Where Is Yande?

Ife, Northwest Africa

The room had no windows. There was only one lantern that burned. On the floor, she sat chained to the wall by her right wrist and right leg. She muttered repeatedly. She tried to get the walls to rattle. She tried to get the shackles to break. She tried to see a vision. She listened for her great-grandmother’s voice but to no avail...her powers were not working.

The door opened. She looked left and saw the woman’s long toned legs. Her skin was dark as the night sky. She wore traditional Yoruba garments. The woman stared at Yande in amazement, “Finally. I have been waiting for this moment ever since your mother left Ife seventeen years ago.”

Yande glared at the woman.

She chuckled no need to try and use your amazing gifts on me, child. In this room, the walls are made with dark crystals to protect us from your magic. You will not be able to do anything as long as I keep you in this room, eh.”

Yande shook her head. Nneka walked closer. She grabbed a chair and sat in front of her, “You are fascinating. You look exactly like your mother. Yet you have pale skin like your father and his eyes. And...you have the powers that should have been given to my daughter. Your mother had no right to take my blessing.”

When Nneka became pregnant. She ensured the other women stayed celibate. The high priestess would come to the village and bless a pregnant witch’s child with amazing gifts. It only happened once every ten years.

Nneka made sure that no one else was having sex so she could be the only option when the ceremony took place. That night, as the women stood in a circle dressed in white linens and their faces were marked with designs in white paint, she waited for the high priestess to call out her name.

The woman stood in the center of the circle. She prayed in Yoruba as loud drumming ensued. She made an undulating sound. Her eyes turned white. Her body jerked. Then it was quiet. She smiled as the Gods and her ancestors gave her the name of the woman who was pregnant with the child destined to carry the powers of the most powerful witch.

Nneka’s heart raced. She waited for her name. The woman spoke, “Aminata Mbengue,” she walked over to Aminata and cut her hand with a blade. Blood dripped from Aminata’s hand. The woman cut her hand and touched it to Aminata’s.

Nneka stood watching with her jaw on the floor. Rage burned inside her. As everyone congratulated Aminata, Nneka fought to keep her composure. She walked over to where Aminata stood with Adefolake, “I suppose you and the pale face did more than share a kiss.” She walked off angrily.

Adefolake looked at Aminata, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay here tonight. We must leave.”

“Did you see something?”

Adefolake sighed, “I don’t have to use my gift to see that Nneka wants you dead.”

Aminata sighed, “You’re right.”

“Do you speak, child?” she asked mockingly.

“Sim eu falo,” she replied in Portuguese.

Nneka grabbed her face, “You expect me to believe your mother did not teach you to speak Yoruba?”

Yande jerked her head away, “Bẹẹni, Mo sọrọ. mo si le ja,” she replied in Yoruba, “Yes, I speak, and I can also fight.”

Nneka grinned, “I’m sure you are a skilled fighter. Your mother was one of the best. She was never better than me. That is why I was the leader. I am not going to fight you. I want to make your pale-faced father pay pounds of gold and silver for your safe return. And once I collect all my riches, I will drain your blood and eat your heart to see if whatever gifts you have can be transferred to me.”

Yande scoffed, “You know that’s not how it works.”

She shrugged, “Then I will just have fun draining the life from you and hearing your mother scream when she sees your lifeless body.” She smiled.

The door opened. Kwento entered, “How is the girl?”

“She is fine.”

Yande looked at the man. The man caressed her with his eyes. “Our daughter would be the same age.”

“You have a daughter?” Yande asked.

“She died during childbirth,” he responded.

“That is none of her concern. How is Max?”

“He is good. He went for a walk.”

“Good. Have the servants prepare this girl a meal, nothing too special. And bring her some water.”

He nodded and left the room. She turned to Yande. “You lost your child. I am sorry. But don’t you think holding a grudge against my mother for something that happened nearly two decades ago is petty?”

She scoffed, “It is because of what your mother did...my daughter....my daughter. My daughter should have had those gifts. Maybe she wouldn’t have been born with the curse.”

Yande grimaced, “What kind of curse?”

Nneka stood, “I’ll have the servants bring your food.” She left abruptly.

******

The water flowed over the rocks as he stood naked. He leaned over, gathered water in his hands, and wet his jet-black hair. He was barely fifteen years old. A handsome young man. As he enjoyed the coolness of the water, he heard a sound. The rustling of leaves. He looked around. After searching for several seconds, he was satisfied that it had to be some animal.

He walked toward the bank and stepped out of the water where his clothes were. He had a heavy cloth that he used to dry himself before getting dressed. Just as he was done, he heard a voice very clear, as if someone was standing next to him speaking.

“Maximus Ali, son of Dominic Ali and Nneka Oyagbola.”

He gulped and reached for his sword, “Who is there?” he asked apprehensively.

“I am your ancestor.”

