Chapter Fifteen– The Ghost from the Past

The village of Umudim lay under a quilt of morning mist, the red clay roads winding like sleepy serpents through the quiet hills. Children chased chickens through alleyways. Old men gathered under mango trees to sip palm wine and argue politics. But at the heart of the village, one woman remained unmoved by the passage of time or the weight of days.

Mama Ojo.

Wrapped in layers of faded ankara and wisdom, her eyes sharp as ever, she paced the courtyard of her mud-brick home with worry carved into every line on her face. A large pot of egusi soup simmered on the fire beside her, but she had long forgotten about food.

"One whole month don waka," she muttered, hands on her hips. "No letter. Not even for dream. Wetin fit happen to my pikin Elara? Dis one no be normal."

A neighbor, Mama Nkechi, peeked over the fence. "Ah-ah, Mama Ojo, you still dey think about dat your daughter? Maybe she dey enjoy for city. You sabi how young girls be. Once dem chop money and see fine life, dem no dey remember home again."

Mama Ojo shoot her one kain look. "Make you mind ya mouth, Nkechi. Elara no be dat kind girl. Na me train am. If she never send word, den something dey hold her. Something serious."

She waka enter house, ignoring the chuckle wey come from Mama Nkechi side.

Inside, she kneel down for front of small carved shrine. Wooden figures shaped like ancestors stand in a circle, surrounded by palm oil and cowries.

"My people, my ancestors," she muttered. "Make una help me. Show me where Elara dey. Wetin dey happen to am?"

One candle wey dey for corner flicker small. The air come heavy like rainy season breeze. Mama Ojo eyes begin flutter as she fall enter trance.

For her vision, mist rise like smoke.

She see forest—deep, dark, old. One big tower—black like charcoal. And Elara—she dey wear black and gold, stand between two men. One get light for hand. The other, red cloth and shadow dey cover am.

Mama Ojo open eye quick.

"Dem don carry her go somewhere wey no belong for dis world," she whisper. "But she still dey alive. Her journey never finish."

---

That evening, Mama Ojo pack one small leather bag. No be with knife o—but charms, bones, red thread soaked for oil, and the pendant wey Elara always wear for neck.

"If I no fit reach her with leg, I go reach her spirit. I go stand for dis ground wey born me and I go protect her."

But she no go leave village. Her power, her life, na for Umudim. She no dey fight war with sword, but she sabi how to call wind, read fire, and talk inside dream.

As moon rise that night, people wey waka pass her hut dey whisper. Say dem see strange light. Say dem hear voice dey sing old song wey dem never hear before.

Mama Ojo sit down cross-legged for shrine front.

"Elara," she whisper. "Ya mama dey with you. We no go allow darkness chop you. No matter wetin dey your blood, or who dey stand beside you."

Her eyes shine wide.

She see shadow behind Elara.

No be Damon.

No be Kieran.

Another person. Stranger.

Smile like blade. Eyes wey don forget wetin be pity.

Her chest rise. "Who be dis one now? Wetin him dey find near my pikin?"

Suddenly, the candle flame shift and show her a glimpse—Jordan, the one Elara once call love. But now, his eyes no dey soft again. Dem dey cold, like someone wey don make pact with thunder and blood.

She gasp. "Chineke! Dis boy don turn spirit for evil! He don join people wey wan destroy am."

---

The next morning, Mama Ojo waka go market. Her wrapper tied firm, her walking stick tapping ground like war drum.

She meet an old seer, Baba Ekene, wey dey sell herbs. "Baba," she say. "My spirit no dey rest. Elara don enter big wahala. I need something wey go make her see me for dream—make she know say I still dey with am."

Baba Ekene nod. "Na dream root you need. Mix am with ashes from fire wey you light for Elara name. Burn am at midnight, call her spirit. She go hear you."

She buy am, her heart still dey heavy.

---

That night, she do as Baba say. Chant Elara name three times, pour red oil for ground, burn one white feather, and call her name again.

"Elara... Elara... Na Mama Ojo. You fit hear me? I dey with you. No let dem confuse your heart. The war you dey fight big, but your soul strong pass dem. You no dey alone."

The fire flicker, and for one brief second, Elara appear for the smoke—eyes filled with fear... but also power.

Mama Ojo smile. "You go conquer, my pikin. No let love or pain break you. You be lioness."

She throw more oil inside fire, and the smoke rise higher.

And somewhere—far, far away—Elara flinched in her sleep, a whisper curling through her dream like warm arms.