“Your first juju charm by knife,” Sasha said, patting her on the back. “You’re a new woman.”
“It’s just the beginning,” Chichi said.
“Here,” Junk Man said, handing her a small blue bean. A sound was coming from it. She held it to her ear. The thing was giggling!
“I like to give my new customers a little gift,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, looking at the bean. “What is it?”
“Take it home and put it under your bed. Wait a few days.”
“How much is this?” Sasha asked, holding up a polished brown conch shell the size of his hand.
“Hmm. Do you know what that does?” Anatov asked.
“Sure do,” Sasha said. Anatov and Sasha exchanged a look.
“One copper and a silver,” Junk Man said.
“How about one copper,” Sasha said.
“Sold.”
13
The funky train had miles to go, but already Sunny could see Zuma Rock. It was about two hundred feet high, the size of a soccer field, and dark as a humongous piece of charcoal. At its center was what looked like a crude, gigantic white face.
Sunny’s mother had brought her to see it during their visit three years ago. The man who gave them a tour said it was believed that Zuma Rock possessed mystical powers. He said anyone who climbed or went too close to it would never be seen again.
Zuma Ajasco, the Abuja Leopard headquarters, was set right at the foot of Zuma Rock, hidden from Lambs by powerful old juju. This was where the festival took place, too. Now the Zuma Rock myth made sense to Sunny.
About a mile from the rock, they turned onto a narrow road. People walking on it had to scramble aside to avoid getting run over. Most of them were dressed in different kinds of traditional attire, but some wore jeans, pants, and dresses, too.
When the festival came into sight, Sunny wasn’t sure if she was more in awe of its sheer hugeness or of Zuma Rock itself. The festival grounds were the size of seven soccer fields, partially in the rock’s shadow on the other side of the highway. Because of the rock, passersby wouldn’t have seen the festival even if there wasn’t strong juju hiding it.
“How come Zuma Ajasco isn’t the central West African headquarters instead of Leopard Knocks?” The moment the words were out, Sunny wanted to take them back. Anything to avoid the look Anatov gave her.
“In nineteen ninety-one, they made Abuja the capital of Nigeria instead of Lagos. Now the scholars of Zuma Ajasco think that Abuja should also become the Leopard central headquarters of West Africa instead of Leopard Knocks,” Anatov said. “Bullsh-nonsense. Leopard Knocks has been Leopard Knocks for over a millennium. To move it would dislocate all that we hold dear.”
He paused. When he continued, he sounded less angry. “I want you to know this now, before you all officially enter the extravagance of Zuma Ajasco. The idea of what is appropriate and respectable differs amongst scholars. The people are like people anywhere, but the scholars are the leaders. If they are rotten, things can go very wrong.
“Zuma Ajasco has only two scholars. You’ll know Madame Koto when you see her. I’ll introduce you if the chance arises. You can’t miss her; she’s a descendent of the ancient line of Tall Men. She’s also quite… wide. People say she eats five-course meals four times a day. It’s believed she secretly owns one of the world’s biggest oil companies; no one knows which one. When you see her, she’ll be surrounded by very attractive men, none of whom she is married to. She refuses to marry on principle.
“Then there’s Ibrahim Ahmed. He might be a hundred and twelve, but he looks as if he’s lived for over three hundred years. He has fifteen wives, owns a hundred-and-fifty-room mansion that changes shape and location every five months, and is rumored to be working with some Iraqis to break the physical plane between Earth and Jupiter. It’s also rumored that he’s dined in the White House many times with various American presidents. He makes his money in oil. You see the problem?”
Sunny did. These didn’t sound like Leopard scholars, who were supposed to live by the philosophy of modesty and only be interested in chittim and the welfare of the people.
“These fools passed the fourth level?” Sasha looked skeptical.
“Oh, those two aren’t fools,” Anatov said. “No, no, no. And yes, they’ve passed the fourth level. They’re capable of great things, but potential doesn’t equal success.”
Jesus’s General pulled the funky train up to the festival entrance, which was marked by a red wooden arch, and they got off.
The arch was huge, and carved to look like braided plants-but as the breeze blew, the wooden plants swayed with it. Lurking at the arch’s peak was a life-size wooden leopard. It inspected all who entered. Sometimes it sat up, stretched, and even growled. Mainly it crouched and watched.
“It watches for Lambs,” Anatov said. “That great piece of juju was brought here for the festival by one of the scholars from Cameroon.”
Sunny felt sick. What did it do when it spotted a Lamb? It may have been wooden, but it looked alive. And hungry. She wasn’t a pure Leopard Person. Would it sniff the Lamb-ness on her skin? She walked as close to Anatov as she could. Her legs felt like boiled cassava. They passed under the arch. All the while the leopard stared intensely, specifically at her.
“It’s watching me,” she whispered to Chichi.
Chichi laughed. “Maybe it thinks you look tasty.”
Sunny held its stare as they passed. The leopard growled deep in its throat. It turned around to watch her once they were through. Minutes passed before she stopped expecting it to come bounding through the crowd to tear her apart.
The festival grounds were paved with cobblestone, and there was highlife, hip-hop, and jazz playing from three different stages. There were booths selling food and souvenirs, and there were tons and tons of people. She must have heard more than fifty different languages. She saw a group of children crowded around a man claiming to have gone to the moon; a large tent with a cross in the front that said, THE LEOPARD SOCIETY OF THE LORD; another where she heard hundreds reading from the Koran.
People used juju to light their cigarettes, push baby carriages, and block out cigarette smoke (she needed to learn that one). She even saw some kids batting a tungwa around. As it floated inches from the ground, they dared each other to kick it. The brown skin ball finally exploded on an unlucky boy, and all the others laughed and pointed.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Anatov said. The wrestling match wasn’t for another forty-five minutes.
The food was the usual, and Sunny was grateful. She ordered a large bowl of okra soup and garri and a bottle of Fanta. It was hot, spicy, and good. But as she sat at the table with the others, that feeling of being completely out of her element crept back in. Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic, drowning in the unfamiliar and unpredictable. “Where do you think the bathroom is?” she asked, wiping her hands with a napkin.
“On the other side of that booth,” Chichi said, pointing.
She got up before Chichi could say anything about coming with her. She needed a moment alone. There was a long line. She tried to hold back tears. Still, a few harmless tears were better than picking a fight or destroying things. She walked past the bathroom and came to an open field of dry grass. After making sure no one was around, she broke down sobbing.
“Excuse me, are you all right?” someone asked in strangely accented English.
When she looked to the side, she started. Then she wanted to cry some more. More strangeness. The man wasn’t just tall; he was like a human tree. He had to be over seven feet. He wore a long yellow caftan with a heavily embroidered neckline and yellow pants. He was dark black-skinned like some of the yam farmers back home who worked in the sun all day.