The Wind Knows Your Name

A short story...

Abike lived at the edge of the village. She had been called a witch from birth. And when she turned fifteen, she was sent to live at the outskirts of the village, far away from everyone, not yet old enough to be exiled, but too marked to remain among them.

They blamed every misfortune in the village on her. They claimed the rain had grown scarce since her birth.

They never said it to her face, but Abike knew what the village called her, Emere—a spirit child with both a celestial and earthly life.
She heard it in their whispers whenever she passed by, that she ate her mother to enter the world.

Sometimes they called her Abiku, said she wasn’t meant to be here. That she clung to life too tightly, and brought misfortune with her.

Her mother died the night she was born. Her father, not long after the first time he held her. Since then, she’d been marked, like a silent shadow inviting death wherever she went.

As she grew older, Abike became used to how they treated her.
She had no friends. No family. No one.

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She went to the stream at the first cock crow, went to the market when the sun had begun to lean westward, casting long shadows on the red sand, and bought from sellers rushing to pack up. She planted her crops close to her hut, a hut no one visited or dared to come close to.
They feared her misfortune might rub off on them.

They mocked her for staying unmarried when her peers were preparing for their second child.
But Abike was beautiful. The kind of beauty that made men forget who she was. Her body was shaped like that of a mermaid. People whispered that she had indeed taken her mother’s body. Her face shone like the goddess of the sea, and men flocked to her. Women wished to have a face like hers.

Young boys brought her home with minds full of lust, in hopes of marriage, but their parents chased her off with the snap of a broom. They swept their compounds from corner to corner that same day, clearing her footprints as if misfortune clung to her soles. Some married off their sons in a hurry, just so they wouldn’t spare her a glance.

They warned their daughters against making friends with her.

She was beautiful, but even her beauty could not bring her closer to people.

---

Rotimi had just arrived in the village.
He had been found wounded and unconscious on a farm by one of the farmers and brought to the village to be cared for.
He had no memory of his past, but he was able-bodied and helpful, assisting the elders on their farms, helping older women carry their firewood, and lifting water pots for the young girls.

He was the most sought-after man in the village despite being mysterious.
Every girl wanted him. The men admired him. Even married women found excuses to cross his path.
He had a face sculpted by the gods. People said, when he smiled, it felt like the sun kissed them.
Because he was so helpful, no one bothered to ask who he was or where he had come from. He had proven a purpose. A reason to stay.

---

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows as traders began to pack up. Another market day was winding down. Abike slipped through the thinning crowd, basket in hand, ignoring the stares that trailed her like dust. She had to buy everything she needed before the stalls closed for good.

As she weaved through the crowd, she collided with a small boy chasing after his mother. Her yam slipped from her basket and rolled away. She ran after it, scanning the dusty ground. Just as she bent to look beneath a stall, a gentle tap landed on her shoulder.

“Is this yours?” Rotimi asked, holding the yam.

She took it without meeting his eyes.
“Yes, thank you,” she mumbled, and turned to leave.

She could feel his stare lingering, but ignored it. She was used to being stared at like a cursed.

Rotimi walked home, laughing with the boys, but his mind kept wandering off. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He had never seen her before. He sensed she was the one he had been looking for.

“Who is she?” he asked, prying for information.

“Who?” Ola, whom he had grown close to, replied.

“The girl with the blue wrapper and brown scarf who bumped into me.”

Ola scoffed.
“Ohhh, that one? My brother, stay away from her o. My mother says she’s a witch. They say she took her mother’s place on earth. And her father died holding her. She’s an Emere. An abomination. We’ve been told since we were kids never to go near her, for fear of death.”

“But everyone dies. We do not control death,” Rotimi replied, feeling irritated all of a sudden.

“I know,” Ola said, tossing groundnuts into his mouth, “but we must always listen to the elders. They know better.”

Still, Rotimi couldn’t shake the image of her.
By the third day, he had gathered all the stories about her. He now knew her name, where she lived, what time she left her hut, and that she spoke to no one.

By the fifth day, he woke at the first cockcrow and ran to the stream.
He hid behind a tree, waiting.
On the third cockcrow, she appeared.