He squinted, “You are dead then?”

“I am no longer of this earthly realm.”

He shook his head. He closed his eyes and began to pray. Maximus grew up in Rome. His father owned lands in Rome; they were Christian. Whenever he heard the voices, he’d pray.

After he said, “Amen.” He opened his eyes.

“I’m still here, Maximus. I am always with you whether you want me or not.”

“Why are you in my head? This isn’t real.”

“This is real. Yoruba is in your blood. You have come to your mother’s homeland...our connection is so much stronger here. You have a sister.”

“A sister?”

“Max! Max!” he heard a voice.

He looked around. Kwento appeared, “Whom were you talking to?”

“Me? Talking?”

Kwento’s head tilted, “Your mother wants you to return to the house to eat.”

He nodded and went with Kwento.

When they returned, Nneka kissed his cheek, “How was your walk?”

He sat at the table, “It was fine. When will we return to Rome?”

She hesitated, “Rome? This is our home now.”

He shook his head, “I can’t live here. My father wanted me to run the vineyards in Rome. That is my birthright.”

She sighed, “Yes. I know. But you are not quite old enough to be on your own, and I won’t feel comfortable with you living in Rome by yourself until you are at least seventeen years old.”

He grabbed a piece of bread and bit into it. Kwento sighed as he looked at Nneka. The sound of their bellies being fed was the only thing heard until Max broke the silence, “Mother, do you have any other children?”

She paused, “You are my only child.”

“Your mother and I had a daughter,” added Kwento.

“You never told me this, Mother,” said Max as he looked at her. It was amazing how much he looked like his father with his dark copper skin, thick eyebrows, the cleft in his chin, and the beginnings of a nice beard and mustache.

She remained silent.

“She died at birth,” said Kwento.

Max nodded. He reached for his mother’s hand. She stood and left the table. Max looked at Kwento, “I should not have brought it up.”

Kwento touched his shoulder, “It’s all right, Max. The pain of losing a child never gets easy. There are still nights when I wonder what she would have looked like. She would be seventeen years by now. I am sure she would be every bit as beautiful as your mother and have her strong spirit.”

Max smiled. His mother was a strong woman. “I would like to visit her grave. Bring flowers and pray.”

“I shall take you there. Today.”

*****

Aminata spent all day asking questions around town about Nneka. She asked about the men causing terror in the village. And she inquired about Enofe. After not discovering any useful information, Aminata broke down and cried. Joaquin’s heart hurt. It brought back the terrible memories of how they fled all those years ago. This time, Nneka outsmarted them and had their daughter. He felt helpless, but he didn’t want to break down.

“Why can’t I see anything? Why can’t I sense her?” Aminata questioned helplessly, “I have always had a strong connection to Yande, and right now...I feel nothing. What if?”

“You must not think that way. You can’t,” insisted Adefolake, “Let’s go see a high priestess.”

Aminata agreed. So they went to find one in the area.

******

Unbeknownst to Nneka, Kwento took Max to town. There they encountered stories about people looking for a missing girl. Kwento quickly pulled Max away from the gossiping villagers. “A girl is missing here. She is a noble with Portuguese blood.”

Kwento huffed, “Maybe the Portuguese should stay out of Ife. When the pale face come to Ife...all they do is bring trouble.”

Max looked at Kwento, “My father had a pale face. He had Roman blood. So are you saying that all men with white skin are bad men?”

Kwento repented. Even though that’s how he felt...he didn’t want to make Max feel bad, “I am sorry young Max. I should not have said that. Let’s continue our journey; we are close.”

Max had a basket of flowers in hand. They continued to the forest and found the simple grave site where his sister was buried.

Kwento became emotional, “My only child.”

Max laid the flowers on the grave and began to pray. Kwento stood by listening. But as he stood there, he saw a figure staring at him. One of his men signaled to get his attention. Once Max finished his prayer, he informed Max that he needed to relieve himself and that he’d return shortly.

Max stood thinking. Almost anticipating. “Maximus,” he heard.

“You again.”

“Yes. I am your grandmother Ayotunde.”

He remained silent. Then he sighed, “Why do you speak to me? I told you I do not believe in such things.”

She chuckled, “You do not have to believe in such things for them to be.”

“What do you want?”

“I am here to guide you. I have tried many times to guide your mother. She has been forever with a hard head. She has not listened. Her fate is sealed. I cannot protect her anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sister lives.”

He shook his head in disbelief, “Kwento said she died.”

“No, she lives. She is here in Ife and has been since your mother left her to die in these woods.”

“My mother would never—”

“Max! Come,” Kwento’s voice sounded.

Max saw Kwento. He looked anxious. Max looked at the little makeshift gravesite. He looked around. He made a mental note of where he was.

“Let’s go,” Kwento said before he marched off.

Max nodded. Suddenly, he had questions.