Pride Fiction #02 • The Contract

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This piece is a part of Kenga’s Pride Fiction Series, which features stories that highlight the realities of being young, queer, and African in 2023. 🏳️‍🌈 We publish a new story at 9pm EAT every day throughout the month of June.

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Photo by Adeolu Eletu

Iti pulled her small phone out of the pocket of her beat-up black jeans, and smiled. That was Arit’s first sign that it was going to be a bad day. Iti dropped the chicken skull she’d been tossing from one hand to another and walked over to the scratched-up desk in the corner of their closet of an office, where Arit was speaking to their client.

“Wetin do am?” she asked. 

“Be like say na demon,” Arit sighed.

“Again?” Iti groaned, the cowries and bone shards in her twists knocking against each other as her head fell back, “Ays, smallie…which church do you go to?”

“I don’t really g- go to church,” the young man stammered.

“You see the result!” The boy’s father screamed from the corner of the room, almost triumphant.

“Oga abeg no dey shout,” Iti scowled at him, “You’ll aggravate the demons and then they’ll need to be subdued with a human sacrifice. And that’s stressful.”

“Itiaba!” Arit snapped, “Stop that. She’s joking, sir.”

The man had a hand clasped over his mouth and his son was sitting on the floor, clutching his knees and crying soundlessly. He was maybe twenty or so, but he looked like a scared child as he sat there rocking.

Arit rubbed her forehead and squatted in front of him, ‘Guy…sorry eh, don’t mind her. You’re sure you don’t go to any church.”

He shook his head and sniffed, “No.”

“The last time he went to church was over a month ago. I warned him about this lifestyle,” his father said in a breathy whisper.

“What is he saying?” Iti asked Arit before turning to the man and snapping “Oga open your mouth and talk if you’re talking.”

He cleared his throat and spoke again at regular volume, “I said I managed to take him to a deliverance service at my church last month, but since then he’s refused to come back.”

“Deliverance service,” Arit repeated, feeling her headache spread.

Isi cackled and pointed a black-polished nail at the son, “Smallie, when did your wahala start?”

“About a month ago. A few days after the deliverance service.”

“Gbam!” Isi exclaimed, spreading her arms and picking up the chicken skull to pick her teeth with the beak, “Problem identified.”

“Wait,” Arit said, “If the manifestations started after the service, why did you take him there in the first place?”

“He had certain…tendencies,” the man said darkly.

Arit stared at him.

“Smallie,” Iti interjected, “You’re gay?”

The boy scratched his head.

“What did you say the demon wants again?” Iti asked, with renewed interest.

“It wants blood. The blood of someone in my family. It says it won’t leave me alone until I give it that.”

His father gulped and said, “The other day he tried to strangle me in my sleep. He hasn’t been himself for the past few months. He’s been spending time with degenerates, they’ve possessed him with what I don’t know, and now this!” He walked closer s he spoke, fear making him bold, until he was close enough to grip Arit’s arm  “This isn’t my son. I don’t know how this thing entered him but I want you to get it out. Fix him now!”

Arit felt his spit splash on her face and his nails dig into her skin. Before she could shake him off, the man released her and gripped his head. It was bleeding at the crown, where Iti had knocked him with the beak of the chicken skull.

“Number one,” Iti yawned, then continued, “Don’t touch her unless you’re very ready to die. Number two, that thing entered him in the church you took him to. Number three, we can get it out, but better prepare your money, because e go cost. And it won’t be today,” she said, holding up her Nokia 3310, “Because we have places to go. You can come back on Monday. If you like, vex your son before then, it’ll only mean he’ll be free from the demon faster because once he kills you, it’ll leave. One thing about demons, they don’t lie. So it’s up to you.”

When the both of them had shuffled out of the room, Arit turned to Iti and asked, “Who texted you?”

“You already know.”

“Not her.”

“Her,” Iti said with a delighted laugh and a dangerous spark in her eye.

* * *

Arit slammed the door of Iti’s beat-up black Hilux and stormed across the parking lot of Marina Resort, towards the raffia and bamboo huts overlooking the river. In the middle of the day on a Wednesday, Marina was empty. Arit wondered how much of that was the general lifelessness of Calabar and how much was the influence of the person they had come to see. 

