“Not you,” he said. He pointed at DNA. “Him. I don’t know what you have.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. There are times to bite back and times to hold your tongue. He nodded, resting an elbow on his bent knee. He motioned toward us. “Okay, o,” he said. “Good. Sit. Remove your masks. We will talk unhindered.”
I took my gel mask off with a snap, and it immediately shrunk to a palm-sized blob. I touched my face; the skin was soft and damp. We sat across from him, the fire between us. He was indeed a white man, Caucasian. His nose long and narrow, his lips thin, pink and smirking, his smooth head bald, his eyes some color that was not brown, the fire made it hard to tell exactly what color. His pale yet slightly sun-touched skin made him seem to glow in his black robes.
He could have been sixty or three hundred years old. However, it wasn’t his physical features that made me wonder if I should have left the tent flap shut. It was how close he sat to that fire. Even from where we sat, several feet back, it was hot. He was inches from it, his foot maybe two inches.
I could hear DNA whispering to himself beside me in Pulaar. Most likely praying. I chuckled to myself. There was no room or reason for prayer here. Whatever was going to happen to us now would happen, and probably with the permission of the gods.
“D-N-A the herdsman from nowhere,” he said grandly, looking at him. “And A-O the auto mechanic from Abuja.”
“You knew we were coming?” I asked.
He held up something that might have been a very ancient mobile phone. It was small and black, but thick. It looked like a piece of soap. He flipped it open, and its screen was barely a two inch square. “I get messages just like anyone else.” He giggled as he flipped it shut with a loud thock! “They’re coming for both of you, you know?” he said. He sat back, straightening his robes over his bent leg. He wiggled his toes with delight at the fire. He was a tall man, so his feet were large and spatulated. I noticed that they were dusty and his toenails were nicely manicured. So strange. “Ah, yes, I just figured I’d catch up with you two before the rest of Nigeria does.”
“Catch up with us? We came to you,” I said.
“AO,” DNA hissed. “Don’t . . .”
Baba Sola raised a hand. “Let her talk, let her talk, women need to talk. They are most useful when they talk. If we don’t hear them, the universe suffers.” He chuckled, and in that chuckle I knew, despite his words, he looked down his nose at women. He looked down his nose at everyone. “Yes, let this one talk. Yes, you found me. That’s exactly how it went. And the world will find both of you. But not until I am done taking a look and marking this moment. Marking this story.” He raised a hand and suddenly there was a small cigarette in it. No not a cigarette, a joint. He leaned forward and touched it to the fire and then he took a deep pull. He slowly exhaled and the smell filled the tent.
I glanced at DNA and his face was pinched. He clearly wanted to complain and knew he should not. “Are you going to share that?” I asked. DNA stared at me and I shrugged at him. “Bad luck to break the cypher, or so my grandmother said.”
“Your grandmother smoked this stuff?” DNA asked.
I rolled my eyes. Irrelevant things were even more irrelevant in a wizard’s tent.
Baba Sola held it out, and I had to lean onto my knees to get it. I enjoyed marijuana once in a while, especially when I was in pain. And something told me that this was not the kind grown on corporate farms with corporate pesticides and corporate genetic modifications. This would be organic and very kind. DNA gave me a hard look as he watched me bring it to my lips. A joint from a sorcerer in a tent in the middle of a dust storm the day after I’d killed five men with my bare hands. I took a deep deep pull.
The smoke filled my lungs and within seconds, the world bloomed around me. Opulent, vibrant, and churning wilder than the winds outside. Yes, this was wizard’s brew. I exhaled, and it was like I was exhaling the world, new and refreshed. It shifted and turned before me on its own axis. I frowned, unable to look away. I held the joint out to DNA and his frown deepened. “I am a Muslim,” he said, disapprovingly.
“And you’re a murderer in the tent of a wizard,” I told him, my words leaving my lips with the smoke, smooth and cool like water.
“No,” he simply said, and I shrugged. The world was breathing all around me. I inhaled and exhaled and it was like I was breathing with it.
“The world isn’t all about you, AO,” Baba Sola said.