An earthworm crawled leisurely by, pausing once to mock his indolent form before continuing on its way. Sending mental curses to the effect of impotence and diseased skin at the worm, he groaned and shifted his head to one side, taking note of his surroundings. Massive iroko trees, star-filled sky, bitter brown dirt and the chirp of crickets, a forest then? He moaned again, and rubbed at the crescent-shaped scar on his forehead, pain beating an unpleasant melody in his skull.

What was he doing in the middle of a forest at night anyway? His head throbbed and he decided to file that line of thought for later. First, to get off this dirt; the stones were starting to dig uncomfortably into his stomach, and the Prada shirt Jide had convinced him to spend a month's salary on for the bachelor party- 'you only get married once- at a time' he'd said, giving his trademark wink- was probably hopelessly stained by now. Perhaps it could be salvaged later; he knew a good dry cleaner on Ikoyi road, but first to get off this dirt.

Placing his arms to either side of him, he pushed off the wet earth, disgust twisting his features as his fingers sank easily into the soil. Ugh, this was why he could never live in the village. No, he was a Lagosian, a city man and proud of it, preferring cement paved roads to thatch huts and forest dirt.

Heaving to his feet, he brought his palms together, dusting off the last remnants of dirt. The pungent smell of vomit hit him before he saw the dark stains adorning the front of his shirt, and he let out a series of expletives, this time all directed at Jide. He clenched his fists, imagining Jide's round head in his hands as he did so.

Jide, that bastard, 'Just buy the shirt Seun, it'll be fine- trust me, Shola'll love it, and you know that if she loves it, you'll love it too', he'd said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.  Ugh, he should have known better than to listen to Jide. Best friend or not, the guy was an idiot, and come to think of it, the last thing he remembered before waking up here was Jide handing him a suspicious yellow drink and urging him to drink it, saying that it was a 'special' Lipton tea mix to give him 'confidence' for the wedding day.

He ground his teeth. Now he really needed to get out of here, if only to beat the crap out of Jide and anyway, he'd promised Shola he'd come back early.  Pausing for a moment, he scanned the woods and listened, forest, forest, more forest, chirping of crickets and steady throbbing of drums. Wait...drums? At night, in the middle of the forest? He dismissed the sudden chill in the back of his mind and headed out in the direction of the drums. Drums meant people and people meant getting out of this godforsaken forest faster. The drums grew louder-he was close then and soon he saw it, a small clearing lit with the soft glow of kerosene lanterns- and stopped.

Within the clearing, were 5 rectangular tables piled with food. He inhaled deeply, basking in the smells of fried plantains and roasted chicken, a party? He looked around- no one here- and ignoring a nagging sense of unease, stepped into the clearing. There were streamers hanging from the trees and a large white cake, the words "Happy Birthday" written in blue icing across it. He relaxed, relieved- ah, Jide must have been playing a prank on him then. Leave it to him to plan a prank birthday party, that idiot. Well, at least he could help himself to the food, stupid guy got something right for once. He went to the nearest table- gold table cloths, how fancy- picked up a plate, and helped himself to a large slice of cake. A sudden rustling alerted him to the presence of another person, and he rolled his eyes without turning around, 

"Jide, I know it's you, fine you got me, now come out of there." Silence.

"Jide I said you can come out now." Still more silence and frowning, annoyed at his friend's antics, he whirled around- and came face to face with 5 giant cloaked figures wearing African masks.They were tall, impossibly tall, their heights more than matching the surrounding iroko trees. Their shadows loomed over him like a promise or a threat, heavy and edged and tinged with the smell of his terror. He froze, plate falling forgotten to the floor, as he felt the sharp prick of childhood fear escaping in hot urine running down his legs. A swoosh of breath and voices sighed from mouthless masks,

"You are not supposed to be here. This was not your spirit's celebration."

"He ate the food, he'll have to do. He must go, he must go now."

The figures encircled him, red masks long and sharp and expressionless. Fear, regrets, Shola, and then he knew nothing.

.........

Shola smiled, as she awaited news of her newborn baby. It had been 3 years since Seun's death- a drunk driving accident on the night of his bachelor party- and after years of grief and one near suicide attempt, she'd finally been able to move on and settle down with her new husband. Finally, the doctor arrived and beamed at her,

"Mrs. Folarin, we're pleased to say that your baby boy is healthy, so you should be able to see him in a couple of hours."

"Though he's very small, a common trait of premature babies, the child is physically flawless…well except for…" He hesitated and her heart flew to her throat,

"Except for what doctor?"

"…Well, there's a small crescent-shaped mark on his forehead, but we assure you that it is through no fault of ours. But I have to say, it's the strangest birthmark I've ever seen." Shola froze and a single word blazed through her mind, abiku; he'd kept his promise after all.



Notes: The abiku is a figure that “comes back” in Yoruba mythology. The term itself means, “Predestined to death” and tales abound about loved ones, who die and just keep coming back over and over…