/ˌmɑːskəˈreɪd/
‘Masquerade’ refers to the act of wearing masks and costumes to disguise one’s identity and to participate in performances that often carry symbolic meaning.
Eti
Outside my window, the village is in a full celebratory mood. Kids play hide-and-seek amongst the huts that have long been abandoned for houses built with blocks and corrugated roofs; men clutch gourds of palm wine, heading to the mango grove at the village square; and women chatter as they pound into mortars brimming with piping hot yam and stir pots of soup and meat.
This is Christmas in Vati.
And dare I say that I love it.
It’s nothing like the pretentious Christmas lights and trees that line the streets of the city where I school. Where the perfunctory jingle bell tune exudes coldness, the sound of Vati’s young girls clapping and singing pulls you in, pouring warmth into your heart and veins.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror and nod in satisfaction. A girl with eyes the color of coffee, a full head of hair tamed by cornrows, skin so luminous from consistent use of ori, and full lips that look like they were meant to sing lullabies to the moon stares back at me.
I rise from the wooden stool my Pa made for me on my eighth birthday and smooth out the creases in my skirt.
Outside the house, I find Mama and Atam, my sister, who is six years my junior, wrapping pounded yam in banana leaves.
Mama beams up at me like she is watching the sun creep out of the clouds after long days of rain.
“You look good, Eti.”
My aunt, Nause who has come to help Mama cook, bobs her head in agreement, her beautiful teeth all on display.
I find myself mirroring her wide smile.
“Thank you, Ma. I’m headed to Dinne’s house to sew our dresses for the festival tomorrow,” I inform her.
She nods her head as she folds the edges of the banana leaf around the mound of pounded yam. I don’t know if I’ll ever be half as good as her when it comes to this.
“Go well.”
I clutch the bag containing the fabrics Mama got for Atam and me and turn to leave.
“Come back early o. You know how the masquerades get during this period.”
Of course, I do. I have evidence of their cruelty on my body— cane marks on my left arm and leg. I turn away from the house and walk down the familiar dirt path, smiling every time the cool metal brushes my thigh. I wonder which of the masquerades would try to cross me.
Bayi
With a belly full of pounded yam and vegetable soup, I saunter away from the house, leaving Atam to wash the plates alone. I am a man, and washing plates is beneath me. I head to the hideout where my friends and I gather whenever we are up to some mischief or the other. There’s a spring in my steps as I reach the clearing where Fefe and Yose are seated, feasting on roast beef most likely stolen from a neighbor’s kitchen.
“Join us,” Fefe says, pieces of meat flying out of his mouth as he talks.
I crunch my nose at him, my Ma’s words on the tip of my tongue to say.
Do not talk while eating.
But knowing the hothead he is, I swallow my words and sit between my two friends. Fefe pinches a piece of meat and points it towards my mouth.
“Eat.”
“I ate five wraps of pounded yam,” I announce matter-of-factly.
He shrugs and throws the meat into his mouth.
“Mama Weli knows how to cook meat o,” Yose says as he stuffs his mouth with more meat.
“What are you people going to dare me to do?”
A glint touches Yose’s eyes as he licks his fingers.
“I was going to dare you to go to the stream and scare the girls there. But not anymore.”
“So we’ve decided to dare you to steal one of the masquerade’s clothes at the shrine, parade the village with it, and scare people.”
Fear zips through me, but I remain stoic on the outside. I have done unimaginable things like stealing from the most dreadful Gaga’s farm and putting a snake in my mother’s pot of soup. But this is by far the scariest one.
“Are you scared?” Fefe asks when he notices my lack of words.
“No,” I say in the most gruff voice I can muster.
In this friendship group, I am the leader, and I became that by outdoing my friends’ exploits. So if being in the masquerade’s clothes means I remain the leader, I’m going to go above and beyond on this dare.
Eti
“The dress fits perfectly,” Dinne tells me as she meets my eyes in the mirror.
“Uh-huh.” Satisfaction floods me as I take in the two-piece I made within an hour.
