Ura ga-eju onye nwuru anwu afo.

A dead person shall have all the sleep necessary.

Sango coughed and blood came out, this had been happening more often for the past ten minutes. Sango didn’t need to even say it; he was getting worse. He was wearing faded silver clothes that Odion had once seen in the museum. Upon close inspection, it resembled the war garments worn by warriors, way back when.ow do gods die?” Odion asked, with a puzzled expression on his face. Both him and Sango were sitting on the cold hard ground, facing each other. “Can gods even die?”

“What do you know about the nature of gods?” Sango asked while wiping his blood splattered hand on his garment.

“Not much, just bits and pieces from stories I’ve heard,” Odion said.

Sango looked wary, and the more Odion looked at him, the more he saw. His whole entire essence seemed to tell a story. His eyes told the story of a being that had been at war for so long with others and himself. The lines on his face were etched deep and spoke of battles that must have taken place long before Odion was born. Odion looked at the scars on his arms and legs and they too shouted, practically screamed a message that was as clear as the dull grey eyes staring at him. He was stronger than anything that had ever been thrown at him. That no matter the danger of his foe, no matter the cost, this was someone who always came out fighting.

How then, was he bleeding out on the floor in front of him?

Sango looked at Odion with an intense gaze and seemed to read his mind. “Gods are powerful, yes. But we are mere manifestations, embodiments of the stories you humans cultivated. So, boy, I ask you, what happens when the humans who created the story stop believing in it? What happens when the humans stop believing in the gods? We were already beginning to weaken and we knew it, we were at the edge of nothingness and we wholly accepted it, we had all existed for so long. But then the war happened and we were all robbed of the quiet farewell we were hoping for.”

Sango had stopped talking and Odion knew he should say something but the question kept ringing in his ears. What happens when the humans stop believing in the gods?

“What was the war about?” Odion finally asked. “Why were you fighting? You’re all Orisha, why would you all be fighting?”

Sango cocked his head to the right, the way his father sometimes did—or rather, used to do when he was looking for the best way to say something incredibly important. “We were not fighting amongst ourselves, we were fighting Amadioha and his ilk. We were fighting the gods of the Igbo people.”

A dull throbbing started to form at the sides of Odion’s head. This was too much to process. “But…how is that possible? How can they be—”

“Real?” Sango asked. “You ask how they can be real while having a conversation with an ancient deity your ancestors themselves worshipped. When I spoke to you about gods, did you think it was limited to only the Yoruba people? They are all alive, the gods. Some more…active than others.” As he said this, he looked towards the west in a rather accusatory manner.

Odion was glad he was sitting down, he didn’t think he could stand and still comprehend this kind of information.

“But why were you fighting? What was so important?” Odion asked.

“What do you know of the 1966 pogrom,” Sango asked. As soon as he said this, Odion was taken four years into the past, back when his mum used to teach him history at home. Now though, he wished he’d listened more.

“What’s that?” Odion replied, confused.

Sango bore the look of a teacher, tired of explaining things over and over again. He launched into a coughing fit, this one more violent than the last and with a lot more scarlet blood.

“This was a time before Nigerians had heard of the idea of unity. The rest of Nigeria already thought they were a proud people and their gods were even more so. They were then held with popular contempt. The relationship between them and the rest of Nigeria was already strained, then came the failed coup—”

“Oh, I know about that one. The infamous 1966 coup where eleven politicians died and Abubakar Balewa was overthrown.” Odion said, happy to be able to follow the narrative for once.

Sango looked shocked that Odion knew this but he continued. “Yes, it was also one of the events that led to the Nigerian Civil War. But more importantly, in the aftermath of this act, the northerners launched an anti-Igbo pogrom.” Odion didn’t like where this was going. “Blood calls for blood, they said. Close to fifty thousand innocent Igbo people were killed in cold blood. They had done nothing wrong and yet they were cut down like Iroko trees. Some people back then were still loyal to tradition and still worshipped their old gods, they cried for them day and night. Amadioha heard these cries and wanted to help, he wanted to save his people. But such is not the way of the gods. We Orisha watched all this unfold but there was nothing we could do. Gods were not to meddle in the lives of mortals, it is not our place to do so. And we had to stop any and every being who wanted to place their hands in the business of humans.”

