Waiting for Bofrot

“You will have to wake up by 12am and drink this in one gulp! Then you will go back to sleep and wake up again by 3am and bath with this. All of this must be done for 7 days and you must not soil yourself for the duration of their usage.”

Mallam Ndanusi handed over the two items, one was in a calabash, the other was in a transparent plastic bottle. The contents smelt like clothes left to soak for several weeks.

Why do they have to smell so damn bad? How much of the stench is needed to make it ultra potent? Amosa’s eyes watered as the tuwo he ate earlier threatened to pour out of his mouth.

Here he is washing and ingesting and sacrificing chicken every 3 days for a life that others are casually born into: what must have been his sin in a previous life for him to have to fight desperately for a life he desires. And what are desires? All he wants is a big house, a big car and a beautiful wife.

On his way back from Gambari, Amosa yelped in fright as a bikeman nearly collided with the keke he was inside. It was one of those young reckless hausa bike riders, no care for their lives or the lives of others. Useless man wants to kill him before he gets to become rich.

”Wa shanku ni!” Amosa spat in the bike’s direction but the rider was already off, jetting wildly towards Taiwo isale. Amosa was suspicious of everyone and everything as he trudged home, he answered his neighbours curtly and determinedly walked towards their compound praying nothing happens to the items he is carrying inside the black polythene bag.

Oh the thing about life, he remembers years back when his mother was the one holding a black polythene and narrating why it wades off evil eyes when you are carrying medicines from spiritualists home. They had gone to see Baba Sariyu, a revered Babalawo that lived in the innards of Ilorin about Amosa’s nightmares. It was always the same thing, big black cows chasing him through a market then masquerades joining in as well. Sometimes he see apparitions so vivid he sometimes collapse holding his head. He had meekly sat on his mother’s knees as they boarded two taxis to Alanamu all the way from Edun. He had been intrigued about the whole affair. Baba Sariyu was a wiry old man in his 80s with cataract eyes. He had a tuft of hair on the back of his head and was dressed in a simple lace fabric, a huge contrast to the Babalawos he grew up watching in the movies who most often have a cowrie shawl or beads hanging down their necks. Baba Sariyu asked his mother to say her intentions into the cowries he handed over to her before throwing it on the board in front of him. He drew lines with his forefinger and thumbs. Amosa counted. Roman numeral 1, roman numeral 2. Roman numeral 2. Roman numeral…Baba Sariyu cleared his throats, his cataract eyes fixated on Amosa.

”Give thanks to your father, give thanks to your mother and give thanks to your stars from leading you here.” He sighed deeply before adding ”Osa eleye…”

Amosa didn’t really understand the rest of what was being uttered but as they marched home carrying different potions and concoctions from Baba Sariyu he had been intrigued and even more curious by it all. This led to series of more visits to Baba Sariyu, which involved incisions on his head, on his waist, his chest, his arms. Everywhere! Once when he had told his mother he was tired of it all, his mother has slapped his mouth hard with the back of her palms that he never once questioned her anymore. Not when she had told him to step on the mortar in the middle of their living room as she waved pigeon around him. Not when she had feverishly given him random liquids to drink, liquids that burnt his throat, liquids that made him gag and he tried to keep it down because she kept saying retching it means the enemy has succeeded. Baba Sariyu died when Amosa was about to gain admission into Kwarapoly and his mother followed shortly after.

Amosa was left in care of his stepmum who didn’t really care for him. He also learnt to steer clear. Staying holed up in his mother’s room in the family house, doing odd jobs to make ends meet and adding whatever tokens his father felt benevolent to give to see himself through polytechnic. He was preparing for service when his nightmares began again, the same night he saw the big black cow, he woke up to see his posting had been to Ondo state instead of Lagos despite paying a good amount of money to the sure NYSC plug meant to work his positing to Lagos. Bitterly, he had shopped items for camp and read the excited chats of his friends who had gotten postings to where they desired. So why him?

