“Can I think about it and get back to you?”
Nnenna can’t quite hide her excitement at my response, which practically makes my mind up for me.
“Of course!” Chidinma beams. “I’m just happy it isn’t an outright rejection.”
I laugh lightly. “No, it’s not. Nnenna is special, I can tell.”
Both mother and daughter preen.
“Yes, she is. Thank you so much again for your help,” she says as she walks me to the door. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“You pay me enough,” I say with a wink. She laughs good-naturedly. “Thank you so much for trusting me.”
“It’s well-earned. Have a safe trip, Rosemary. You’re heading back to Ghenelo, I assume?”
“I am. And thank you, I will. You have a good rest of your day.”
“My regards to your partner.” It still makes me flush with pleasure any time anyone who knows what Genevieve is to me refers to her that way. “Perhaps she’ll accept my invitation to dinner, soon?”
“You know what? I think perhaps she will.”
I feel great when I leave the house and make it onto the main road, bringing my phone out to order a cab. My good mood is a great sign; I’ve definitely helped Chidinma with her problems, and Nnenna may be hearing from me sooner than she thought.
The village of Ghenelo is buzzing with life. I let the cab drop me off at the centre, deciding to stroll home. It’s Market Day; most of the villagers are in the square to sell or trade their wares.
The villagers greet me Ibiiom. Some thank me for whatever tea or tincture or juju I’d given them, while others try to drag me into their homes to check if their enchantments are still working properly—they always are—or to show me some brand new problem. I skilfully avoid the latter folk, reminding them to make an appointment, while replying warmly to the former. Some of the villagers wave from the mats they’re perched on in front of their houses, chewing on tobacco or sipping on palm wine, and I wave happily back.
Seeing them always gives me a melancholy feeling. Thanks to my skillful weaving of the eshé, they don’t realise how long I’ve been in their lives. How I’ve watched most of them grow up, while I—and Genevieve—remain ever-constant.
When I make it to the forest, I breathe in deep. The place is wild and alive, the familiar noises buoying my already good mood. The air is fresh and cool after last night’s rainfall.
The gates are open when I make it home. What had once been in disarray so many years ago is now almost brand-new. The fence is fixed, back to its original white. The paving stones are firm, their connections closed-up, not a sliver of grass in sight.
I grin when the front door opens before I’ve even placed a foot on the first step to the veranda.
“Hello,” I greet, patting the wall. “Missed me?”
The house rumbles. My shoes are slipped off my feet as I walk, replaced with bathroom slippers.
As usual, I begin to head straight for the garden.
“Hey,” I reprimand when the walls of the sitting room break open just as I’m turning toward the kitchen. “I didn’t ask for a shortcut.” The hole remains pointedly open, and I laugh. “Thank you.”
I pat the wall as I pass, concrete rumbling behind me as the hole eases shut.
Genevieve is already in the gazebo. She turns leisurely, acting like she hadn’t heard me coming the moment I’d stepped foot in the forest. She’d quit her job back in the city, and now uses her skills on people in the village or nearby towns.
Every morning, most of the villagers join us for a jog and a brief exercise routine, before the farmers go off to their farms, the fishermen go off to the stream, and the traders head into the larger towns close by to trade. That simple act of community in the mornings has made Ghenelo really feel like home. I can feel myself settling into its soil, my roots sinking in deep.
Genevieve’s afro is dyed a deep green, and is in a fresh fade with two sharp partings on the right. She no longer wears the face of my ancestor, at least, not entirely; her eyes, nose, and lips are a little bigger. Her irises swallow half her sclera, and all her teeth are just alittlepointed. Her skin is a shade darker and warmer. Goddamn, she’s so fucking handsome.
Those full, unpainted lips quirk, her nostrils flaring. Even under the shade of the gazebo, her brown skin glows in the light of the sun. “Welcome home, omemi.”
I use the stairs on the left; the other is covered in gifts and offerings for my oerhwu ancestor below.
She laughs as I practically fly into the gazebo and jump into her arms, planting a smacking kiss on her lips. Her muscular arms go around my waist, holding me tight. I adjust my position, straddling her properly as we deepen the kiss.
“Hi,” I say when I need to breathe.
