People don’t sleep these days, Ifa wondered. They just move around like spirits looking for trees to settle in but not seeing one that fits. She looked at Sango who was snoring and wondered how he could sleep well with this much people still parading his turf like ants.

Lagos was turning into a big city. No longer the play field for their children to bang ball to and fro and the reassurance of Yaweh was doing wonders. She longed for the time Sango still allowed his reapers walk the street at night, collecting destinies for her to feed on.

The electric lamp at Sango’s part of the bed is turned off because the god thinks his father sends his minions to come test him at night. She shook her head, the god that slept beside her was not the god she married. If it was then he would have sent Yahweh back to his land of foreign gin and blue eyes.

She shuffled closer to him. Love has a weird hold on gods. Even Amadioha had said that in the last inter-world deity meet where they had tried to piece out what to do about the churches being erected in place of their shrines. She had seen how lean he looked. His people had left his shore like kids being called in to their death by the sea.

About the writer 

Michael Larry wishes to see past the surface story. As a want-to-be, he thinks writing is a stepping stone to freedom.