Chapter 15: Nsibidi

The night settled over the compound, quiet and still, broken only by the distant sounds of the village winding down.

Inside the hut, my mother and Adanna worked in practiced silence, the low crackle of firewood and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filling the space.

The scent of simmering soup drifted through the air, rich and familiar, but my focus was elsewhere.

The flames of the fire cast flickering shadows against the walls, but I had little interest in food right now.

I stepped outside.

Onwudiwe stood near the entrance, his gaze turned upward toward the sky. The moonlight cast sharp angles across his face, highlighting the stillness in his posture.

His posture was relaxed, yet something about the way he stood, made him seem apart from everything around him.

Like he wasn't just looking at the sky, but beyond it.

He hadn't spoken much since we arrived, but that wasn't unusual. He was the kind of man who let silence do most of the talking.

I stepped outside, letting the cool night air settle over me. I didn't hesitate as I walked toward him, stopping just a few steps away. He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge me immediately, but I knew he sensed my presence.

Then, I broke the silence. "Why are you here?"

Onwudiwe lowered his gaze to me, his expression stoic. "The elders sent me."

I nodded. I already knew that much, but that wasn't the answer I was looking for. "That's what they say. But what is the real reason?"

He studied me for a moment, then spoke evenly. "To be your guide."

"Guide?" I repeated, tilting my head slightly. "Guide in what?"

"Matters of the spirit."

His words were simple, but they carried an added weight. I let them settle between us before speaking again.

"I see." I turned my gaze back to the sky, considering my next words carefully. "I have a vision, Onwudiwe. One too grand for you to fathom. I will not be shackled by certain things, especially the values and morals of old."

Onwudiwe remained quiet for a moment, then nodded. "The spirits are with you," he said. "There is no reason for me to go against you."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Good. Then we understand each other."

For the first time, something almost like amusement flickered across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. I took a step closer and turned fully to face him. "Now, tell me about Nsibidi."

Onwudiwe's gaze sharpened slightly. "You wish to understand it?"

I met his gaze and nodded. "Yes. I need to understand it."

Onwudiwe remained silent, waiting for me to explain myself.

"Nsibidi is the language of our people. It carries our history, our laws, our messages—everything that matters. It was created by those before us, shaped over generations, and yet only a few truly understand it." I paused for a moment, choosing my next words carefully. "I cannot build something great while being ignorant of the very system my people have used for centuries."

I gestured toward the ground. "Before we ever carved wood or wove patterns, we had Nsibidi. It was drawn, etched, painted, and passed down. Not through words alone, but through meaning—deep meaning that shaped decisions, resolved disputes, and bound agreements. If I am to lead, I must understand the language that once guided leaders."

I locked eyes with him. "You say the spirits are with me. Then let them witness this—I will not be a blind man leading others. I will master Nsibidi, not just for what it was, but for what it can become."

He nodded once, then crouched down, brushing the dirt smooth with his hand. Using his finger, he began drawing.

"As you already know, Nsibidi is a language of symbols," he said. "It does not follow the patterns of spoken words. It conveys ideas, actions, emotions, and even commands."

He drew a simple character—two curved lines, one looping over the other.

"This," he said, "means 'meeting' or 'gathering.' It represents two entities coming together."

I crouched down beside him, watching intently.

He drew another symbol, this time a spiral enclosed within a circle.

"This signifies secrecy. Hidden knowledge. Something meant for the initiated."

I traced the shape with my own finger, feeling the impression in the dirt. "And how do they combine?"

Onwudiwe nodded approvingly. "Nsibidi is not just about single symbols. It is about how they interact." He drew the meeting symbol and the secrecy symbol together, linking them with a diagonal slash. "Together, this means 'a secret council' or 'an assembly not meant for all.'"

I exhaled slowly, absorbing the information.

"So it's a system of concepts."

"Yes. Nsibidi is built on layers. Some symbols are direct, others are abstract. Many can shift meaning depending on their placement."

I nodded, the gears in my mind turning. "And the elders of Akaibute use this?"

"They do. It is how knowledge is passed, how messages are sent, how history is recorded beyond mere stories."

I considered this. "Can it be used for more?"

Onwudiwe tilted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

I smoothed a patch of dirt beside his drawings and started mimicking the symbols he had drawn. My movements were slower, more deliberate, but I was beginning to grasp the logic.

Proof that my Intelligence and Wisdom stat were active and working.

I stared at the Nsibidi symbols Onwudiwe had drawn in the dirt, my mind already racing ahead of my words.

My hands itched to rewrite them, to reshape them into something that could hold more than just messages and warnings.

"What if Nsibidi wasn't just used for communication?" I asked, voice steady despite the storm of thoughts within me. "What if it could be expanded? Refined?"

Onwudiwe's gaze flickered with something, curiosity, perhaps, or maybe wariness. "Explain."

I pointed at the secrecy symbol he had drawn—a simple mark that had existed long before me. I traced a second circle around it, modifying its meaning with an additional layer.