I am certainly going to turn a lot of heads tomorrow. I start mimicking the Ciotu dancers who grace the festival every year.
Dinne’s laughter bounces off the walls of her room.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing naaa.”
“You have no dancing bone in that body.”
“Fair enough,” I reply as I peel the clothes off my body. I look out the window and see the sun beginning its descent.
“It’s time to head home.”
Dinne waves my clothes in my face. “What will you do about your clothes?”
I chuckle. “It’s no fault of mine that the palm oil sauce was so tasty and I ended up staining my clothes with it.”
“Eh.” Dinne retrieves a dress from her Ghana-must-go. “You can wear this. I’ll wash your clothes before the next time you come over.”
I collect the dress and my eyes go big when I realize that it’s the dress I have been eyeing for a long time.
I hug her until she swats me away like a fly.
“Thank you, Dinne.”
“I have a feeling I’m not going to get this dress back.”
I hum in response as I shove the dress over my head and pull it down my body. Just like I expected, it fits me like a glove.
“I saw the knife strapped to your thigh,” Dinne tells me as she walks me out of the house.
Dinne doesn’t ask questions. She makes statements and gives me room to agree or disagree. That’s how she and I work.
“I got it from Kaku, the metal smith. You know how the masquerades can be during the festivities.”
She grabbed my hand tightly.
“Just be careful.”
Bayi
It’s hard to breathe in this thing. I never gave breathing much thought until I wore the masquerade clothes.
Fefe claps his hands as I do a dance and turn around severally. I can see it in their eyes. My friends can’t believe that I snuck into the shrine and stole one of the masquerade clothes.
Children gather around me, trying to touch me and Yose throws furtive glances over his shoulder.
He nudges Fefe.
“If we stay around Bayi, people might become suspicious. Let’s go.”
They wave me bye and disappear into a nearby bush.
I brandish my whip and begin to chase the children down a lonely path. While some laugh and run as fast as they can, others cry out for their mothers. They soon run into a house and leave me standing alone on the path that leads to the stream.
I see a girl dressed in a short dress walking towards me. Her head is bowed, making it hard to make out her face in the growing darkness.
It won’t hurt to scare a girl before I return to the shrine, I tell myself as I wave my whip in front of me and approach her.
She stops short, and I can see she’s contemplating going back. She straightens her back and continues to walk towards me. I dart out my whip, and it hits her right on her shoulder.
I expect her to shriek and run for her life as any woman would. But all I see is anger. In the strong set of her shoulders and the way she juts her chin upwards. Something feels weird because her face is shrouded in darkness. I don’t know what she looks like.
It is only when she starts to charge towards me that I realize it is Eti, my sister.
I start to laugh at the fierce image she makes as she shoves me.
I let her overpower me, even though I know that on a normal day, she stands no chance with me.
My back hits the floor with a thud, and just as I prepare to tell her that it’s me, Bayi, her brother, and it’s all a prank, the coldness of a knife dips into my chest.
Again and again and again.
Until my words are stuck in my throat and Eti’s face is covered with my blood.
My laughter and her name on my tongue get stuck somewhere between my chest and the cold blade.
I float out of my body as Eti gasps, scrambles to her feet, and runs off towards the stream.
Nobody will know about today except me, her, and the moon watching over Vati.
Eti
I have heard Mama talk about people who got possessed by spirits. I have never seen one person who was possessed. But maybe. Maybe I got possessed. By anger? Hatred? I don’t know. This isn’t me.
I wouldn’t think of wielding a weapon on a normal day. I am scared of the cockroaches and lizards that crawl through the cracks of the walls in the kitchen. So how could I have done this? An inner voice screamed at me as I stumbled backwards away from the mess I’ve created. I see blood pooling in the sand beneath the masquerade’s still form, and I stagger away, scared that if I don’t run as fast as possible, the blood will trail me and follow me wherever it is I run to.
