* * *
“Nnamdi!”
Someone was shoving him.
“Nnamdi! Wake up!”
He felt someone grab his shoulder and shake. He didn’t want to open his eyes, afraid of what he would see. His chest ached, his throat burned, and a stone was grinding into the small of his back.
“What happened to you?” Chioma asked, her voice heavy with concern. She shook him again. “I know you’re awake. Get up before someone sees you!” She grunted as she tried to pull him up. “Do you want to scare your mother?”
That reached him. Nnamdi slowly opened his eyes to see Chioma leaning over him. He sat up. “Ooh,” he grunted, the blood rushing from his head. “Do I . . .” He paused. His voice sounded normal. “Do I look okay?”
Chioma grinned, looking him over as he slowly got up. “No blood,” she said. “You have ten fingers and probably ten toes. You’re fine!”
Nnamdi chuckled despite himself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He was lucky to not have been run over by one of the cars. Maybe I wasn’t out for that long, he thought. It was dark here, but his clothes were white; well, now they were a dirty white. And, he noticed, not torn. Maybe it was all a dream. He felt a sinking disappointment in his gut.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did that strange man beat you for following him?” She frowned. “But you don’t seem hurt.”
“You saw him?” he asked louder than he’d wanted to.
“Yeah.”
“Clearly?”
“Barely, but yeah. It was a man, I know that. I tried following you when you were running, but it was so dark and you just took off!”
He blinked and frowned. “Yeah, I don’t know why I did that.”
She nodded. “It was kind of stupid.”
“Maybe.”
They looked at each other until Nnamdi looked away. What was he supposed to tell her? He looked at the spot where he’d fallen and froze. Slowly, he knelt down and picked it up. “Oh my God,” he whispered. The Ikenga. Immediately the aroma of strong palm wine descended on him. It had all really happened.
“What’s that?” Chioma asked, taking it from him before he could stop her.
“Hey! Don’t touch it!”
“Why?” She laughed, holding it up in her right hand. “Is this . . .” She brought it closer to her eyes. The smile dropped from her face as the Ikenga’s head seemed to twitch. She screeched, shuddered, and shoved it back into Nnamdi’s hands. “What is that? Something from your father’s bookshelf? Oh wait, maybe it’s a Nigerian action figure. Do they make those yet? Let me guess his name: Cosmic Juju Man!” She laughed.
He quickly put it in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”
Chioma looked from her hand to Nnamdi, shaking her hand as if the Ikenga had left some residue on it. “Seriously, though, what is it?” she said. “I don’t like it at all.”
Nnamdi shook his head, babbling, “No, no, it’s not . . . it’s just . . .”
“Nnamdi, Chioma. Why are you two out here?”
They both turned around.
“Uncle Innocent,” Nnamdi said, his voice too high.
“Good evening,” Chioma blurted, wiping her hand on her dress.
“Nnamdi, where is your mother?” his uncle asked in his gruff voice. Nnamdi had always thought he sounded like a lion. He’d always hoped he would grow up to have the same voice. A voice that made people stop and listen.
“She’s inside the house,” Chioma said, pointing behind them.
Uncle Inno frowned at Nnamdi. “What happened to your clothes?”
“Oh . . . I . . . uh, fell.”
Looking unsure, his uncle Inno said, “Go clean up.”
“I will, Uncle,” Nnamdi said.
As soon as Uncle Inno went inside, Chioma and Nnamdi went and sat on the bench away from the party.
“What happened to you?” Chioma asked.
“I don’t . . . know.”
“How can you not know? It was only a few minutes ago,” she pressed.
He sighed. “Chioma, please. I . . . I need to think.”
“Who was that man?”
“I . . .” He shook his head again.
She narrowed her eyes at him, then she sighed. “It’s okay. Tell me later.”
He nodded.
“You’re okay, though, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to go dance then. Your uncle was right—you should go change.”
Wonder
IT WAS JUST past midnight and Nnamdi was finally alone. On his bed. In his room. He was Nnamdi again. But that didn’t make sense; who else would he be? And who was he really now? What was he?
Nnamdi rubbed his temples as he sat on his bed. Had he really seen his father and then beaten up one of the most notorious carjackers in Kaleria? Three Days’ Journey had looked at him and cowered. He’d pleaded for his life! Then Nnamdi had flung the big man aside like a piece of paper. And Nnamdi had felt . . . he’d felt strong, like some sort of superhero! Like his favorite hero, the Hulk!
He was twelve. Right now. How old would he be when the spell came upon him again? If the spell came upon him again.
He got out of his bed and walked to his bedroom window, where he looked out into the darkness. The darkness that no longer seemed as scary anymore. Not when he could become what he was earlier this night. Thieves would cower before him. Murderers would bow at his feet and beg to be locked up. If it happened again. And what was it? He didn’t like not knowing.
He picked up the X-Men pencil case sitting on his nightstand, on top of his most valuable possessions: his one and only Naruto graphic novel and stack of Incredible Hulk comic books. Slowly, he brought the Ikenga from his pocket. It was still warm, and holding it sent a sort of electrical current through his hand that made his fingers slightly curl and the muscles ache. And it still smelled of palm wine, something his father had loved to sip after particularly stressful days. Nnamdi put it into the case and placed it on top of his stack of Hulk and Naruto books. As he drifted into sleep, he felt uneasy.
His dreams were full of smoke and heat and screams. Kaleria was on fire. The houses and buildings. There was the crash of glass as groups of thugs laughed and entered a burning building and then came out again. One single man carried an entire refrigerator. Another carried a screaming woman. Still another carried three large flat-screen televisions stacked one on top of the other. Nnamdi stood there, watching it all happen. But he was nothing but a shadow behind the flames.