"This represents hidden knowledge. But what if we adapted it to show different levels of secrecy? What if Nsibidi could hold layers of meaning within a single mark?"

His eyes studied my adjustment. After a moment, he gave a slight nod. "Possible. Nsibidi is flexible. But to what end?"

I leaned back slightly, pressing my palms against my knees as I considered how to explain. "And what of numbers? Can it quantify? Can it measure?"

Onwudiwe smiled faintly. "Ah. Now you are asking the right questions."

He swept aside part of the dirt and began drawing again. This time, the symbols were sharper, more angular. "There are symbols for amounts," he said. "For trade, for measurements, for counting. But they are not like the numbers you might think of. They are relational."

He drew three vertical lines, then a fourth crossing over them. "This means 'ano'(four)'" Then he drew a different symbol—a horizontal stroke with a loop at the end. "This means 'many'—not a specific number, but an idea of abundance."

I narrowed my eyes, thinking. The method made sense, but it was limited. "So Nsibidi does not have rigid numerals?"

"Not in the way of the foreigners," Onwudiwe said. "But numbers exist within it, woven into meaning."

I absorbed this, my mind already working on possibilities.

I didn't bother asking how he knew if the numbers foreigners used since it'll probably be related to the spirits.

"What if we adapted Nsibidi to express calculations? If it could hold mathematical structures, it could be used for more than just trade."

"Such as?" Onwudiwe asked, his tone confused.

I exhaled sharply. "Physics. Chemistry. Mathematics." I pointed to a Nsibidi symbol that represented balance—two parallel lines with a third cutting through them. "This could represent an equation. A statement where both sides must be equal."

His brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

Encouraged, I grabbed a stick and scratched another symbol next to his.

This time, I modified one of Nsibidi's symbols for movement—a curved line representing flowing water. I split it into sections and added smaller marks along its path.

"Velocity. Distance over time. If Nsibidi could represent relationships between things—quantifiable relationships—then it could be used for much more."

Onwudiwe exhaled quietly. "Go on."

I adjusted Nsibidi's representation of fire, breaking it down into three parts. "Reactants. Products. Transformation. If we restructure Nsibidi, it could record chemical reactions. It could document the way things change, the way they combine, separate, or balance out."

I paused, heart pounding, waiting for his reaction.

Onwudiwe stared at the symbols in silence for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice measured. "You are trying to turn Nsibidi into a tool of knowledge beyond its current form. A tool of ndọ mọọ."

The term sent a chill through me.

Ndọ mọọ. The study of existence, of the way the world functioned.

In our time, it had no defined shape, but it existed in the wisdom of those who understood the land, the stars, the balance of all things.

"Why not?" I met his gaze unflinchingly. "If it can be a language of law, of trade, of history, why not of the world itself?"

He was silent for a long time. Then, slowly, he nodded. "The spirits have truly chosen you."

I smiled, but it wasn't just a smile. It was the weight of realization settling over me. This wasn't just an idea. This was a path.

If this could be mastered, then elevating the minds of my people wouldn't be a distant dream.

I could see it—young boys and girls sitting in a clearing, scratching Nsibidi symbols onto wooden slates, their brows furrowed in thought.

A teacher would stand before them, drawing a modified Nsibidi sign that represented motion. With a few swift strokes, the symbol would be adjusted to show speed increasing over time.

Velocity.

Acceleration.

A child, no older than ten, would step forward and recognize the pattern.

Not because he had memorized numbers like foreigners demanded, but because he understood the relationship between symbols.

Another child would be learning about balance—not just in philosophy, but in equations.

The Nsibidi for harmony, once used only for disputes or governance, could now represent algebraic equality.

A farmer's son would be shown how to calculate the best yield for his crops using ratios and proportions, his learning not confined to arbitrary numbers but to meanings he already understood.

A blacksmith's apprentice would grasp metallurgy not through clumsy translations of foreign texts but through Nsibidi notations that broke down fire, metal, and transformation.

Reactants.

Products.

Process.

Chemistry, distilled into the symbols of our own ancestors.

It was more than education.

It was independence.

The Europeans who would come, armed with their alphabets and rigid formulas, would try to convince us that our ways were primitive.

That only through their language could we understand the world. But what if we already had our own language of knowledge?

I could imagine a time when my people would not need to struggle with foreign scripts and unfamiliar concepts forced into an alien structure.

Instead, they would wield Nsibidi, a system born from their own land, refined to express the complexities of the universe.

I turned back to Onwudiwe, my heart pounding. "This could change everything."

He studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Then let us begin."

I straightened as Onwudiwe's fingers brushed the dirt as he began drawing again, explaining the intricacies of Nsibidi's structure.

He showed me how symbols could be combined, how their meanings could shift depending on context. And as I listened, as I watched, I saw it—

The framework of a system far older than I had realized.

A system waiting to be understood.

A system waiting to be reshaped.

Just then—

[DING: HIDDEN QUEST ACTIVATED]