Mike’s POV

They say home is where your heart is, and considering the many people I loved who were scattered all over the country, my heart was torn. Two parts were here with Nikita and Kafui, one with my father and the other with my mother. Each quarter longing to be brought together as a whole.

I did not know where my father was. Kafui had urged him to go into hiding, that he would not want to get caught in the crossfire. It took a lot of cajoling from Kafui and regretfully myself, to convince him to pack up and flee, leaving his only children to deal with the danger that was about to befall Wagadu and the Vodun community as a whole. I remembered the day he left, that was the first time I saw my father cry. Guilt stained his aura, accompanied with the painting of sorrow and regret. He wished he could be more but I didn’t; the knowledge that he would be safe gave me more comfort than anything could. However, I found myself missing him intently, wishing he were here to tell his horrible jokes to lighten the mood.

One does not always get what they want do they? Or the state of the world would be much worse as it already is.

As I listened to my animated twin launch into an unwanted long and winding narration of a senseless dream caused from too many midnight snacks and that obviously had a lot to do with the gods we had as mentors, I really wished I had one less home. I also wondered how many homes she had as well. Obviously, one belonged with me as I am a delight. One with our father, obviously but not our mother, another obvious situation.

It was clear that there was bad blood between them, something I did not understand till date. When I was younger, that was about 2 months ago, I thought my mother was being hard on her because she was trying to instill into my stubborn sister good Christian African manners. She just wanted to ensure her daughter would survive in this harsh economic and social climate with grace, to ensure that the only thing she worried about was how to plan a wedding and the best way to raise another child of her own and perhaps when there was time, to make more money.

For most homes, that worked well, as the girls were eager to please and had level sensible heads, embracing everything being taught to them by their parents and society without question. They had wombs after all, why should they not use it? Woman after woman after woman before them, and most probably after, cared about having a family their own and helping to further the bloodline, why should they not assist in that? Look at the males about them, with their rippling muscles and sheer strength, how could they compete with that? Their resilience, intelligence and sheer force of their will intimidated, not drew them towards such hostile environments. It was well understood, there was the woman’s world and then the man’s world and although they overlapped, the man had the final say and the woman was content with raising children and being the force of reason in hostile situations.

My mother, as unknowing as she was, had not yet heard of headstrong Nikita, who wanted nothing with that world. Sewing, cooking, cleaning were fine to her, after all those were basic life skills and not gender roles, but keeping your head down, keeping your lace clean, braiding uselessly complicated tight hairstyles and impractical skirts, that was where she drew the line. Every order was replied with a query, every question was answered wrongly and every punishment seemed to make her skull thicken. She wanted to ride bikes, be there and help our father and other handy men with the car, the plumbing, the electricity. She wanted to climb trees and go exploring in dark dangerous places and she loved to destroy things when she was bored. My mother was barely able to contain her dismay when poor Nikita, instigated by our father was younger, but as soon as she hit the unholy 12, my mother’s foot came down on Nikita’s neck. She was a woman and she will be one, by force by fire.

Nikita obviously, sensing hostile fire, thickened her resolve to be her own person. No beatings or warnings or threats of hell shook her, dare I say it made her stronger. After all, if we are to be logical about this, what is the whole exciting part of bleeding every month to prepare for a child that will be a biological parasite for 9 months and the a social and economic one for the rest of its life and then thinking ‘hey, I want more of those’.

Nikki’s hostility to learn drove my mother to a very dark place, which made me think that Nikki was loved, but not liked by our mother and vice versa. Which begs the question, why did she not do same to me? Were males not badgered to behave, be less emotional, be nice to your sister? Or was I so well behaved and the opposite of my sister for anyone to train me? It made me feel guilty, that I was left alone while Nikki was being badgered on a near daily basis.

“Are you even listening to me?” the subject of my guilt interrupted my chain of thoughts.

“Yes, yes scary monsters” I said absent-mindedly.

Nikki tried to scoff in a nonchalant way but pain found its way into her voice “No one even cares about me”.

I smiled guiltily as she made her way into the bathroom of the room we shared. I was not going to tell her I wasn’t listening to her because I was thinking about her. As I listened to her aggressive bathroom sounds that made me laugh than feel guilty, I heard a knock.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Neil, what’s up?” I greeted cheerfully, but his facial expression stopped me right in my tracks.

Two weeks, we only had two weeks of peace!

I suppose that was quite a lot, considering the forces we were dealing with.

