Divine mischief and midnight reflection

Chapter 21

Bayo returned home, enveloped by the evening's embrace, his steps weighed down by the day's burdens. The familiar streets seemed to play the hide-and-seek game, mirroring his turmoil. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one a thread in the intricate tapestry of his concerns.

With a plan simmering in his mind, Bayo entered his modest dwelling. Bayo found a matchbox in the cluttered items in the kitchen, a testament to many hurried departures and late returns. His brow furrowed as he pieced together the silent mischief of his uninvited housemate. "I had left this here," he started in Yoruba, the sentence hanging unfinished in the air, an acknowledgment of the rodent's audacity. The frustration bit at him, yet he held back the impulse to lash out at the inanimate kitchen, sparing what little remained intact.

The stove — a relic of better times — came to life with a reluctant flame. Atop it, Bayo set to work, crafting ogbono soup with the care of an artist. It was a dish that sang of home, a culinary embrace to soothe the soul, destined to be paired with amala's comforting heft.

As the meal came together, Bayo's thoughts turned to Èsù, the trickster whose invisible hand seemed to stir the pot of his misfortunes. 'What do you want from me?' he pondered, the question hanging unanswered as he plated his dinner. The amala settled into the soup, a perfect union that some chose to divide. Memories of his father's rebukes echoed, the word 'uncultured' a ghost from past arguments. With a heavy sigh, Bayo scanned the room for the deity, but Èsù remained elusive. 'Is ogbono not to your taste?' he mused, half in jest, half in challenge, as the silence around him thickened with the night.

The hour stretched further, testing Bayo's patience as the evening's chill crept into his meal. Bayo cleansed his hands to savor the food patiently waiting for him. But as he reached out, the plate shifted ever so slightly, as if nudged by an unseen force, and Èsù's voice, solemn yet tinged with mischief, filled the room. "Beware the bones you offer to your gods," he intoned, a ripple of dark laughter threading through his words.

Èsù materialized from the shadows, his form coalescing as the soup and amala slowly vanished before Bayo's eyes. "All these meats going to waste in America, and you choose none?" Èsù's voice was light, almost teasing, despite his apparent ignorance of the cost of such luxuries. He sighed, a sound like the hiss of a flame extinguished, and regarded Bayo with a mix of amusement and reprimand.

Èsù smirked, his eyes holding Bayo's with the weight of unspoken lessons, a silent challenge in their depths. As Bayo gathered his thoughts, Èsù's laughter broke the tension, a sound rich with irony. "What do you suppose happens," he mused, his voice a blend of solemnity and jest, "when you entangle Èsù with the Americans?" The pause that followed carried expectation, Èsù's playful gaze inviting Bayo to venture an answer to the riddle he had spun.

Bayo's frustration boiled over as he defiantly scowled at Èsù. "You get nothing," he retorted sharply, "for Americans hold themselves to higher standards." His anger was palpable, a storm beneath the calm of his exterior.

Èsù's smirk widened, his eyes alight with the dance of one who knows more than he lets on. "Ah, young Ade," Èsù mused, his gaze shifting thoughtfully, "caught in a silent struggle against forces unseen." His words were a feigned empathy, a mask over the void of his indifference. Èsù leaned in as if to share a secret, his voice a melody of riddles. "Life, it's akin to chocolate," he began, pausing as he cleared the remnants of the meal from the plate. Èsù, seemingly indifferent to Bayo's piercing gaze, spoke with a casual air, "It's fleeting for those who indulge," his voice trailing off, leaving the words to linger in the air like the delicate aroma of a dessert, inviting Bayo to savor the underlying truth of life's transient pleasures.

Bayo's frustration simmered beneath the surface, a silent question hanging in the air. Was he not entitled to the simple pleasure of his meal? His thoughts veered, seeking a new course. "Baba Èsù," he began, his voice a careful blend of inquiry and reluctant reverence, "I sought answers today, yet I found my path obstructed." The accusation lay unspoken, the genuine name on the tip of his tongue.

Èsù's smile was a sly curve, his amusement clearer than the morning sun. "And who," he teased, eyes narrowing with feigned concern, "would dare to vex you so?" Èsù complex thoughts, unspoken.