He watched her as she walked to the river. She looked like she was made of light and silence.
She walked like a goddess, one whom the trees and plants bowed to. His heart did a skip, just like all the other times he had searched and found her.
She filled her pot and lifted it onto her head, and just as she turned to go, Rotimi stepped forward.

She jumped. Startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, adjusting the pot on her head while she looked at him like she had seen a ghost.

She stared at him for a while. She had never seen him before. She took in his face and body, sighed, and then walked away.

She assumed he was another of the village boys who had come to ask for her hand in marriage, against his parents’ wishes.

He followed her, trying to spark a conversation. But was met with silence.

“Are you really a witch, like the villagers say?” he asked bluntly.

She stopped and turned to look at him. Her pot still balanced on her head.

No one has ever asked her that. Not directly.

“I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want to be the reason you die tomorrow. So can you stop following me?” she said directly.

“Ahh, so you’re really a witch then? Now I’m scared,” he teased.

There was humor in his voice.
She almost smiled. Almost. No one had ever joked with her. No one had made her smile or laugh, except maybe her dog.

“Yes. I am. Will you stop following me now?” she replied and walked off.

He thought to keep following her, but the sun had started to rise. He didn’t want the villagers whispering rumors about her. He’d come back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Just the thought of it made him smile.

He had found her. He had finally found her.

---

The next day was the same. He waited. She came. He walked her home. Tried to spark up a conversation. Was met with silence.
Day after day, the ritual continued.

Until she started to warm up to him.

On the fourth day, he waited till the fourth cockcrow, still no sight of her. “This was unlike her,” he whispered to himself.
Worried, he was about to run to her hut when he saw her limping towards the river.

“What happened to you?” he asked, rushing to meet her. Worry laced his voice.

“It’s nothing. I fell on my way to the stream,” she said, filling her pot.

“Oh, sorry, were you in such a hurry to see me?” he said teasingly again.

She looked at him like he was stupid, but she couldn’t help but smile. If she said that wasn’t the case, she’d be lying.

“Hey, let me help you with that.” he stood to take the pot from her as she tried lifting it.

“Why do you always fetch water so early?” he pressed gently.

“One would think you don’t see how my people treat me, or you’ve just chosen to be blind to it,” she said, staring at him like he had lost his head.

He shrugged, choosing not to push further.

That day marked a turning point for them. They started to talk, slowly, but cautiously.

She began to look forward to his visits by the stream. And he couldn’t wait to walk her home.

The village buzzed with gossip, but he didn’t care. He had finally found her, and nothing would stop him from loving and protecting her this time.

There were warnings from all sides.
The older woman, whose firewood he carried.
The elders he helped on the farm.
His friends.

They all said he was treading on fire.
He laughed it off. Said they were ridiculous.
And he believed they were, because she wasn’t the one they should be scared of. He was the fire.

---

On the seventeenth day after their first meeting, Rotimi woke up early, eager to see her.
They had reached a new level in their relationship, and they had their first kiss last night. Only it wasn’t their first kiss, but only he knew that.

As he walked toward the tree where he always waited, he saw an old man sitting by the river.
His white hair shone under the morning light. And his reflection smoldered the water.

Rotimi stopped. He knew who it was. He had come to warn him.

They stared at each other.

Then the old man stood, and it was as if the river rose with him. Leaning on his walking stick, he rubbed his beard and slowly shook his head.

“Rotimi, you do not belong here.”
“Your blood hums when the wind turns.”
“The spirits see you clearly than you see yourself.”
“Your shadow walks ahead of you, and you pretend not to notice.”
“You pretend you don’t remember, but the ground remembers.”
”And one day, he will come for you.”
“And then, he will come for her.”

Rotimi clutched his head, suddenly feeling dizzy, like it might float away if he didn’t hold it down.

“No, I cannot remember. I must not remember,” he whispered, trembling.

When the dizziness passed, he looked up.

The old man was gone. The river was still. The silence of the morning wrapped around him like a shroud. He glanced around in panic, afraid Abike or anyone else had witnessed what had just happened. But there was no one. Only him, the river, and the tree that stood as a witness.

