Things were hard with Momma after Papa died. However, if only Momma had known it’d come to this, she wouldn’t have agreed for me to come to the city. Having been a jobless widow who depended on the leftovers from friends, Momma excitedly agreed when my aunt offered to take me to the city.
My mind had wandered far and it took the touch of fire on my skin to jog me back to reality. Or maybe I had passed out; I wasn’t quite sure. The prophet had lighted a red candle (which I presumed to be another item from his bag of horrors), and was burning my skin.
I let out a wild cry, but the house was soundproof. Nobody could hear my frantic screams, so nobody came to my rescue. When the prophet told my aunt that he’d be back, I heaved a sigh of relief. My aunt asked when, he took her sideways and they spoke in low tones. I wasn’t ready to channel my leftover energy to eavesdropping on them.
After the prophet left, my aunt untied me. I could barely walk. I was in pain as I crawled to the kitchen which was my abode. When I got there, I didn’t make any attempt to spread the mat on the floor. I laid on the bare floor, and even the floor was cold to me. My body was weak. I thought I’d sleep and wake up in no man’s land.
I woke to a bucket of cold water baptising me into a state of frenzy. I suspected this to be a spiritual cleansing process (recommended by the prophet, of course). My aunt stood over me with eyes that flared like fireballs.
To be continued…