A knot formed in Bayo's chest, the mockery not lost on him. The tormentor's identity was no mystery; who else but Èsù would take such perverse pleasure in his plight? Bayo's expression was a tumult of emotions, a silent lament for his helplessness, his supposed power now a source of anguish rather than aid.

Èsù, ever indifferent to Bayo's inner storm, conjured a toothpick and began a leisurely ritual of cleaning his teeth. "Young Ade," he sighed, the pretense of sympathy draped over his indifference like a thin veil, "it seems some trifling force has been your undoing." With a casual flick of his wrist, a pot of soup and a bowl of amala materialized, floating as if by magic.

Bayo rose, anger flaring at Èsù's mischief. 'Have I not already offered enough?' he seethed inwardly, his heart racing, his vision clouded by the rush of emotion. He berated himself for the folly of his plan, and the laughter that bubbled highlighted madness. His gaze hardened as he faced Èsù. "Baba Èsù," he said, the words heavy with resignation, "at least do not hinder me if you won't help me." His fist clenched a silent vow to face whatever fate might bring. "I have reckoned with death; let us see what bargain it offers."

Bayo stood, his posture rigid with a resolve that seemed to challenge the very air around him. Èsù, with a lazy motion, savored the last morsels of the meal, his eyes flicking to Bayo with a hint of admiration. 'The man can cook,' he conceded silently, though he deemed it Bayo's sole redeeming trait amidst a sea of grievances.

Bayo's barely contained fury contrasted with Èsù's indifference, his body tense as if ready to unleash a storm upon those who vexed him. Èsù's smile, enigmatic and elusive, only fueled Bayo's confusion. "Ease your spirit, Young Ade," Èsù's voice was light, almost soothing, yet it carried an undercurrent of something more. With a casual gesture, the remnants of the feast vanished, reappearing on the countertop, a silent taunt for Bayo to behold.

"I am here to assist," Èsù continued, his gaze flitting away, betraying a reluctance to reveal more. "Our paths are not so dissimilar," he added, meeting Bayo's glare with a cryptic smile.

Bayo's response was a low growl of dissent. "I walk no path with you," he declared, his trust in Èsù eroded by the deity's arbitrary ways.

Rising from the sofa, which sighed in relief, Bayo's disdain for Èsù's antics grew. The deity's presence, though ethereal, seemed intent on leaving a trail of ruin in its wake. Why, Bayo wondered, did Èsù insist on meddling with the tangible remnants of his life?

Èsù, as if wrestling with unspoken words, shook his head. "I must attend to other matters," he said, and with that, he disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

Bayo's bewilderment was palpable. 'Is that all?' he thought, grappling with the abrupt departure. Èsù had devoured his meal, his portion no less, and vanished without an explanation. As Bayo faced the stark reality of his situation, Èsù's voice, laced with mischief, echoed a parting thought, "The morrow holds promise," followed by a chuckle that seemed to mock the uncertainty of the future.

Bayo's hand clenched a silent symbol of his inner turmoil. "What of the morrow?" he pondered. The task of retrieving the Ase and Ori, divine elements seized by Olodumare, weighed heavily upon him. Èsù's antics only served to fan the flames of his frustration. With each passing moment, Bayo felt the sands of time slipping away, the next day's challenges mounting like a cliff before him. The library awaited, its tomes a testament to his impending fate, and without the aid of his orisha's power, the specter of expulsion loomed ever closer.

In the quiet of his kitchen, Bayo faced the aftermath of Èsù's feast. With a resigned tsk, he reached for the garri, its simplicity starkly contrasted with the evening's earlier opulence. Water met cassava, the spoon stirring life into the humble meal. A dash of salt and the garri became his solace, a modest end to a day fraught with divine mischief. As for what lay ahead, Bayo left it to the dawn, his thoughts already turning to the trials that awaited him.

Author's note:

-Ase: a Yoruba concept that signifies the power to make things happen and produce change.

- Ori: a Yoruba concept that refers to one's spiritual intuition and destiny.

-Garri short for Granulated cassava or Cassava granules): a processed cassava root to flour.

Ogbono soup is a draw-soup.

Amala is a staple swallow food made of yam, cassava flour, or unripe plantain flour.

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