“I left a letter that said I’ll be back,” Sunny said.
“Who are you—the Terminator?” Sasha asked.
Sunny shrugged. “Come on, what could I really say? I’m tired of trying to explain something I can’t explain. And I think my parents are, too.”
“True,” he said. “They’ll be all right.”
“Can you two be quiet?” Chichi said. “I’m trying to think.”
“How hard is it to call a funky train?” Sasha asked. “Draw the vévé with some juju powder, stab it with your juju knife, say the words.” They were standing at the side of the road near a cluster of trees. Orlu was looking up the road. He knelt down and touched the concrete.
“I know how to call a funky train, Mr. Mansplainer,” Chichi snapped. “I just . . . I don’t know what to tell it about our destination. I’ve always known where I was going . . . on some level.”
“Just send the request with a no sabi,” Orlu said. “It’ll take longer to arrive, but at least you won’t have to deal with an angry driver.”
“Hmm, true,” Chichi said. “Good idea.”
Sunny cocked her head. “You’ve had experience with this, eh?”
“When I was little,” Orlu said, laughing.
An uncomfortable hour passed. They hadn’t realized how close they were to a creek and all four of them had to work and rework the “Mosquito Killer,” a juju that they’d created one evening while hanging out in Chichi’s hut when a swarm of mosquitos had blown inside. They’d named it after an annoying Naija rap song Orlu had sung over and over some years ago.
“I dey kill mosquito well well!” Sasha shouted as he did one more flourish to rework the juju yet again. The moment his juju knife touched the dirt (the last part of the juju), the attacking mosquitos popped away from him like reverse shooting stars, and there was a blast of lemon scent. They’d made the juju to be not only effective, but dramatic. Of course, Sunny wished they could have made it also last longer than about ten minutes at a time and give warning when it wore off, but once a juju was made, it could not be edited. And making a juju was no small feat in itself. It had taken hours and energy from all four of them that left them tired for days. It was worth it, though.
“I see it,” Orlu said, pointing up the road. Within a moment, they all did, for the vehicle was coming toward them at breakneck speed and seeming to float on a cloud of electric blue luminescence. Its lithium headlights pierced the darkness, and for a moment Sunny could see she and her friends were standing in a thick cloud of mosquitos and midges. Their “Mosquito Killer” juju was protecting them better than she’d thought.
A brilliant orange with a dented exterior and the phrases NO TIME TO CHECK TIME! and COOL BOY! printed on the side, the funky train pulled up and the door opened. An ancient, bony woman who looked even taller than Sunny sat in the driver’s seat. “Three a.m., standing in a swarm of bloodsucking insects and no idea where you’re going, na be life, o!” she said, laughing.
They rushed in and she quickly shut the door. The funky train was completely empty . . . at least of human beings. However, when it came to insects, that was another story. Ghost hoppers galore! One sat on every seat and even more stuck to the walls and a few on the ceiling. They were hearty, the size of an American football, and a bright red with huge, golden, compound eyes.
“Better than mosquitos and midges,” Sunny said. Sasha sat across the aisle from Chichi, and Orlu gently picked up a ghost hopper from directly beside him so Sunny could sit there. He placed it on the head of the chair, where it crawl-hopped away. When Sunny sneezed loudly, it flew off and landed on the ceiling. If a grasshopper-like creature could glare, it did so at Sunny now. Sunny brought out her tissues as another sneeze began to tickle her nose.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “This annoying allergy. I hate it so much.” Orlu patted her on the shoulder.
“Driver, you have an infestation problem,” Chichi said.
“Eh, they’re just passing through,” the driver said. “It’s ghost hopper migration season.”
They all looked at each other. Orlu was clearly ready to start in with his thousands of questions. Sunny elbowed him. Now wasn’t the time.
“They’ll fly off at dawn,” the driver said. “So are you four joyriding or what?”
“We need to get somewhere, but we don’t know where it is,” Chichi said.
“Ah, and what is the place?”
“The Nimm Village,” Chichi said.
The driver responded, but none of them heard what she said because a ghost hopper beside Chichi suddenly began to sing its wavery song, softly swaying side to side. Chichi glared at it and it sang louder. One jumped onto Sasha’s head and began singing, too, synchronizing its wavery song with the one beside Chichi. Sunny took the moment to turn toward the window and sneeze loudly and blow her nose.
“Sorry,” Chichi shouted. “We can’t . . .”
The driver got up and came to them. She really was tall, maybe around six foot three. “You two got anything to be stressed about? Ghost hoppers sing to people who are stressed out, but you’ve got to have it really strongly for them to sing when migrating.”
Chichi sighed, annoyed. “No.”
“I’m cool,” Sasha said.
The driver picked the ghost hopper off his head and it sang softer. The one beside Chichi followed its cue and soon the five of them could hear each other speak. “Nimm, eh?” The driver eyed Chichi and Sunny. “Ah, those women.”
“Do you know the way?” Chichi asked.
“I don’t.”
“Don’t funky train drivers know all ways?” Sasha asked.
“The Nimm Village is not ‘all ways,’ ” the driver said. “And Nimm women usually travel their own ways.”
“I . . . we haven’t learned that yet,” Sunny said.
“You two are Nimm?”
Chichi and Sunny nodded. Sunny still felt strange about claiming it, but one mere flex of her powerful muscles was all she needed. And the memory of her grandmother.
“Okay,” the driver said, returning to her seat. “I know some of the way.”
“I knew it,” Sasha said.
“But there’s a certain point where you’ll have to guide us.”
“We’ll sort that out when we arrive,” Chichi said.
“Okay, o. Hopefully you will have time to do that.”