She was at the bush hut furthest from the bar, closest to the river, left foot tucked up in the plastic chair, left fist propping up her chin. She was wearing a dress made of coral beads, and her long locs flowed down the back and sides of the chair, pooling on the ground.

“Itiaba, ufan mi,” Afianwan said, stretching out her arm and smiling.

“I’m not your friend,” Iti said cheerily, crashing into a chair and putting her feet on the table. 

Arit stood by the railing, her back to the river, her eyes fixed on Afianwan.

“Eyen-eka mi,” Afianwan addressed Arit, without turning to look at her. 

“Don’t call me that. I’m no sibling of yours and no child of your mother.”

Afianwan rolled her eyes and continued, “Well, now that we’ve greeted each other properly-“

“Ays, my friend,” Iti exclaimed, gesturing at the server at the bar.

The young man walked over with a tray.

“Abeg bring one Fanta, one small stout and…” she turned to Afianwan “What do you people even drink again?”

“Anything hard,” Afianwan smiled, revealing pointed teeth.

“And one bottle of Gordon’s. Oh and one roasted catfish. A big one.”

Afianwan’s smile fell, and Iti’s widened.

Arit watched as Iti rinsed her hands in the bowl the man brought and attacked the plate of fish, pushing the fried sweet potatoes and coleslaw it had come with to the side. It didn’t bother Arit anymore, watching people eat corpses.

Afianwan on the other hand, was appalled. She was watching as Iti gripped the head of the catfish in her fist, sucking out the eyeballs, her lip curled in disgust.

“Be talking now, we’re listening,” Iti said, passing Arit the stout and taking a sip of her Fanta.

Afianwan gathered herself and continued. “The goddess has a mission for you.”

“What is it?” Arit asked, fingers tapping on the railing.

Afianwan turned away from the carnage on Iti’s plate to face Arit.  “She says she will only tell you herself. She wants you to come to the kingdom.”

“As in how?” Iti asked, crushing the skull of the catfish with her teeth.

“She wants us to go to the kingdom,” Arit repeated with a bitter laugh.

Iti whistled as she washed her hands in the bowl, “That one go hard o.”

Afianwan turned to Arit, “That wasn’t a request. It was a command.”

“You can’t just expect us t-“

“The water will be good for the next two days. After that, I can’t guarantee you safe passage. I’ve delivered my message. If you like, try her.”

Afianwan took one last look at the remains of the fish and scowled before moving beside Arit by the railing.

“See you soon, sister,” she said, and then leapt over, landing lightly on the sand below, and walking into the river.

“Your people and their wahala.”

“I don’t like this,” Arit said, sighing and collapsing into the chair beside Iti.

“I know,” Iti said, stabbing a piece of sweet potato with a toothpick and extending it to Arit’s mouth.

Arit leaned forward and bit into the potato, thinking as she chewed.

Finally, she swallowed and said, “We have to get supplies. Can you call-“

“Noooo,” Iti whined, “Not her.”

“Her,” Arit said, mockingly.

* * *

Arit patted the back of her head as she and Iti waited for the door to open. She kept it short and bleached it mercilessly near-white, but her hair grew so fast that black undergrowth always started to peek out mere hours after she dyed it. She’d considered cutting it before their trip, maybe even going bald, even though she knew Iti would rub her head incessantly. Anything to make it clear at first sight to her mother that this journey was a visit, not a return. She’d decided against it though. It wasn’t necessary. And besides, they didn’t have the time to waste.

“Did you call her?” Arit asked, leaning on the turquoise burglary-proof gate of the veranda, one foot out of her wax-black leather palms and crossed over an ankle.

“She knew the moment we stepped through the gate. She just wants to annoy me.” Iti grumbled, turning to look around.

The small compound was crowded with primary-colour painted pots holding plants, the leaves were broad and waxy, long and thin, short and tapered to a point. There was a smooth speckled guava tree close to the house with a lizard lazing on the lowest branch. Iti stepped off the veranda, picked a stone off the floor, licked it and tossed it carelessly at the tree. The stone left her fingers with more strength than it had been thrown, and cannoned toward the lizard, flattening its skull. Iti laughed and walked to the base of the tree to pick the lizard up by its tail.

“Look!” she said, presenting it to Arit, “The entire head came off.”

“Good job, babe,” Arit said, nodding and examining the lizard carcass.