“So what happened next?” Odion said, interested in the story.

“Amadioha planned to wipe out the northerners and save his people.” Sango said, his voice low and cold. He was also placing his arm around his wound almost as if his body were remembering the events also. “I went to try to converse with him, make him change his mind. I did not know that the others followed me to his kingdom, all with unseen rage in their eyes. They laid waste to his palace and we all went back and celebrated, we thought we’d won. But we had kick-started a war that would seem to go on for eternity. We have been fighting since then, each side trying to be the winner but in truth, we all lost. Some just more than others.” Sango sounded sad and drained of energy, and for the first time, Odion notice a pale blue pearl necklace that hung on Sango’s neck. He was holding it, thumbing it with each of his fingers, as if he were a catholic saying a silent prayer. “We could’ve fought for centuries but something happened in the last battle, the one in which I was injured this badly.” He said this as he gestured to his side. “I felt weak and tired, almost as if my very essence was being sucked by some unknown malevolent force.

“Something was happening and I didn’t know, I fell from the skies both from the injury and my weakened state. It seemed like the others fell too but I would not know.”

“They...fell?” Odion asked.

“Yes they did.” Sango answered with a groan, his wound was becoming worse. “But the war is far from over, something is happening, someone is doing this and now it is upon your shoulders to find them and put a stop to this.”

“Me?” Odion said, pointing to himself incredulously. “Why me? I’m an average boy who lives in Lagos, I know nothing of your world.”

“Odion,” Sango said in a voice that was both stern and kind, though Odion didn’t remember ever telling him his name, “it was no coincidence I fell here, you are more than you know and stronger than you seem. There are things that have happened to you. Tragedies you have faced and you will face many more. Right now, I present you with a choice: find who is doing this and save your world because if this force succeeds, they will not stop, they will go to other lands, kill other gods, seed distrust and anarchy. They will not stop until this world is nothing but an empty husk. I can tell you that much. You can do that or you can walk away and pretend you never saw me; you can leave all this behind with the knowledge you have now.”

His mother’s words seemed to resonate in his entire body. It all happens in one moment, just one. When we’re called to action, called to be heroes, called to be more. We all get the call, so the question isn’t whether or not it’ll come. The question is, when the call comes, will we be brave enough to answer it?

He was about to give his answer when Sango launched into yet another coughing fit, this time his whole body wretched. He was coughing for about a minute and in that time, he didn’t look quite like a thunder god who fought countless battles, he just looked like a frail old man.

Odion didn’t know what came over him but he stood and reached for Sango’s arm in an attempt to help him but as soon as his finger’s touched Sango’s skin, the world tilted and suddenly, they weren’t in a cold, dark alley anymore. The world seemed brighter now, with a goldish tint. He looked around to find that he was in some sort of throne room. He looked down at his hands and he wasn’t even himself anymore. His once lean arms had been replaced by masculine muscles, he reached towards his face and found a full beard. What was going on?

Suddenly a beautiful woman came in, she was dressed in a pale blue dress of some sorts and her eyes seems to appeal to every cell of his body. She spoke in the sweetest voice he had ever heard. “My husband, are you ready to go? Your supplies for the trip are ready.”

Odion reached back and he was back in the alleyway and his heart was racing. What had just happened? It had felt so real, it was like a dream but more immersive, what was that? He moved away from Sango who looked like he had expected it to happen and from the expression on his face, something told Odion that he had felt it too.

Of all the things that could have been said at that moment, Sango asked only one question.

“So what will it be, young one. Will you run or will you fight?”