Walking through the jungles of Otohro village, I wander into the forest where Igbe feast is celebrated. It is legendary for it mystics. I am notorious for my curiosity. I find myself at a brook. Serene and reflective, I make to feel the warmth of the stream but a voice rings out which stops me momentarily.
‘Are you my saviour?’ she asks casually
‘No! Who are you?’ I venture to ask
‘Am a stranger, the villagers want to kill me. Take me with you’ she says from her leisurely-seated posture.
‘To where, I pray thee? I am a stranger, too’
‘I am a blood sucker!’ she says, teasingly.
We are in my room. I offer her a cup of tea; she turns it down. She is visibly hungry.
‘Let me make you Indomie.’
‘No!’
This girl speaks polished grammar, looks sophisticated but acts erratically local.
In the middle of the night, the candlelight flips off. A whimper arises in my ears.
I reach for my phone and switch on the touch-light
‘I am hungry.’ she says apologetically.
‘Go to the pot and help yourself’
‘No, can I suck a little of your blood?’
Fingerprints 