The Man with Cowrie Eyes

The afternoon sun was dipping low over Lagos, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the bustling streets. The market was alive with its usual frenzy: vendors shouting prices, the clatter of wooden carts, the sharp smell of grilled suya mixing with dust and sweat. But beneath the chaos, Iyi felt a strange stillness a quiet before the next storm.

He had barely slept since the encounter in the alleys, the shadowy figure's words echoing in his mind: "The hunger inside you is not yours to tame. It belongs to us."

Now, he was searching for answers, for a way forward, for someone who could help him make sense of the spiraling darkness closing in.

His steps led him toward the edge of the market, to a narrow street lined with ancient baobab trees and stalls selling herbs and charms. The air was thick with the scent of earth and incense.

There, seated on a worn wooden bench, was a man unlike any Iyi had ever seen.

His eyes were striking dark and glossy, but glimmering with something else, something ancient and knowing. They were deep-set, framed by wrinkles that told of long years and long secrets. To Iyi, they looked like cowrie shells smooth, mysterious, and full of silent wisdom.

The man wore a simple agbada embroidered with faded gold thread, and a cap tipped just so over his forehead. His presence was calm but commanding, as if he carried the weight of the city's secrets in his gaze.

Iyi approached cautiously.

"Excuse me," he began, voice low. "Are you... Agba Oye?"

The man smiled, slow and knowing.

"I am called many names, boy," he said softly. "But you may call me the Man with Cowrie Eyes."

Iyi felt a shiver run down his spine.

"People say you know things about hunger, debts, and the spirits," Iyi said, trying to steady his voice. "I need help. I'm lost."

The man's eyes gleamed.

"Lost is the first step toward being found," he replied. "Tell me everything."

Iyi sat beside him, heart pounding as he recounted the black envelope, the men in the night, the messages, and the strange sponge left at his door.

The man listened without interrupting, his gaze never leaving Iyi's face.

When the story was done, he nodded slowly.

"You stand at a crossroads," he said. "Between the worlds of flesh and spirit, of hunger and power."

He reached into a leather satchel beside him and pulled out a small pouch filled with crushed herbs.

"These will help you see what lies beneath the surface," he explained. "But be warned seeing is not the same as understanding. The path you walk is dangerous, and many who walk it never return."

Iyi took the pouch, hands trembling.

"What must I do?" he asked.

"Drink this at midnight, and listen to the voices of the river," the man said. "They will guide you but only if you are brave enough to hear."

As the sun set and the city lights flickered on, Iyi felt the weight of the moment settle over him.

The hunger inside him was no longer just a threat it was a call.

And with the Man with Cowrie Eyes' words echoing in his mind, he realized that the journey ahead would test everything he believed about himself and the world.