Two days before the wedding, Yaya’s dining room was overtaken with bodies trying on their gowns. Husseina watched them, reflecting on how different these women were. Some of them threw off their clothes in front of everyone; others hid themselves in corners to delicately peel off their clothes. They all spoke Portuguese freely and yet some of them were as dark as night; some were like her sister Hassana’s red; others were the light colour of shea butter. She found each of them beautiful as she sat on the floor, watching them parade in front of Yaya after they’d put on their clothes. The ones who’d easily thrown off their clothes strutted back and forth like male guinea fowl, with their chests out. The quieter girls looked at their feet. She knew she was like these quiet women, and while she understood their shyness, seeing it from the other side made her uncomfortable. She wanted to tell them to be bolder, that they too were beautiful—no less so than their bold sisters.
Suddenly, one of them shrieked, setting off all the other girls. Everyone hopped from one foot to the other, as if the ground were made of crocodiles, and Husseina hopped, too, her body pocking over in fear, her old friend. They all rushed to the corner of the dining room and the one who had screamed pointed. A black and gold python curled in on itself on her dress. It was at once bewitching and frightening and, at first, it seemed harmless. Then it uncurled itself and wagged its tail. The snake raised its head, its forked tongue sliding in and out of its grey mouth, as it started to glide forward towards the girls. One of the girls screamed again, and fear gripped Husseina’s belly and legs.
“Everyone, to the ceremony room,” Yaya said and repeated in Portuguese.
The girls fled to the narrow doorway, pushing themselves through and screaming. A few of them scraped elbows and arms in the scramble. She looked back and the creature had moved to the wall. How had it come in?
Yaya closed the door between the two rooms and sent Tereza to get one of the drummers who lived down Bamgbose Street to come and remove the snake. The girls kept rubbing their arms and shaking their bodies, as if the snake had crept over them. Husseina remembered that her father had said that snakes were their family’s symbol, so he didn’t make shoes out of their skin. Snakes were supposed to be protective of their family, but now she felt only fear. She, like the other girls, wanted the snake gone.
Even though Yaya told him to take the creature out without killing it, the drummer came armed with a sharp shovel and said it could have been there because of bad medicine. When he opened the door, Husseina pushed her way to the front. She didn’t understand why she was both attracted to and repelled by the creature. When she saw the drummer thrust down his shovel at the snake’s head, she closed her eyes. As she opened them, the snake’s body uncoiled and coiled back in a circle. The drummer thrust his shovel at the head again, his back covered in beads of sweat. The snake stopped moving, and the drummer picked up the body and asked for a basket to take it out. Yaya sent Husseina to the kitchen.
“It could have been good meat,” he said, when she handed him the basket.
“Why isn’t it good meat any more?” Husseina asked, following him.
“You don’t eat bad juju. Anyone using pythons is doing powerful medicine.”
“What would it have done to us?”
“Bitten you or strangled you to death. It could have changed into a person.”
Husseina shivered. Who would it have changed into? They had experienced such warm, amusing moments only minutes before the snake made its appearance. It made her itch with annoyance how life was never steady. Good times never seemed to last.
As much as Husseina enjoyed staring out of her window, she looked forward to the ceremonies in Yaya’s house even more. Mostly because the food was rich. There were boiled eggs and stewed chicken, but also people were always nice when they came to the temple. She’d never met anyone who wore a squeezed face during a ceremony and yet there were people whose lives were not easy, Tereza had told her. One woman had lost many babies. Another man’s home flooded every time the rains came. Despite these things, they seemed to smile the brightest during the ceremonies. When Husseina asked why, Tereza said it was the axé, the life force, of the temple and of Candomblé. Life was allowed to just be.
One evening, one of the attendants walked in with a smelly male goat just before the ceremony began, and Yaya asked Husseina not to come into the ceremony hall. Instead, she sat outside, a thing she hadn’t done since moving into Yaya’s home, and watched the people of Bamgbose Street come and go. It was different watching them from her window and being at the same level with them down on the stoop. Upstairs, she almost felt invincible. She could spit on someone’s head and they wouldn’t even realize it. Down here, she tried to be as invisible as she could. A mother and her children hurried by, the children in scraps of clothing. Then a herd of cattle loitered on the street, their long horns hitting each other, some of them white, others spotted black and white. They took their time to leave the street, so much so that they didn’t leave her room to notice who was standing behind them. Husseina gasped. Why had she been foolish?
“As my people say, every day for the thief, one day for the master,” he said, coming closer till he towered over her.
Husseina wanted to scream, but fear clamped her mouth shut. As if Baba Kaseko knew she would scream, he put his leathery fingers over her mouth.
“Tell your old lady that more is coming her way. You don’t steal from Baba Kaseko just like that. You are all going to fall sick. You’ll be fine one minute; the next you will hold your belly. Next time, think before you cross me. Tell that Aguda woman of yours. She took my property and expects me to forget? I’ve sent things you can see—those were your warnings. What I have for you now will take you by surprise.”
Then it hit Husseina: the ants, the rat, the snake, they were all Baba Kaseko’s medicine. She got up and ran inside, burst into the ceremony room without thinking—just then, the drummer who had killed the snake was running a knife across the goat’s neck. He slit the furry neck, and out of it burst bubbles of blood. The creature screeched so loudly, Husseina thought it was a person. Yaya Silvina stood up and began singing. Husseina shut the door loudly and ran upstairs. She checked her bed to make sure it was ant-free. She slid under her cover cloth. The day was like a nightmare with no escape. She curled herself into a ball. Back in Botu, when her father disappeared, a sacrifice was held for him, but she hadn’t attended it, because children weren’t allowed to partake in them. She was glad they’d kept her away because she wasn’t ready for any of that.
Husseina’s thoughts were racing. Was she in trouble for seeing the sacrifice? How would she bring up Baba Kaseko to Yaya? Would she have to go back to him? Otherwise what would he do next? There was no way Husseina wanted to go back to him. She would rather stay with Yaya and take whatever Baba Kaseko sent their way. She was sure Yaya was powerful, especially after the scene she’d just witnessed.
Heavy thuds on the landing stopped her thoughts. Yaya opened the door and shuffled in. She sank her hips on to Husseina’s bed.
“Am I in trouble?” she wanted to blurt out, but the words didn’t want to leave her mouth.
“I told you not to come inside,” Yaya said, searching Husseina’s eyes.