CHRONICLES OF THE UNNAMED WANDERER 1

Darkness is in the horizon where the birds are fleeing from. Their caws and chirrups fill the afternoon sky as they wing towards the shore. The sea roiled as if in labour and the clouds that hung like a stone on the sky were dark like soot. Something was coming, we knew this. We stand at the shore, in our bare skins, our bare feet digging into the warm sand. Some have spears and some have machetes but we all have hearts and are ready to die for all that remains. We have done the rites of dying the night before. There are mounds bearing all that we used to be, rising from the corner of our huts waiting for our widows to water them with their tears. They will mourn even as the sea rise to its full height and begin its speedy journey to clear the path for whatever was coming.

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_{Pixabay: Comfreak}
We have said goodbyes to our babies and those of us who have babies still lying in the darkness of their mother’s womb, have kissed the womb and left a part of themselves behind for the babe when he or she comes. The village is silent as the mourning is done in silence in order not to attract the dead to haunt them. I stand to the side, shaping my wards, the cowries between my laps. I have no one to say goodbye to. All who held me dear are long gone and I have never been able to forge new bonds with any one after Nadiri left with the plague, taking our six months old boy with her on her sojourn to the land of the spirits.

All that is left of me is the call of battle, the weaving of old powers granted me by my lineage as the last of the groits. I step forward and face the angry sea. I see Nadiri’s sad face in the eye of the storm, gathering in the winds. I stop. I want to tell her that I am sorry, that I tried my best to save her and our babe. I want to say that i tried to defeat the plague but my lips whisper prayers to Olokun instead. My hands squeeze the roots between my thumb and I bite on the stick between my teeth. I walk into the sea, alone, naked except for the beads around my waist. I face the giant waves and call each one by its name. The waves greet me and demand tribute. A young boy, unblooded, a virgin is what the sea seeks. I laugh in the spirits' faces.

"We have no more boys. They all died with the plague. We have no girls either. They were killed in the war after the plague. What we have left are old men without teeth and old women with withered breasts." I reply.

"Why don't you take me? Take me! Take me instead!" I demand of the spirits but they scoff my offer and turn to look at the men arrayed before them. They peer at them and found them wanting then they turn back to me.

"You are blooded but you are still young. You are no longer a virgin but you have power still. Yes, we will take you." They say as they envelope me with salt and cold and drown me.

They did not understand though. They are not as all knowing as they think. I carry within me the seeds of the plague. It has always been with me. I have destroyed all that I hold dear. What is a spirit kingdom in the grand scheme of things? I laugh as the spirits of the sea whip me into the depth-less darkness that Olokun lays claim as his demesne. It is time for me to have words with the god of the sea. It is time for my father to tell me why I was cursed to never be able to enjoy love, the warmth of a home, the laughter of my own child. I will wreck his domain and bring the sea to its knees. I say it so.

“Ha Olokun!
Stealer of souls!
Defiler of black bodies seeking hope!
Olokun!
Taker of gifts!
Rudder of the sea!
Silencer of songs and children’s winds.
Ha Olokun!
Breaker of bonds!,
Fearful storm in the beginning of light,"

"Come, come to me,
See my hands are filled with gifts,
my lips are filled with song.
Come, come Olokun away from anger.
Come to my feast, i have set a table for thee.”

The sea is silent and I dream. I dream that Nadiri is in my arms and we are watching sea gulls dive between the waves to catch fish. She twists a single strand of her locks as she purse her lips in thought. Her stomach is swollen with the baby we never got to name. I rub my hands over her womb and in my dream, I name my son. I call him Wisdom of the gods. The priests do not like it. They warn me to be wary for the gods do not take kindly to having their name used so casually. In my dream, I do not care for the gods anymore than I do for them in the waking. I wake up to find my body bobbing in the open sea. I had been spat out of the deep. I struggle to find strength just before a big boat comes and I am dragged up and tossed into the black hold. I chuckle even as they put chains on my ankles and manacles on my neck. I am parched with thirst and salt crusted my lips but i still chuckle. They do not know what they have brought into their slave ship. They will know soon enough. If the gods themselves will not accept me into their abode, how can these ones survive me?

I lie on my back and listen to the moaning of the wind singing through the boards as the ship creaks through the sea. I listen to other men and women chained to the floor, moaning and begging for the gods to take their lives even as their lives bled to the floor. I am here; I want to say to them; The gods have heard your prayers. You will be free soon but you will not thank me once it is over. No you will not. I turn on my broken right side and go to sleep. The spirits whisper in my ear, begging me to do things, strange things, sad things, painful things but I ignore them all. It is not yet time. In my sleep, I dream; Nadiri is weeping over the dead body of my unnamed baby. She turn to me and smile;

"I am waiting for you, killer." she says.

Someone begins to scream.

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warpedpoetic, 2019.