Just then, the door opened to reveal a woman in red bum shorts and an orange camisole, her hair falling down her back in gold cornrows.

She hissed at them both before turning to Iti and saying “You know I have a headache now?”

Iti ignored the question and pushed past her into the house.

“Hi, Inang,” Arit said, waving.

She rolled her eyes, “Hi, Arit.” 

Iti entered the living room and walked to the chair where Inang had clearly been sitting, picked up the phone lying there and tossed it on the couch, before settling there and tucking her feet under her thighs.

“Is there food?” she asked Inang, looking around with narrowed eyes as if she expected a plate to be hiding in plain sight.

“No,” Inang said evenly, relocating to the couch.

“If I enter that kitchen and I see food wh-”

“Iti, we don’t have time,” Arit said calmly.

Iti sighed and turned to Inang.

“So,” she started, scratching her neck, “I need a favour.”

Inang snorted, “From who?”

“Inang stop now,” Iti whined.

“What’s the favour, first.”

“We’re…travelling. And we need some supplies.”

“Travelling to where.”

Iti was silent for a second.

“To Arit’s family house.”

“Family h- Itiaba are you well? You want to go to the marine kingdom?”

“Yeah,” Iti nodded.

“Arit,” Inang snapped, turning to face her, “you’re not taking my sister to that place. Are you trying to get her killed?”

Arit sighed, “I wouldn’t be taking her if I didn’t have to. My mother summoned both of us. You know what happens if we disobey.”

Inang slapped the back of Iti’s head, “I told you not to get involved with an ndem. No offence, Arit.”

“It’s calm,” Arit said.

“So what do you guys need.”

“Red raffia and white coral. And someone to do the protection incantations. And someone to watch a mirror here. In case we need help. We don’t know what they have in store for us there. I’ll feel better if we have backup.”

Inang sighed, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Arit touched Inang on the knee and said, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Inang smiled, “You’re family.”

Later that evening, Inang fried plantain for all of them and made egg sauce for her and Iti, while Arit ate hers plain.

After they ate, Iti sat on the floor stringing beads of white coral and resting her head on Arit’s thigh as Arit untwisted her hair and wove red raffia into it. When they were done, Arit tied the strings of coral herself onto Iti’s wrists and waist and ankles. 

After her third time checking to make sure the knots were secure, Iti shoved her away and rolled her eyes.

“I just want you to be safe,” Arit mumbled.

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Iti laughed, cleaning the dirt under her fingernails with a knife with a blood-dyed hilt.

“Drop my knife,” Inang snapped, “It’s time for the incantations.”

Arit held Iti’s hand as Inang poured libations and held up a cow horn to call on her foremothers to protect her sister. She listed all their names down to their great-great-great-grandmother, and then started another invocation of only the witches in their line, to protect the daughter they’d passed their power to. 

After, Inang blended bitterleaf, ndom, powdered periwinkle shells and other things she would not name in her smoothie maker, poured the sludge into a sky-blue glass. She waved Arit over and then took the knife with the red hilt and pierced the tip of Arit’s thumb, letting her blood drop into the glass. She mixed it in with a brass spoon, whispering incantations into it, and handed it to Iti.

“So you can breathe while you’re there,” she explained.

When it was done and Arit had helped Iti wipe the red chalk from her face, Iti was hungry again, so she made Indomie with too many onions they sat on the fluffy red carpet on Inang’s living room floor, eating it with boiled eggs and cold zobo, watching a movie with three sequels on Africa Magic Epic, and pretending that at midnight, they would not have to dive into the deep.

They woke up with their cheeks in the sand, underwater.

Iti stood up first. The black tank top and green cargo pants she had been wearing were gone, replaced by a flowing white robe. Arit’s white shorts and orange t-shirt hadn’t changed, but her palm slippers were gone.

In front of them was a path paved with gold periwinkle shells. The spikes on the shells dug into the soles of Arit’s feet, leaving the shells stained as she passed and the rusty scent of fresh blood trailing in her wake. Iti’s feet were unharmed, fortified by Inang’s incantations. They walked until the path changed from periwinkle to smooth opalescent clam shells. 

On the horizon, a towering coral reef appeared. It was a monstrous, amorphous marvel. It rose from the sand and reached for the surface of the water with a million grasping tentacles, blushing pink and bursting orange and bleeding red.