The night before his trip to camp, Amosa had dreamt of himself standing in a large mansion and was about to take a seat on the settee in the large sitting room when he suddenly began to fall. Falling and falling and as he was about to hit the floor, strong hands held him. It was his mother, naked fright in her eyes as she heaved and pulled and pulled. Amosa woke up in cold sweat. 2km to the camp, a pregnant black goat ran across the road and their driver swerved and almost hit another bus but fortunately the bus was able to veer off in time as well. Amosa began reciting Suratul kurisy wondering whether the events of his dreams are what is now flowing into his reality.

Now, 8 years after, he is stuck in Ilorin. Broke with series of failed businesses. Broken marriage without kids. Questioning led Amosa to Mallam Ndanusi, the marabout in Gambari. Stories said he came from Ghana, honed his craft in Benin republic and practised Voudon before coming to settle in Ilorin, Nigeria. If Mallam Ndanusi heard this stories, he never refuted them but he always maintained his mother was a Nupe royal who ran from home to marry his father. Mallam Ndanusi has shiny mahogany skin with almond eyes, his nose was perfectly aligned with his face and his strong jaw featured well sculpted lips. If he weren’t a marabout and he were exposed and well educated with little less fat than he currently has. Perhaps he would have flourished as a model, posing on the covers of Essence magazine and Vogue.

His mother’s friend had taken him there and he had returned himself to collect the medicines Mallam had for him. He squatted on the ram skin in the Mallam dark and stuffy room and waited from the Mallam to emerge from his trance. ”Your mother really tried for you.” Mallam said as he came to. Amosa nodded.

”Toh, what you need is just prayers and alms giving. We have to pray to Allah on your behalf and elevate it with alms.”

”No!” Amosa said forcefully. ”I want to be rich! Whatever is wrong with my luck cannot defy your medicine can it? I am tired of praying and fighting unseen enemies. Yes they said some witches hate my father so much and they have decided to attack me the first born, yes I am hated and being witch hunted. I WANT MONEY! MONEY!!” Amosa yelled as spittle flew out of his mouth.

Mallam Ndanusi sighed deeply and stood up, he stepped out of the room and returned with a bag made of animal skin. He then poured a black powder on a plate and mixed it with a gelatinous liquid then he pushed it towards Amosa to lick.

”Amosa, you say you want to be rich, hope you know Ojúbọ̀rọ̀ kò ṣeé gba ọmọ lọ́wọ́ èkùrọ́. If you want to be rich you must be ready to sacrifice for it!” Amosa shrugged and began to lick the plate laid in front of him. The Mallam told him to come back in 7 days after he is done using what he has been given to use.

On the 7th day, Amosa marched back to Ndanusi, he was told Mallam has gone into a trance. Amosa shrugged and found a seat for himself. He could wait. He shook his leg wondering what Mallam Ndanusi was doing inside the astral realm he went to and who could have sent him on such arduous tasks. Amosa was exhausted, he had waited and waited for the mode wealth would appear. He had gone to the betting shop, he had applied for jobs, he had loitered outside banks, he had taken aimless walks along the government house. Maybe the governor would see him and give him huge contract. Nothing happened! Mallam Ndanusi would give him an answer after raising his whole hope up!

One of the Mallam’s students came outside and whispered that the Mallam seems to still be in a trance and whether Amosa can come back in three days. On the third day, Amosa arrived to meet the Mallam in the middle of his compound decked in a white jalabiya with a white net cap to match, his students crowded around him as he led a sermon about the futility of life. Amosa listened, ”verily whatever has been predestined by God will surely come to fruition, nothing can change it. Running around, trying to forcefully change what God has apportioned to you in life will only alienate you from the blessings you ought to see. I want this, I want that, I don’t want this. When will humans realize we are nought but creations of Allah with whom he does as he wishes!”

Amosa’s heart was heavy, so is this his lot in life? A life of misery and suffering? If so why the vision says his star was a bright one that was swapped for a dull, dying one? He heaved in stress and further sank into himself. A finger touched his shoulder, it was the Mallam inviting him in, Amosa’s eyes seem to say ”what’s the point?” but the Mallam’s smiling face offered no explanation, strangely Amosa felt peace and calm before standing up to follow the Mallam.