Free Zahrah the Windseeker by Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu Page B

years of being right next to them green, green crazy trees and such. We seen things, children. And trust us, you don' want to go in there. You won't come out."
    "What have you seen?" Dari asked. His eyes were wide in the way they get when something has 100 percent of his attention.
    Iwene squatted down in front of us and rubbed his oily chin with his oily hands. His skin was black and smooth, like polished onyx. He turned to his friends.
    "Should I tell him 'bout Yabu?" he asked.
    They both nodded. He threw his chewing stick into the bushes.
    "Yabu worked in the palm kernel farms. Palm kernel trees are the closest to the cursed forest. They run right next to the forest. None of us knew him in body, but we know a friend who knew his best friend. All us farmers know 'bout Yabu. His story reminds us to be careful, that we work in a place that can eat us alive, leave not a trace of us behind. You listenin'?"
    We both nodded. I didn't want to hear anymore. This was all I needed to hear to turn back. I didn't want to listen to the rest of the story at all.
    "Yabu was a hard-workin' man, but he was like you two—his eye was always wandering. To the sky, the dirt, and to that cursed jungle."
    "And he was always asking questions," said Kwenu.
    Iwene nodded.
    "He was curious. And one day, curiosity changed his life forever," Iwene continued.
    "No," corrected Kwenu. "Curiosity ended his life."
    "It was the day that it rained," said Iwene. "And as Yabu leaned back on his sling, machete in hand, chopping at the palm kernel cluster, red palm oil on his face and hands, something must a caught his eye. The first thing that one who works this close to the jungle is told to never do is look directly into the jungle. Even if you see a glimmer with your side vision, hear a noise that sounds like a crying baby, a smell that reminds you of your mother's tastiest dish.
    "Never ever look into the jungle. You too close. You too vulnerable. Just focus on your tree and your job. But this day, something caught his eye. Must have caught and held it because he climbed down from his tree and walked right up to the forest border.
    "I tell you, his fellow farmers all yelled at him to look away! 'What are you doing, Yabu,' they shouted. Some of them started to climb down from their trees, but it was like Yabu couldn't hear them. Like he was in a trance!
    "When a bunch of farmers made it down, they could see what caught his eye. And that's why none of them was able to stop him. No one would go near him. No one wanted to get infected by the jungle. We all got families, husbands, wives to love, children to feed, responsibilities.
    "You want to know what it was that he saw, eh? You want to know what caused this man to do the insane and stand right on the border of the forbidden cursed jungle and stare into its innards? You all know what masquerades are, no? See them dancing during festivals. People dressed up in layers and layers of colorful clothes and raffia and grass. Some got heads with three or four faces, all with different expressions. Some stand ten feet tall. Supposed to be the spirits of the dead who come up from the anthills to frolic with humans during celebrations.
    "Well, this was like no masquerade anyone had ever seen, and the other farmers quickly moved as far from the forest as they could, without a look back.
    "But poor Yabu ... was it curiosity or fascination, or was it the glam of the jungle? Coulda been all three. But he just stood there staring at that thing. Folks described what they had glimpsed as being over twenty feet in height! That it had a great big head made of smooth wood with at least seven angry faces. The ones facing Yabu all looked at him.
    "Its body was wider than two cars and made of layers of hanging green vines and dried grass and ribbons of blue cloth. And something else was dripping off of it. Something green and smokelike. Could have been any substance!
    "Anyway, something did something to Yabu. Made him lose his