TWENTY-SIX-A SPIRIT CHILD 2.

“I told you it was going to rain.” 
Nkemu said, scrambling up a pear tree, his thin hand unable to wrap around the thick trunk, held on to the sides in a way that made him appear to stick unnaturally to the tree. He moved like a frog through cocoyam leaves, his legs angling exactly like a frog’s. 
“Nobody was arguing with you for Chi's sake.” 
Amara rolled her eyes from the ground where she was resting against a different pear tree. 
“But I could see you both looking at me with doubt.” 
“You and your ancestors were looking at you with doubt. Anyone with a nose could smell the rain from miles.” 
Amara told him, Oma giggled from a third tree. 
“I don’t know why you like to argue over nothing. Nobody would argue with you, but you would still argue.” 
Amara said, glaring from under the tree, the pattering sound of heavy rain fell around them, but they were sheltered from it by all the trees behind the compound. 
“Amara, I am going to jump down. I got the eggs. Can you move?” 
“That is not fair!” 
Nkemu complained, perched on a branch. He was indignant as he glared at his cousins. 
“I was going to get the eggs.” 
He insisted, punching a branch, showers poured off the Tree, spraying Amara. 
“What is your problem? Stop shaking that branch. Oma told you the bird laid the egg on the tree she is on. But you like to argue, who are you now protesting?” 
“She cheated?” 
“How?” 
Oma called from her tree, with the eggs balanced against her chest. Nkemu seemed to think about this for a second and muttered that he did not know how. 
“I thought as much.” 
Oma replied. She looked down at her sister, who had moved away, to give Uma room to climb down. Both sisters shared a look and rolled their eyes, wordlessly agreeing about the ridiculousness of their cousin. 
“Here I come.” 
Oma shouted and jumped off the tree. A gasp of horror escaped Amara and Nkemu at the same time. The horror in their gasps filled their faces with a mix of fear and shock. 
“No.” 
They both shouted in unison as if their voices had finally caught up to their sight. Oma flew off the tree and landed on the ground with legs and feet, steady against the wet ground. Her feet dug into the earth, and the beads on her right ankle jiggled. Oma wobbled a little, more from the shock of being shouted at than from jumping off a tree taller than four stacked adults. She held the eggs closer to her chest; she had almost dropped them from her jump. Oma looked over at her frozen sister and grinned assuredly at her. 
“What?” 
She asked both her siblings, gaping at her in disbelief. Amara did not move, and neither did Nkemu. They looked at her like they were seeing a ghost, something their brain could not reconcile with. 
“You are both scaring me. Why are you looking at me like that?” 
Amara visibly shook herself. 
“You jumped.” 
She said, her eyes large and shining from shock, she walked slowly towards her sister. Behind them, Nkemu climbed gingerly off the tree. 
“How did you do that?” 
He asked, running over to them. 
“I just can. Since I woke up, I have been able to do things.” 
She said things by waving her free hand around. Matching her tone, Amara asked; 
“What things?” 
“Here, hold the eggs.” 
Oma handed the eggs over to her sister, who took them but showed no apparent concern for them in that moment. Oma had her full attention. She started to do a backflip. 
“Are you serious? A back flip?” 
Nkemu asked flippantly, but Oma did not stop. Her speed increased with every flip until they were unable to focus on her. As they both watched in disbelief, rain and wind spun around Oma in a single whirl, creating a vortex that shook the earth, trees, and plants. Amara and Nkemu were knocked backwards a moment later by the force of the moving swirl from the whirling wind and rain. Objects flung themselves about, around them, pulled by the swirl. The look of dismay on both children’s faces was mirrored by the feeling they had all over, as they shook with the leaves.  
Oma paused in the middle of the swirl, the leaves, rain droplets, and earth paused as well, and then floated around her. She saw her siblings, dirt-stained, with a brown, earthy stain on their wrappers from where the swirling earth had pelted them. The look on their faces and their visibly shaking bodies from either fear or cold pulled her back to the ground, and at the same time, the swirl seized, and everything that had been in the swirl fell to the ground. 
“I can do that really fast as well.” 
Oma said, and started to panic, feeling horrified at the state of her siblings, who were lying on the ground looking at her with lost expressions, as if they were no longer seeing her. 
“Sorry.” 
She said and started to cry. 
“What? That was amazing.” 
Nkemu yelled, pulling himself off the ground. 
“My Chi, how did you learn to do that? How was that even possible? You were amazing. Did you see yourself? You moved so fast, and then everything was spinning. Touch me, see I am shaking.” 
He extended his right arm to Oma. 
“See? I am still shaking. Marvelous, amazing. What was that?” 
The last question roused Amara. She stiffly picked herself off the ground and dusted off her wrapper. The action was furtive because mud spread wherever she dusted. Oma, no longer crying because of Nkemu’s reaction, watched her sister apprehensively, her heart thumping against her chest, eagerly wanting to hear from her that she had not done something wrong. 
“Did you see what she did?” 
Nkemu asked her, but Amara ignored Nkemu’s question, her attention deadpan on her younger sister. 
“Are you okay?” 
She asked her, and Oma nodded. But Amara did not take her words for it. She inspected her sister’s body, spinning her around, to check that she was fine. 
“Are you insane? You jump off a tree, you spin, or do whatever that was. Are you trying to kill yourself?” 
She slapped Oma’s arms hard enough that Nkemu winced from the sound. Drawing Oma into a hug, she started to cry into her wild hair. 
“You frightened me. You could have really hurt yourself.” 
Oma started to cry again, apologising to her sister, uncertain what she had done wrong. She knew with certainty, though, that Amara was upset because of her, and that made her upset as well. Both sisters bawled, heaving and sobbing violently. Nkemu stood around awkwardly, upset that they were upset, but excited at what they had seen and experienced. 
“You cannot tell anyone what you can do, okay?” 
Amara told her later that day. They were sitting under a tree; the rain had stopped, but rain still fell from the trees every time the breeze passed through them. The animals and birds that had taken shelter under the trees behind them were milling about. 
“Can I tell mother and father?” 
Oma asked after pausing and thinking about what Amara had said. Amara shook her head. 
“Not yet.” 
She told her sister. 
“How long have you known you could do what you did?” 
Nkemu asked, his hands resting against his pulled-up knees, he flicked his wrist every other second, unable to sit completely still. 
“She said ever since she recovered.” 
Amara replied, her forehead furrowed. 
“Not really, I have never done that, I just knew in the moment when I did it that I could. But since I woke up, I have felt like I can do a lot of things. I have just never tried. 
“Now we are certain that you are not a spirit child, but you are something.” 
Nkem said to her. They all three nodded at this. They could not deny it. Normal people did not leap off trees and land on their feet like cats, or move faster than the eyes could see, but neither could children of the spirit. Oma looked at her palm. Something was surging in it. It just didn't feel like whatever the thing was, that it was just inside of her. She felt it outside of herself; she could also feel it around her, in the trees, on the earth, in the wind. Whatever the thing inside of her was, it was not truly hers. She could not understand how she knew this, but she did. 
“Why shouldn’t I tell father and mother?” 
Oma asked after a moment of silence. 
“Because mother worries, and though father acts like he doesn’t, he is worse than mother. He worries more than she does.