Portal Of Faili

I've never liked Iwo-Road.

The roads led to too many places in Ibadan. From Ojo to Challenge, to Agodi, you name it. A sea of people heading in different directions always flooded it. If you're not swift when walking then people will keep bumping into you.

A few minutes ago, I almost jumped in front of an incoming vehicle, and when I pulled back before getting smashed to smithereens; the driver shouted profanities at me.

Well, I didn't care. So far I was alive with no scratch.

Besides, that was the least of my problems.

What's worse than walking between a cluster of hostile people, was getting sandwiched between two elderly people in a bus, just like I was at the moment. 

But I had no choice because when you're as a student of FUTA living around Challenge bus-stop, you're bound to take that route . There was no escape.

Here I was sitting between a well-fed woman in iro and buba on my left - note I used the word well fed, so don't come at me and claim I fat shamed someone - and a scrawny man wearing a black jalabia, and a dark shade that hid his eyes. 

He smelled funny... like a rotten egg. The passengers in the bus didn't mind because unlike me, they chatted in the bus while I covered my nose with my palm.

I couldn't get down. It'd be too much stress for the well fed woman, anyway. 

So, I put up with the two. 

We took forty-five minutes to get to Challenge bus stop and extra few minutes to get down from the vehicle, thanks to 'Mrs well fed.' 

Soon as I paid the conductor who kept blabbing throughout the journey, I picked up my luggage, moved towards the other end of the bus to cross the road. The rotten egg-man got down too. At that moment, a small book with tattered brown cover dropped from his hands. He didn't notice and kept going.

"Baba, pay your money na!" the conductor shouted. He opened his mouth, showing a set of decayed, yellow teeth and staggered backwards as he tried to display his madness. A ploy to scare the poor man. "Baba yi pay na!"

The man waved his hands in reply.

I scoffed, but the air in my throat stopped when the conductor snapped his mouth shut and returned into the bus. The driver didn't even wait. He drove off.

How did that happen?

You'd think my next move was stupid, but don't blame me. I was just being a good citizen.

"You dropped your book," I said, picking up the book from the ground to hand it over, but he wasn't no longer near.

Although, the right thing for me was to either throw the book away, board a bike leading to River Bottom or cross to the other side, and hand his book over to him.

I chose option two.

As I heaved my hand luggage on my shoulder and inched towards the road, the cars plying increased. Honks blared, warning me not to try anything stupid and thus discouraging me from going any further. Once the traffic reduced, the rotten egg man left.

You'd still think I should drop the book right? Well, I didn't.

Instead, I crossed to the other side of the busy road.

There from afar, the rotten egg man walked between several people. His clothes only a shadow. In seconds, he climbed the short steps which led to a large shop.

From outside there was no signboard, but one could tell they sold herbs, barks and medicinals. They decorated the entrance with baskets filled with lime fruits which were placed on a wooden table and cinnamon sticks hung on the wall with a thin rope.

My eyes darted from the women selling foodstuffs to the taxi drivers at their tarmac and back to the other side of the road. That's when I spotted him. Standing there. Unmoving, like a mannequin. His thick, black shades hid his eyes, but I could tell he was looking at me.

I followed him, entered through the open doorway and half expected to see more herbs. They painted the walls a shade of pecan brown with no decorations or herbs hanging on the walls. 

Next to a big, cedar wooden box, a black lid tittered against a boiling pot like chattering teeth. This place looked beautiful, yet mystical and smelled like herbs and essential oils.

Speaking of smell, my eyes darted around, hoping to see the rotten egg man. He stepped  through the door, revealing nothing but blankness.

On impulse, I started towards the door.

"Sir! Your book -" I shouted and as I did, my left leg stumbled on something which. It caused my luggage and the book sprawling to the floor.

Letting out an annoyed grunt, I bent to pick my luggage and my eyes caught the slanted three letter word on the paper.

"?wa," I whispered my name.

'Why the does a random book have my name on it? Except...'

Shaking my head, I stretched my hands to pick the book, but my mind ordered my body to fall in line. Retreat and leave the book.
 'But you won't know why this man has your name on a book.'

As my fingers inched closer, something weird happened. I could as well blame it on the tiredness from travelling. It wasn't. The pages flipped to another and moved on its own.

'Run.'

The calm voice said in my head.

"No," I told myself.

By now the pages were flipping and the book kept jolting towards the door where the rotten egg man passed. To snatch the thing off the air, I jumped towards it.

At that moment, a gentle wind swung the door open and the stupid book danced forward. When I caught it in the air, my body crashed out of the door.

At first, the wind was mild, but soon grew to a full-blown one. It howled, jolted me up in the air. Dust and water splattered on my face but I didn’t dare open my eyes.

With a thud, I dropped on a pile of something rough and uneven. It wasn’t difficult to catch the smell of burning woods then... roasted meat.

I panicked as a scream tore through my ears. My eyes widened and pulse quickened. The scream came again, from a desperate, terrified... person.

I tried getting up but something held my hands in place.

“On this day,” a coarse voice boomed. “You, ?wa, have betrayed the people of Faili. You have committed treason.”

'Treason? Is this one mad?'

A flight instinct kicked in, making me lift my head only to see both my hands and legs tied on a large tree trunk. I laid face up with so many people surrounding me. A man in particular, wore an African print jacket with a high neckline. Across his chest was a cloth belt, an intricate knot held together.

He had a deep gash on his forehead and cheeks. In his hand, he held a large, long torch. The man oozed brutal and confidence.

“Light her up!” the voice boomed again.

I could already feel the heat from the burning torch and so I trashed like a maniac. As he came closer, multiple screams went off from all directions, and the man in jacket flew far away.

Then another man approached me.

The torch in his hand cast a light across his face, but the darkness still obscured most of his body. His eyes were a piercing hazel colour. It was mesmerizing to watch, but when his lips thinned into a hard line, I swallowed hard.

“?wa, you should’ve listened."