Nnedi Okorafor - Akata Witch

The Abuja market was about ten minutes from the Hilton. Sunny hadn’t expected them to go to a Lamb market, especially not this one. It was the first African market she had visited, a few months after her family had returned to Nigeria when they’d stayed with her aunt. Talk about culture shock! The American supermarkets were always neat, the prices rigid, everything so sterile. The Abuja Market in particular was ripe, unpredictable, and loud. She’d been overwhelmed by what the market sold, and how the vendors sold it. Now it was just a market.

After Anatov paid Jesus’s General, they all went straight to a shaded part of the market. A crude roof of wooden planks was built over all the booths here.

“One man’s junk is another man’s treasure!” a man announced in a gruff voice. Junk Man. He had a look that practically screamed that he was far more than what he seemed. He was short and fat, his head shaven so close that it shone like a black bowling ball. In contrast, he had a bushy gray mustache and a long equally bushy gray-black beard. He wore a bronze ring on every finger. His cushioned chair creaked whenever he moved.

His booth was the same size as everyone else’s, about twelve feet by twelve feet. Wooden dividers separated his shop from a utensil shop to his right and a basket shop to his left. But his place was packed! A narrow path led through his wares. He raised his fat hands and shouted, “Hey! Anatov!”

“Junk Man,” Anatov said, as they vigorously shook hands. Junk Man’s rings clicked loudly.

“That one?” Junk Man said, pointing at Sunny. Anatov nodded. “Ah, an albino,” he said. He smiled, and a dimple appeared on his left cheek. “Go on, have a look-see. But none of it is free. Don’t be shy. Look, then you buy. But don’t touch the things you don’t think you should. Especially those parrot feathers. For some reason, people don’t know better. Then they get home and wonder why all they want to do is chatter about nonsense.”

Sasha, Orlu, and Chichi were already looking around. Sunny had no idea what not to touch. There were so many items-most on tables, some on the ground or hanging from nails on the wooden dividers.

There were baskets; ebony and bronze statues; rings, necklaces, and anklets of various metals; piles of colorful stones and crystals; ancient-looking coins; cowry shells the size of her pinky and larger than her head; scary and smiling ceremonial masks; a jar of gold powder; a pile of jewels and rusted daggers; bags of colored feathers. An eight-foot-tall ebony statue of a stern-looking goddess watched from the far corner.

“Hey, you see this?” Sasha asked Chichi. The two huddled close around something. That snickering again.

Sunny stopped to look at a mask emitting a very foul odor.

“Sunny,” Orlu said, “here are the knives.”

They were piled in a beat-up cardboard box. Some had jeweled handles; others were made of metal, copper, bronze, or what looked like gold. Another looked like wood. Another was plastic.

“How do I-”

“You American?” Junk Man asked. Suddenly, he was right next to her.

She jumped. “Um-yeah, sort of. I was born there and lived there for nine years before we came back.”

“Who’s older? Him?” he asked, pointing at Orlu.

Sunny shrugged. “Only by a few months.”

“Your parents born here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Then you from here and there. Dual thing, you know?”

She laughed. “If you say so.”

“I know so.”

“So what’s that make me, then?” she asked.

“Who cares?” he said. “You want a juju knife, right?”

She nodded, grinning. She liked Junk Man very much.

“Close your eyes, reach in there, and pick one up.”

She shut her eyes. As she rummaged around, one of the knives cut her. “Ah!” She snatched her hand away and opened her eyes.

Junk Man immediately reached into the box. “We have a winner,” he said. The knife he brought out had a small smear of her blood on the blade. “Funny,” he said.

She stared at it. “What is that?”

“Oh. Weird,” Orlu said.

“Is that the one that chose you?” Chichi asked, coming over.

“Oh, that’s-uh, that’s different,” Sasha said.

Its handle was an unremarkable smooth silver, but the blade was paper-thin, made of a clear green material, like glass.

“Man from the north gave me this one for free after I bought some others from him,” Junk Man said. “He wore a thick veil, so I didn’t see his face. But he had eyes pretty like a woman’s and a very kind voice. You can always tell a man’s nature by his voice, a woman’s nature is more in the eyes. Anyway, there’s your knife. It picked you fair and square.

“Thirteen coppers, that one will be,” Junk Man said.

They all gasped. “That’s crazy!” Chichi said.

Sunny frowned, annoyed. She had expected to pay three. “Do you want-”

“I know what you want and I know what wants you,” Junk Man said. “When it comes to juju knives, I don’t negotiate. This one chose you, so no other knife will until it is destroyed. I could charge you a thousand chittim and you’d have to pay up.”

Thankfully, Sunny had brought twenty copper chittim . She dug out thirteen while Junk Man polished the knife with a white cloth.

“Let me see,” Anatov said to Junk Man when he’d finished with it. Anatov held it before him, pointing it straight ahead. He peered down the blade. “Nice.”

“Lucky girl-maybe,” Junk Man said. He looked at Sunny. “Come here and put them in that basket there, under the table,” he said. She dropped the chittim into the half-full basket. “Here, take it.”

Slowly, she took the juju knife. She yelped and almost dropped it. Junk Man grinned. “Ah, that’s all I really needed to see, that look.”

“Is-is this normal?” she asked, staring at her hand and the knife. It felt as if her hand and the knife had merged. She’d read about it in the juju knife book, but experiencing it was very different from reading about it.

“Yep,” Anatov said. “It’s a sensation best understood by experience.”

She touched the tip of the knife. It was amazing-she felt it right through the knife. She tapped it lightly against the table. It was like tapping her finger.

“Now try something,” Junk Man said.

“But I’m not that good at-”

“Call music,” Chichi said. “That’s easy enough.”

Sunny did remember how to do it, but she was still nervous. “Tell me again.”

“Cut downward, flick your wrist, and then catch the invisible pouch,” Chichi said. “Then speak the trigger words into it: ‘Bring music.’”

“All right,” she whispered. She carefully cut the air and flicked her wrist as if tying the invisible pouch in a knot. The wet, cool juju pouch dropped into her hand. She smiled. “Bring music,” she said into the pouch in English.

It wasn’t classical music that came. It was fast, high-pitched guitar. Highlife music. Her father’s favorite song by Nyanga Tolotolo. She laughed and grinned. She glanced at Chichi and was relieved to see her grinning, too. Two copper chittim fell to her feet.

“Ha! See? It pays for itself!” Junk Man shouted.

The loud music startled people, most of whom were Lambs and probably assumed it was coming from a boom box somewhere in Junk Man’s booth. A woman passing by shimmied her shoulders a bit, and a man did a few dance steps. Seconds later, the music faded away.

“Well done,” Anatov said.

“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!