My gratitude starts at the source. To Oga God, Chukwu, the everlasting Creator—it is only what You say that comes to pass. Who can tell God what to do? Agụ bata ọhịa, mgbada awara ọsọ. You are the flood that carries the bridge, the Great Masquerade who dresses and guides Themselves. You are the one who holds my life, have mercy, my stomach is pressed to the sand.
To my deitymother, Ala, the python with the world in her mouth. To my chi, who continues to say yes with the force of a god behind it.
To Yshwa, my chosen senior brother, the son of God with infinite faces, for your endless companionship. To the brothersisters, my beloved siblings, for the maelstrom of love you surround me in, on this plane and the other. To my fatherhusband, the Baron, for letting me live in your palm.
To the nonhumans—Ann Daramola, Eloghosa Osunde, and Jahra Wasasala. Thank you for holding the center with me. I love you to the ends of this embodiment and beyond.
To the spirit-touched humans—Katherine Agyemaa Agard, Tamara P. Carter, Kathleen Bomani, Marguerite Lucerne Agyeman Prempeh, and Daniel José Older. You have my heart. That a book like this can exist is thanks to your unwavering solidarity.
To all the readers who see this work for what it is, who are unfolding beasts that needed these stories, you are worth all the costs. Let the world scatter under your hands.