Neil’s family was sad to see her go but understood the need for twins to be together. Only the mother spoke, the father just nodded and made agreeing noises and stole glances at Nikki like he was afraid of her. Neither Nikki nor Neil knew what this was about. Nikki also stopped going to class as Kafui insisted and went on long speeches that it was an insult to the gods and to Wagadu that she was to continue going to a class several Levels lower than her, so we compromised on letting her read on her own with some small practice sessions with Kafui or Nkosi. My name wasn’t even in the Golden Book; the book that only one with proficiency with Vodun law could read that showed each person their Level. Mine wasn’t in it because I had somehow graduated, gaining enough knowledge that I did not even need to go to Wagadu. My name was in the Elitists scroll, a parchment that showed all the Vodun masters with their special skills. I was in level 7, just two levels below Nkosi.

Great.

“The council wants to meet the three of you” Neil said, letting himself in and panting from the exersion of running here. I grabbed a top and wore it because I couldn’t see myself having a serious conversation with my nipples out.

“Shango?” I said out loud after I put two and two together “Why, I thought his parents were in the council?”

I knew that Shango’s parents and Nkosi were the only people keeping them all from being brought before the Vodun council. Something had to give for Shango’s parents to back down.

“This is all Nkosi!” Neil all but yelled.

“Calm down,” I said urging him to sit “what happened?”

Viviti Mawudↄla was an initiate who attended Wagadu. It was said that she dropped out, but that wasn’t true, she ran away from the Vodun council after a confrontation that left them badly battered. She was easily skipping Levels like crazy and was sort of a legend at Wagadu. Her blatant disregard for authority singled her out from everyone and she was never afraid to speak her mind. The council was looking for ways to get her out of Wagadu and then apprehend her somewhere else to convince her to work for them or force her to if she was being difficult. They thought she was too powerful to be left alone to her devices. A human to whom a god communicates through and to whom he shares power, especially one of the major gods of the Godhead was never to be left unguided. She needs to either work for the good of the Vodun community, or no one at all. However, it was hard to get anything unto her, as she always minded her business. Until she was to write a promotion examination, she Aced it, having the highest mark ever produced. Her victory would be her downfall as the council decided they could pin it to her as cheating, apprehend her and make her be on the same page as them but her patron god had other plans. She escaped, never to be seen again, until months later, when she burned her entire adult family alive in the family home. Going on to kill several more families. Her body count is well up to the hundreds, and that is what we know of. The most ruthless Vodun serial killer. Only Nkosi ever caught her, but she slipped away, and has not been seen for over 18 years.

They hadn’t heard of an initiate since, until…

“Nikita” I finished. I mentally mauled over the information given to me. I swallowed it and then brought it back up again, trying to get all that I could from this. “Shango has been an initiate since he was born. Are they saying that they did not know that their own had spawned one?”

“That’s exactly what they are saying” Neil huffed in annoyance “The annoying thing is Nkosi told them. Can you believe it? He told them about you guys. I caught a glimpse of the room; it was a screaming match I tell you!”

I got up and paced the room, the gears in my head turning as I tried to understand the motive behind what Nkosi had done. He was a very intelligent man, I knew that. He has knowledge on every single thing that happened in the Vodun community, nothing escaped him and yet he has been the headmaster of a school longer than my father had lived. He has a long game, but what was it?

Nkosi what are you doing?

“Perhaps,” I whispered as I thought aloud so that Neil would not feel left out “this is good”

Neil looked at me like I was going crazy.

“They think initiates are dangerous and mentally unstable. They think we cannot handle the strain of the power that directly stems from the gods but what they always seem to forget is the gods chose us”

Neil still looked confused so I continued.

“Are they trying to tell us that the gods don’t know what they are doing? That they lack judgement?” Neil seemed to be coming around but I decided to make it stupidly easy to understand.

“When Viviti Mawudↄla lashed out, which people did she kill?”

“People said children, and innocents…” he trailed his face distorted from the strain of thought “but from what Nkosi said, it was rich and influential families”

“Have you ever tried to catch the wind, Neil?” I asked enjoying myself quite a bit as I played the game Nkosi was playing.

Neil did not share my sentiment.

“Excuse me, what?”

“The council had wanted to control her, get her to work for the Vodun community, but which Vodun community? The ones for the lay man who brews akpeteshie with a simple agreement or the one who sits behind a desk all day, in board meetings and make decisions that affect billions?”

As I ended my sentence, the bathroom door creaked open a bit and out emerged a dark hand, dripping beads of water unto the floor. It patted the side of the wall for a while until it felt the towel and then in a flash, drew it back into the bathroom. Yet again, Nikki had forgotten to take the towel with her to the bathhouse. We broke into a laugh and knowing that we both were there, the hand emerged once again with an offending hand gesture involving just one finger and drew back quickly again.

“Mike,” Neil stated, laughter in his eyes “I wouldn’t dream of catching the wind. It’s impossible”

Atta boy.