“Hm,” Iti said, bending her head back to take it all in, “It’s big o.”

Afianwan emerged from the edifice, swimming towards them. The legs she had worn on land had been replaced with a sleek, glistening, bronze-coloured tail, and the water carried her hair around her face. Her nails were longer, sharper and bronze-tipped and her teeth were even even sharper. This was her true skin.

She led them into the goddess’s audience room, and left them to wait. The walls here were pockmarked pink coral, and the floors soft golden sand. The ceiling was the sky, blue and unreachable.

“Don’t look her in the eye, and don’t speak,” Arit whispered to Iti.

“I shouldn’t greet her?”

“Don’t. Speak.”

The goddess entered the room with a score of attendants, some with tails and others with legs.

The goddess herself had a heavy golden tail and wore a dozen coral necklaces that covered her entire chest. Her hair hung to her feet, braided in the swirling patterns of etenge, and adorned with gold combs and coral pins.

“Ekom do, Ekanyin,” Arit said, inclining her head respectfully.

The goddess was silent, assessing Arit’s shorts and shirt and hair, with the corner of her mouth turned down.

Iti cleared her throat, “Good afternoon, ma.”

Arit sighed and rubbed her temple as the goddess and all her attendants turned to inspect Iti.

“So…” she finally said, “You’re the one.”

“Don’t mind her, that’s how she is,” Arit interjected “She does-“

“You’re the one she’s with up there,” the goddess continued. 

“Yes. She stays in my house,” Iti confirmed.

The goddess turned to Arit, “This,” she waved a ring-laden finger at Arit, “is the reason why you’ve refused to come home?”

“You said you had a task for us,” Arit responded evenly.

“Yes. I do,” she smiled, revealing needle-sharp teeth.

“I have debts to collect. And who better to collect them than you, since you insist on rolling in the dirt. Afianwan,” she waved her over, “Come and tell her.”

“Someone has defaulted on a contract,” Afianwan explained, “and we need you to collect the payment, or punish him.”

“Contract?” Iti asked

“People seeking power enter into agreements with the kingdom. We give them what they ask, and in exchange, they agree to offer us gifts in gratitude. The greater the power, of course, the rarer the gift.”

“What kind of gift?” Iti asked.

“It depends. A child, a womb, a destiny…nothing too deep.”

“Fair enough,” Iti shrugged, “We do that kind of thing too.”

“We?” the goddess asked, curious.

“Witches. I’m a witch.”

“Ah, I see. That explains the smell. Who’s your mother? I might know her?”

“She’s dead.” Iti answered cheerfully.

“Your father?” 

“Dead.”

“Do you have any other prominent family members?”

Iti thought for a second, “Yes, but they’re all dead.”

“I see.”

“So,” Iti said, cracking her knuckles. “Who’re we going after.”

Afianwan handed her a picture.

Iti looked at it, cackled, and handed it to Arit.

“Him?” Arit exclaimed.

“Him,” Iti said, delighted.

* * *

Iti knocked on the gate, then knocked it down.

Arit followed behind her, picking her way carefully over the twisted metal. Iti could have opened it or passed through it, or even just appeared in the living room, but she liked the drama of kicking it down, feeling metal twist and give under her foot, feeling the echo in her bones of power meeting strength, and conquering it. 

The son ran out first, eyes wide, looking left and right for the source of the racket. 

He saw Iti and Arit approaching the pale green house, the same style as all the State Housing homes built in the 70s. Iti looked at the boy properly this time. The house was unmistakably an inherited thing. The grandfather was probably the type of middle-class that was extinct in Calabar) now. The type of Hope Waddell-trained, Catholic or Anglican, title-holding civil servant who had probably fathered a dozen children with a girlfriend in the 90s and whose wife had probably built this house with her money. 

“I thought you told us to come back on Monday?” the boy asked, confused.

His father came out of the house in shorts and a polo shirt, speeding up when he saw them standing in front of the wreckage of the gate.

“What are you doing here? I thought we had an appointment for Monday? How did you find this house?”

Iti hissed, “Leave that one.” 

Arit examined her nails as she spoke, “Do you know what I don’t like?”