I take to my heels, running faster than I ever have in my entire life. It feels like I’m one with the wind. Only that the wind is free and guiltless while I’m guilty and fleeing.
I pay no mind to where my feet lead me until I see that I’ve arrived at the Jia river- the river of the goddess of mercy and wrath.
Are the gods trying to punish me?
Fear seizes me and the sight of the masquerade’s blood flashes before my eyes. Without warning, I lean forward into a nearby bush and empty the contents of my belly on the ground.
Everything is happening so fast. I’m crying like a baby deprived of breast milk and crawling to the river, my bag of clothes abandoned on the ground.
‘Water has a way of making things right’ I hear my Pa’s voice in my head.
Maybe I need a dip in the river. Maybe it can make things right.
Eti
I stumble into the compound, my skin cool after taking several frenzied dips in the river. I feel sick. I want to free my belly of its contents again- the cornmeal I had in the morning and the rice and akara I had at Dinne’s.
Just when I bow my head, playing with the idea of relieving myself of this sick feeling, Mama shuffles out of the house, pushing the edge of her wrapper into the tight bundle on her slender waist, as she always does.
“You’re back.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She looks at me intently, and for a second, I fear that she can hear my thoughts and the wild racing of my heart.
“Why are you wearing the dress for the festival?”
I fake a smile and twirl.
“I wanted to show you the dress I made.”
She nods her approval.
“It’s beautiful. I hope Atam’s is just as beautiful.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, walking to the front door.
Just as I pull the curtain aside, Mama’s voice stops me and for the umpteenth time, I fear that she can smell my guilt and knows what I’ve been up to.
“Have you seen Bayi around? He’s yet to return home.”
Why is she asking me? No one ever knows what Bayi is up to, which is usually no good for the most part.
“No.”
Mama tuts disapprovingly. I want to reassure her that it’s Bayi and that returning home late is his second nature. Instead, I find my way to my room, pull out Atam’s dress from the bag that contains my bloodied dress, and squeeze the bag between my mattress and the brick wall.
No one can see it.
I block out the voice that keeps telling me that I’m a killer and lie on the bed.
Sleep is my only escape.
Eti
The sound of the cock crowing isn’t what wakes me. It’s the sound of wailing, chaos, and more wailing. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and hoping it’s a bad dream. Beside me, Atam is sleeping, folded on her side like a fetus in its mother’s womb. Nause, my mother’s sister, rushes into the room and throws herself to the floor.
Panic washes over me, and I draw close to her.
“What is it? What is it?”
“Bayi o! Bayi! Bayi.”
“Where’s Bayi?” Atam asks with a groggy voice as she takes in her surroundings.
“The gods have punished him o! The gods!”
“Where’s Bayi?” I shake her impatiently.
She looks at me dead in the eyes and screams.
“Bayi is dead o! Bayi is dead!”
As if in sync with the women crying outside, Nause’s head hits the floor with a thud and she lets out a shrill scream.
It feels like I have been plunged into the dark depths of the River Yoje, and everything seems to be floating around me.
No, this can’t be true. This can’t be true.
I pull myself off the bed and run outside to find Mama surrounded by wailing women. Papa is standing on the far end of the compound, chin in his hand, staring into space.
Bayi’s dead body is the last thing I see before I fall to the ground and scream.
He lay in masquerade clothes, the mask had been taken off, and for the first time in my life, I saw no smirk or mischievous smile on his face.
The clothes are stained red, and right there in his chest, plunged into his heart, is the knife that I got from the village metal smith.
About the Author
Gladys Kyauta Yahaya is a fourth-year medical student who believes she was born to write. From writing stories for fun in miserly 20-leaf notebooks in primary school, she has fast become an amazing writer who seeks to create worlds and experiences through soulful and in-depth storytelling.
When she’s not crashing out from trying to understand the pathophysiology of diseases, she’s taking pictures of everything and anything and making her mark on Substack – 9jan, that explores the fine art of being Nigerian in every sense of the word.
Feature Image by Jason Florio on PhotosTell