I stabbed the man in the mirror at the third try, hard and fast, just like baba had instructed.
The unfamiliar face that gazed back at me from inside it had a bland expression that remained in place during the first two dry runs but quickly turned into a painful grimace immediately the knifepoint hit the mirror before it shattered into a million pieces.

The deed was done.

“Congratulations, ” baba whispered, patting me on the back with his calloused palm. I could feel the roughness through the thin fabric of my ‘it used to be white’ shirt quite clearly.
“You have now joined the league of made men. Money will answer you even before you call. Just go home and wait, you have done your part perfectly. Let the spirits do theirs.”

An invisible owl cooed as if in agreement, so I went home as he advised, and waited.

Today marks one week since that night in the forest and I have not seen an extra naira note from anywhere. Nairabet has not gone my way, same as Betnaija, Bet King, or even Baba Ijebu, but that’s not even my main concern.

There’s this expanding crimson rash on my chest, right in the same spot where I’d stabbed the man in the mirror. I don’t know exactly when it first appeared, but it has since expanded and started itching two days ago.

I woke up this morning to the smell of decay…

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