I ALWAYS PICTURED DEATH as a winter wind, but heat surrounds me like the oceans of Ilorin.
A gift, I think into the peace and darkness of alâfia. Payment for my sacrifice.
What other reward could there be but an end to an endless fight?
“Mama, Òrìsà Mama, Òrìsà Mama, àwá ún dúp1 pé egb3 igbe wa—”
Voices hum through my skin as the rich sound rings through the blackness. Silver shrouds of light swirl into the darkness, bathing me in their beautiful notes. As the song continues, a snowflake of light falls through the darkness with a voice that sings louder than the others. It leads them in worship and praise, ringing through the shrouds.
“Mama, Mama, Mama—”
The light’s voice is smooth like silk, soft like velvet. It wraps itself around my form, drawing me to its warmth. And though I can’t feel my body, I float through the blackness toward it.
I’ve heard this sound before.
I know this voice. This love.
The song grows louder and louder, fueling the light. It evolves from a snowflake, taking shape before my eyes.
Her feet emerge first, skin black as the night sky. It’s radiant against her red silk robes, rich and flowing on her unearthly form. Gold jewelry drips from her wrists, her ankles, her neck; all highlight the shimmering headdress hanging from her forehead.
I bow as the chorus rings, unable to believe I lie at Oya’s feet. But when the goddess lifts the headdress embedded in her thick mane of white hair, her dark brown eyes make my heart stop.
The last time I saw these eyes they were empty, void of the woman I loved. Now they dance, shimmering tears falling from their lids.
“Mama?”
It can’t be.
Though my mother wore the face of the sun, she was human. She was a part of me.
But when this spirit touches my face, the familiar love spreads through my body. Tears fall from her beautiful brown eyes as she whispers, “Hello, my little Zél.”
Hot tears sting my eyes as I collapse into her spiritual embrace. Her warmth soaks into my being, making every crack whole. I feel all the tears I’ve cried, every prayer I’ve ever sent. I see every time I looked up in our ahéré and wished she sat there, looking back.
“I thought you were gone,” I croak.
“You are a sister of Oya, my love. You know our spirits never die.” She pulls me back and wipes my tears with her soft robes. “I have always been with you, always by your side.”
I clutch at her, as if at any moment her spirit might slip through my fingers. If I’d known she waited for me in death, I would have embraced it, run toward it. With her is everything I ever wanted, the peace she took with her when she died. With her, I’m finally safe.
After all this time, I’m home.
She runs her hands over my braids before kissing my forehead. “You will never know how proud we are of everything you’ve done.”
“We?”
She smiles. “Baba’s here now.”
“He’s okay?” I ask.
“Yes, my love. He’s at peace.”
I can’t blink away the new tears fast enough. I know few men who deserve peace more. Did he know his spirit would end in this grace, beside the woman he loved?
“Mama, Mama, Mama—”
The voices sing louder. Mama holds me again and I breathe in her scent. After all this time, she still smells of warm spices and sauces, the mixtures she brewed in her jollof rice.
“What you did in the temple is unlike anything the spirits have ever seen.”
“I didn’t recognize the incantation.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I did.”
Mama takes my face in her hands and kisses my forehead. “You will learn soon, my mighty Zél. And through it all, I will never leave your side. No matter what you feel, what you face when you think you’re alone—”
“Tzain…,” I realize. First Mama, then Baba, now me? “We can’t leave him,” I gasp. “How do we bring him here?”
“Mama, Òrìsà Mama, Òrìsà Mama—”
Mama’s grip on me tightens as the voices grow louder, almost deafening now. Creases wrinkle across her smooth forehead.
“He doesn’t belong here, my love. Not yet.”
“But Mama—”
“Neither do you.”
The singing voices blare so loudly I can’t tell if they’re praises or screams. My insides twist as Mama’s words hit.
“Mama, no … please!”
“Zél—”
I cling to her again, fear choking my throat. “I want this. I want to stay here with you and Baba!”
I can’t go back to that world. I won’t survive that pain.
“Zél, Orïsha still needs you.”
“I don’t care. I need you!”
Her words grow hurried as her light begins to fade with the chorus of heavenly voices. All around us the blackness brightens, drowning in a wave of light.
“Mama, don’t leave me—Please, Mama! Not again!”
Her dark eyes sparkle as tears fall, their warmth landing on my face.
“It’s not over, little Zél. It’s only just begun.”