Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor Page B

“I forgot I was carrying that.”
    The leaf person cartwheeled back to its place in front of the tree and was motionless again. Orlu and Chichi were snickering.
    “Idiot,” Sasha said in a low voice. “What’s he packing for? I’ve got more powerful juju in one finger. Grown man probably didn’t even make Mbawkwa .”
    Sunny looked closely at the leaf person on her left as she passed it. Even up close it was just a bunch of leaves.
    “This is the forefront,” Chichi told her. She waved at a boy passing by and slapped hands with him. He wore baggy jeans and sneakers like Sasha, but she could tell he was Nigerian. Something about the way he wore his American-style clothes, but he looked Nigerian, too. Probably Yoruba.
    “Friend of mine,” Chichi said.
    “Yeah, Chichi’s got a lot of friends,” Orlu said.
    “Shut up,” Chichi said coyly. “Anyway, so most of these places are shops. That’s Sweet Plumes, it’s a juju powder shop.”
    Sweet Plumes was one of the first buildings, a double one-story red mud hut decorated with thousands of tiny white circles that gave it an almost reptilian look. The front door was round and covered with a silver cloth that moved in and out as if the building itself was breathing. As they passed it, she smelled a sulfuric odor, like rotten eggs.
    “They sell good product except when you get to the really, really advanced juju. But that’s to be expected,” Chichi added. “By then, it’s best to grind your own.”
    They passed more shops. Many of them sold normal stuff like clothes, jewelry, computer software, and cell phone accessories. Sunny and Orlu waited outside while Chichi and Sasha went into a tobacco shop to buy Banga brand herbal cigarettes. “They’re supposed to be healthier than tobacco cigarettes. Smell nicer, too,” Orlu said with a shrug. “But to me a cigarette is a cigarette. A nasty habit.”
    “Agreed,” Sunny said.
    Next, they stopped outside a place called Bola’s Store for Books.
    “We’ll be quick,” Chichi said, when Orlu gave her a look. They were all hungry. Chichi took Sunny’s heavy purse. “Come on, Sunny.”
    It was large and cool inside. In the center, wicker chairs were set up around a wicker coffee table. A woman wearing a big metallic blue headwrap and a matching expensive-looking traditional dress was reading a dusty book. When she turned a page, she ground the book’s filth into her lovely clothes a little more. Her hands were covered with the book’s dust, too. What book is that interesting? Sunny wondered. She wanted to see, but Chichi led her in a different direction.
    There were books written in Hausa, Urdu, Yoruba, Arabic, Efik, German, Igbo, Egyptian hieroglyphs, Sanskrit, even one written in a language Chichi called Nsibidi. “Can you read N—Nsibidi?” Sunny asked with a laugh, picking up the book. What kind of name was that? It sounded like a stifled sneeze.
    “Later, Sunny,” Chichi said, taking the book from her and putting it back. “I’m starving. Let’s make this quick.”
    All the people in the store were quiet, reading and browsing with such intensity that she ached to look at some of the books, too. They passed an empty section with a warning posted above it saying, ENTER AND BUY AT YOUR OWN RISK.
    “Here it is,” Chichi said. They stopped at a shelf marked, INTROS/OUTED/EYES OPENED. She picked up a slim green paperback titled Fast Facts for Free Agents . “Come on,” she said. “Orlu’s going to spontaneously combust if we don’t hurry.”
    Sunny held her heavy purse as Chichi fished out a copper chittim and handed it to the old man behind the table. He looked at the chittim , reached into his pocket, brought out a pinch of what looked like sand, and rubbed it against the chittim . There was an instant burst of wet mist. It smelled like roses. The man smiled and rubbed his hands in the mist. Chichi did the same. Sunny imitated her and found that her hands came away smelling like roses,