The man looked past them, at his mangled gate. “What rubbish is this, eh?” he drew his voice from deep in his chest, his nostrils widening, veins straining, commanding respect as if it was owed to him. “You think you can just barge into my house and talk to me anyhow? Is it because I asked you for help. You have no idea who I am, what I am capable of. You think you’re the only one with power? Because I asked you for help you think I’m impotent?” He drew up his shoulders with each word, walking toward Arit as he spoke. “I didn’t teach you a lesson when you disrespected me the other day, but today? You’re in my house. And you will learn respect.”

Iti quirked her lips downwards mockingly, hands on her hips.

Her expression brought his anger to a head, and he lurched in her direction, arm raised to slap her. Iti crossed her arms behind her and turned her cheek, welcoming the slap. His hand came within a hairsbreadth of her chin and froze, his eyes widened and unable to blink.

His son stood in the corner, one hand one his head, the other a fist in his mouth.

Iti laughed in immobile face, “You wanted to slap me? You raised your hand to touch me? You no reach! Who are you? Who is your father? Who is his father?”

“What did you do to me?” He croaked, and then shouted “Goddess of the river, come and save your servant,” neck straining from the effort.

“Ah,” Iti said, raising both hands in innocence  “I didn’t do anything o.”

Arit walked in front of him, face still glass.

“I’m the one holding you. That name you’re calling for help? The well of power you are drawing from? I am the river that feeds it.”

Iti slapped the back of his head as if to punctuate Arit’s sentence.

“As I was saying before…do you know what I don’t like?”

“She’s asking you a question,” Isi said, patting his face, “Answer fast.”

“I don’t like ingrates,” she said listing it off on her finger, “And I don’t like liars. And you are both of those things.”

“There must be some kind of mis-”

“You took from the kingdom, and now it’s time to pay, but instead of doing that, you’re running from church to herbalist. Is it good?”

The man’s lip trembled as he tried to answer.

“Iti, is it good?”

“Noooo,” Iti said, dragging the word out and shaking her head in exaggerated outrage.

Iti turned to his son and asked, “Smallie, what your Daddy is doing, is it good?”

The boy shook his head vigorously and said, “No, no it’s not good.”

Iti nodded, “Tell him ‘Daddy, it’s not good.’”

“Daddy it’s not good,” the boy responded immediately, words blurring into each other.

“Now tell him,” Iti said, “‘Daddy tell me sorry…”

“Daddy tell me sorry.”

“...because you’re the cause of my problems.”

“Da- What?”

“You didn’t expect that abi?” Iti asked.

“What is she saying,” the boy asked his father.

“Your useless father,” Iti said, slapping his head again, “went to go and borrow power to kill his brothers and their children and inherit his father’s property.”

“He was supposed to pay with the life of a grandchild, but since you’re his only child and it doesn’t seem like you’re the…fatherly type, he was trying to renegotiate,” Arit explained.

“Renegotiate?” the boy said, face squeezed in confusion.

“Na you e bin wan kill.” Iti explained helpfully.

“Jesus!” the boy shouted.

“I think say you no dey go church?” Iti asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Dad,” the boy said, “is this true?”

“Yes, it is,” Arit answered for him. “And the issues you’ve been experiencing are the efforts of the ndem to get their due. Don’t worry sha. They don’t just want you to kill a family member, they want you to kill him specifically.”

The boy was silent.

“You killed Uncle Akpan, and Uncle Tete…what about Mummy?”

“She wasn’t so innocent! She knew about Akpan and Tete! I- I thought it would buy me time. It did,” his father said, remorselessly.

“Wow. Arit, this is just like that movie we watched.”

“Abi?” Arit agreed, then turned to the boy, 

“Originally, we were just going to tell you all this and then let the possession do its job,” She turned to the father, “But then, you raised your hand to slap Itiaba. And I can’t tolerate that. I will take you where you’ll beg for death and you won’t see it. You won’t die until my mother says you can, and she is a patient woman.”

With those last words, she touched his forehead with her forefinger, and he fell where he stood.

“Wh- what about me?” His son asked.

“Well, the possession should end here. Looks like this is your house now. Do whatever you want. Call your boyfriend, I don’t care.”

Arit and Iti climbed over the mangled gate and walked to Iti’s car.

“Well,” Iti said, “That was fun.”

“Hm,” Arit hummed in agreement, watching a puddle in a pothole.