Chief Alaba's Plan

Chief Folarin Alaba owned fourteen buildings in Ajegunle and wanted the rest.

He was a smooth, sleek, round-bellied man in a lace agbada, with a gold tooth and a smile like warm oil. He drove a white Hummer. He had two wives and a third in prospect. Every first of the month he rode through the lanes with a driver and a bodyguard, collecting rent from forty families, and every month the rent went up.

"It is the market," he would say, gently. "I cannot help it."

On the morning after Mama Agba's burial, he came knocking at the salon.

"Madam Bisola." He stood in the doorway with his hands folded. "My condolences."

"Thank you, Chief."

"She was a wonderful woman. A pillar. Ajegunle will not be the same." He stepped inside. The three girls braiding at the back looked up and went quiet. "I came to discuss your rent."

"It was paid."

"For this month. But there is a... a revision."

"Revision?"

"A modest one." He took a folded paper from his sleeve. "The shop is to go from fifty thousand a month to two hundred."

Bisola's blood ran cold. "Two hundred thousand naira?"

"Plus a deposit."

"That's four times..."

"It is the market."

"It is a robbery."

"It is business." He smiled. "You may of course choose to leave. The block is to be redeveloped. A shopping centre. A parking structure. A cinema." His eyes gleamed. "All the tenants will receive a notice."

"A notice for what?"

"Eviction." He said it as sweetly as a lover. "Thirty days."

The shop was silent. The fan whirred. Down the lane, a goat screamed and a woman shouted. Bisola stared at the Chief's gold tooth. She wanted to hit him with a hot comb.

"You can't do that. The land belongs to my grandmother."

"Belonged," said Chief Alaba.

"It's in our family."

"Your grandmother, God rest her, held it on a lease. I bought the lease from the original owner. I have the papers." He tapped the sleeve. "I am a patient man. I waited until she passed. Out of respect."

"You vulture."

"A businessman." He gave a tiny bow. "Good day, Madam."

He left. Bisola stood frozen, hands clenched. The girls looked at her with enormous eyes.

"Madam Bisi," whispered one. "What do we do?"

"I don't know."

"We could protest."

"They'll beat us."

"We could go to the police."

"He owns the police."

"We could pray."

"Prayer," said Bisola grimly, "is not currently working."

That night she climbed to the roof again. The calabash lay in her lap. She turned it over and over, as if the answer might be written on the inside. "Come out," she said. "Come on. I know you're there."

Nothing.

"Mama said you serve me. So serve. I need help."

A gentle cough. Beside her, on the parapet, sat a small black cat. It had a white splash on its chest and one torn ear. It regarded her with unblinking green eyes.

"I do not serve," said the cat. "I advise."

Bisola jumped. "You talk!"

"Naturally."

"What are you?"

"I am Kekere, familiar of the house of Adu." The cat licked a paw. "Your grandmother's cat. I am four hundred years old. I am extremely wise. And extremely hungry."

"Hungry?"

"There is a fish in the freezer. I have been dropping hints for six days."

She stared. Then she began to laugh. She laughed until she was crying, and the cat watched her with polite disapproval.

"Are you finished?"

"I think so."

"Good. Let us discuss the Chief."

"Can you stop him?"

"I cannot. I can only advise. The power resides in you." The cat's eyes narrowed. "There is a rite. Very old. The Calling of the Keepers. If you perform it, the spirits of the street will awaken. They will protect the lanes. They will drive off intruders. But there is a cost."

"What cost?"

"A witch must give something of herself." The cat paused. "Your grandmother gave her voice, for three years. Your great-grandmother gave her sight, for a month. You will be asked to choose."

"What would I give?"

"That depends on what you value."

She thought. She thought of her hands, which made her living. She thought of her eyes. Her voice. Her memory.

"What would you give?" she asked.

"My ninth life," said Kekere. "But I am a cat. We are cheap."

Bisola smiled. She scratched him behind the torn ear, and he purred, despite himself. "I'll think about it."

"Do not think long. The bulldozers arrive in a week."

"A week?"

"I have been in the Chief's office." The cat's tail twitched. "I read the schedule. It is an excellent filing system."