EXILE - Chapter Sixty-eight

Osisiakalaka was standing barefooted in the verandah of his shrine when he began to feel dizzy. He drained half of the gourd of palm wine in one gulp, grimacing at whatever special flavour the woman in his shrine had filled it with. There was a deadening clunk of wood on wood, and the woman inside the shrine vibrated as the gourd fell from his grip and hit the table. A pulse ran through his skull. Osisiakalaka turned his head, eyes drawn to the palm wine, spattered on the floor. The woman inside his shrine brought a rag and asked for his permission to clean the spilled contents, he allowed her with a stretch of his hand.

As he focused on the woman who crouched childlike on the floor, swinging her arms in rotational motion. There was a gentle sway about her, as if she moved to a rhythm only she could understand and feel. It was enthralling and spellbinding. She sang in hushed whispers as the Igbo words flowed gently from her lips. Osisiakalaka watched and raised his chest, eac