He slid down beside the tree, praying nothing like that would ever happen again, but he knew it was a lie. He knew he’d come again, and this time, worse.

As he prayed silently to a God he knew would not answer him. He heard footsteps.

She was here.

---

Weeks later, they went on having their little routine at the river, he’d also follow her to the market on some days, both ignoring the stares from the villagers.

The villagers sighed, and some prayed to the gods that Rotimi would not die a sudden death like her parents. They asked the gods to take her instead of Rotimi and grant them rain. And all their heart desires.

On the third night of uneasy sleep, Rotimi woke up in sweats. He looked around him, and this time, saw an older woman standing above him. She looked calm but yet something about her shimmered with unease.

She stared down at him. Rotimi saw fire in her eyes. And when she opened her mouth, flames burst out.

Then, she chanted:

“Rotimi o… Esu is calling you.”
“Kill the girl and go home.”
“You don’t belong here, and neither does she.”
“Ah, Rotimi… kill the girl before Esu comes for you.”

And then, she vanished, like smoke caught in the wind.

Rotimi lay in sweats. He knew now: his time had come.

But he wasn’t ready to leave. Not again. Not yet.

He thought back to his past, five reincarnations ago.

He had been sent by Esu, the trickster, the messenger between gods and men. Esu had one rule for his servants: no love while on assignment. Falling in love was taboo. Rotimi had broken that rule. He had fallen in love with Abike in her first life. And she, Abike, paid the price.

Each time she returned to the world, she never lived beyond the age of twenty. She died, over and over again. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes painfully. And he was made to watch her die. That was his punishment. To watch her die in every life.

She wasn’t supposed to return this time. But fate… cruel, defiant fate, had brought her back. Esu had found out, and as a greater punishment, he sent Rotimi to kill her.

This was the second warning.

He knew the third would be the final.

But this time, he wouldn’t let her die. This time, he would protect her, even if it cost him his celestial life.

---

Abike was unraveling. Since the day she fell on the way to the river, something dark had been following her. First, two of her chickens had died mysteriously in the night. Then her dog burned its paw on fire. And every time she walked to the river, the whispers grew louder, like the river was calling her name. Like death was calling her name.

The only joy she had left was Rotimi. But even he sometimes seemed distant, as if something inside him had gone dim. A flicker of something lost.

That night, she brought him home. They made love beneath the moonlight. Later, while she cooked, he sang to her. She laughed, deep and full, as he danced with her limping dog. For a moment, they were happy.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. The laughter died. His face went blank, and like he was drawn by something, he walked away, back to the village.

She called after him, but it was like trying to hold mist.

He was there, but he wasn't.

---

Rotimi had changed. He walked through the village like a ghost. He no longer greeted anyone, no longer helped the elders. His eyes wandered. Searching.

“She has taken the light from his eyes,” the villagers whispered.

“Rotimi. Rotimi!” Ola, who had been breaking firewood, called out to Rotimi, but Rotimi remained silent.

Nothing mattered but Abike. He needed to find a way out. A way to protect her, and he needed to do it fast.

By nightfall, he had a plan.

---

That night, Abike woke to her dog barking fiercely. She stepped outside, and there, on her kitchen stool, sat an old woman.

The woman’s eyes blazed. And when she spoke, the wind carried her voice like a spell.

“Abike o, your time is coming.”
“Abike o, you don’t belong here.”
“Abike o…”
“Let him go, or Esu will come for you.”

Then she vanished into the dark.

Abike slammed her door shut, as if it could keep the spirit from slipping inside. Sleep refused her. Her thoughts wandered. Who was the woman, and what did she mean by, her time was coming? She made a plan. At the first cockcrow, she would run to the river—she had to see Rotimi.

---

The next morning, Rotimi hurried to the stream, hoping to see Abike one last time before Esu came for him.

But he was late.

Esu was already there, waiting. Draped in vibrant reds and blacks, his eyes, once known for their cunning gleam, now burned with fierce anger. The wind bowed to him. The trees bent toward him. The river, once restless, fell silent.

