Chapter 5 Tales by Firelight

Chapter Five

The nights in Oko village came softly, like the hush of a mother's hand on a restless child's forehead. Stars blinked lazily overhead. Frogs croaked near the stream. Somewhere in the distance, a palm wine tapper's laughter echoed, faint and fleeting. But in Kemi's compound, the only sound was the steady crackle of firewood beneath the iron cooking pot.

Kemi sat beside her grandmother, her knees drawn to her chest, bare feet warmed by the flames. Iya Ronke's hands moved with the rhythm of generations, stirring egusi soup with practiced ease while her voice told stories that were older than memory.

"This baobab tree you sit under," Iya Ronke said suddenly, her voice low and filled with meaning, "do you know it remembers more than it tells?"

Kemi turned to her, curious. "How do you mean?"

"The elders say it is where our foremothers knelt to cry and pray. Some say the spirits sleep in its roots. Others say... if you listen well enough, it tells you who you are."

Kemi smiled faintly. "I think I believe that."

"Hmph." The old woman narrowed her eyes. "Then be careful what you whisper to it. Not all truths should be woken."

The wind shifted slightly, carrying the scent of wood smoke and cooking spices. Kemi watched the embers rise like tiny spirits into the night sky.

"I see the way you look these days," Iya Ronke continued, not unkindly. "Like someone dreaming with open eyes."

Kemi stiffened. "I'm just... reading more."

"Yes, reading," the woman echoed. "And looking."

There was a pause. The kind that made everything around them seem to lean in closer.

"You're thinking of that corper boy, aren't you?" she asked.

Kemi didn't answer.

"Young men like that... they don't belong here," Iya Ronke went on. "They come with smooth tongues and leave with broken promises. That's the way it's always been. He will go back to his city, and you... you will remain."

The words landed like cold water. But Kemi didn't flinch. Not entirely.

"I don't want to marry him," she whispered. "It's not like that."

The old woman gave a long look. "Then what is it like?"

Kemi opened her mouth, then closed it again. How could she explain the way Tunde's words stirred something inside her? How could she describe the feeling of being seen for the first time, not for what she was expected to be - quiet, obedient, hidden - but for what she truly was beneath the silence?

"I just... I feel like he sees me. That's all."

Iya Ronke gave a slow nod, her eyes softening. "Then be careful, child. Even being seen can be dangerous. Some mirrors don't return the same face."

Later that night, Kemi lay awake on her raffia mat, her body still and her thoughts loud. The candle had long since gone out, but the moonlight spilled through the window in quiet silver strands.

She thought of the firelight dancing on her grandmother's face. Of the stories that wrapped warnings in riddles. Of the way her heart skipped when Tunde spoke her name, even when no one else noticed.

And she thought of the baobab tree - how its silence had always comforted her, how now it seemed to hum with something more: change.

She sat up slowly, picked up her notebook, and by moonlight, wrote:

"They tell me to be careful with love -

but no one warns you how dangerous it is to feel invisible."

Outside, the village slept. But inside Kemi, something had awakened.