Esu turned to face him.

“Rotimi,” he said. “Your time here is over.”

Rotimi’s heart thundered. He dropped to his knees.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me take her place in death. Let her live. I’ll vanish from her life, I swear it. Just let her stay.”

Esu didn’t move.

“You know I do not care for promises, Rotimi,” he said, low and cold.

The wind cracked like thunder around them.

“I warned you,” Esu continued. “I told you what your devotion cost. And still, you chose her. Over and over again.”

Rotimi closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I loved her,” he said.

“And I loved you. Like you were my son,” Esu snapped. “I gave you too many chances, Rotimi. One that a god should never give to his servant.”

The silence was thick and unbearable, flowing around them like a curse.

“You were my trusted servant, Rotimi.”

Rotimi opened his mouth to speak, but Esu was already moving.

Slowly. Reverently.

“I did not raise you for this,” Esu said, voice like cracked thunder pressed into silk.

But Rotimi did not waver. “You raised me to love,” he said. “And now I do.”

He reached out, not with fury, but with the weight of what he once promised.

And when his fingers held Rotimi’s neck, it wasn’t pain that followed.
It was weightlessness.

Rotimi gasped as his body lifted, feet barely brushing the earth. The light around him surged.

“Please,” he begged.

His eyes rolled back as he watched Esu with pleading eyes.

“I’m granting you your wish, am I not? Esu tightened his grip around him.

He looked around, hoping he could see her one last time. But happy that she would get to live in this life.

His skin glowed, then ash, then nothing at all.

The earth sighed. The river rumbled.

When the light faded, Rotimi was gone, not dead, not erased.

Reclaimed.

Taken back into Esu’s fold. A servant returned, not by choice, but by divine grief.

Esu sighed, “ Like I said, I do not care for promises.”

Esu stood alone now, staring at the space where Rotimi had knelt.

His hand trembled once, then stilled.

The trees bent in mourning. The river dared not speak.

Even in victory, Esu felt loss.

He had reclaimed his loved servant, but also lost him.

To love. To a girl who had a ticking clock beside her.

He was going to take her too. Not now. But he will.

---

The day had felt strange from the start. No cockcrow. No birdsong. Even the wind was still, like the village itself was holding its breath.

Abike woke up late. It was unlike her, but she hurriedly braided her hair with fresh cowries and tied her yellow wrapper, the one Rotimi loved, the one he said made her look like the setting sun. Then she ran to the river, praying he would be there.

She waited under the old tree, eyes fixed on the sky.

She waited until the stars blurred with tears, until the moon gave way to dawn.

But Rotimi never came.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Not ever.

---

She searching for him everywhere. But he was gone.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months.
And months turned to a year.

And still, no one saw him again.

Some say he vanished.
Some say the gods took him.
Some say he remembered who he was and went back to where he came from.

But no one truly knows.

Some believe he became rain, because ever since his disappearance, it rained frequently. They praised him like a god.

They say it was his final gift to Abike, his lover, so she would never have to walk to the river alone again.

Abike stood in the rain every time it came, letting it wash over her like his touch. The love he could no longer give in person, he poured from the sky.

Some villagers still whispered she was a witch, that she had taken their beloved Rotimi away.

But others began to see her differently.

If Rotimi could love someone like her, maybe she wasn’t a witch after all.

Instead of hate and fear, they now looked at her with pity.

---

Five months after he vanished, they found Abike beneath the tree by the river, still, pale, and gone.

She had died just days before her twentieth birthday.

She died in the place she loved most.
Where the earth still carried Rotimi’s scent.
Where the wind whispered his name through the branches.
Where she had first called something love.

Some said Esu had finally come for her.
Others whispered that she had simply gone to find him, wherever he was.

But the villagers never forget that day, because the skies closed over the village.

And it never rained again!

---

Hi, this is a short story I have been working on for a while. It’s not perfect, but my girls loved it, and that means the world. I had my doubts about publishing this because imposter syndrome was kicking me in the ass but I had to push forward.

I hope you enjoyed reading it.

If you did, please leave a comment. It’d mean a lot. Thank you❤️