Amina walks the familiar path to her grandmother's hut, the basket of food balanced carefully in her arms. The sun is high in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. The hut is small but well-kept, its thatched roof and mud walls a testament to years of care.
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She pushes open the door, the hinges creaking softly. Inside, her grandmother is sitting on the edge of her bed, her wrinkled face lighting up when she sees Amina.
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"Ah, my granddaughter," Grandma says, her voice warm but tinged with the rasp of age. "You've brought me lunch. Come, sit with me."
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Amina sets the basket on the small wooden table and begins unpacking the food. The aroma of jollof rice fills the hut, and Grandma inhales deeply, a smile spreading across her face.
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"This smells delicious," she says, serving herself a generous portion. "Your mother's cooking is still the best in the village."
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Amina smiles, though her mind is elsewhere. She watches as Grandma eats, her movements slow but deliberate. After a few minutes, Grandma looks up, her sharp eyes meeting Amina's.
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"Did you eat?" she asks, her tone both curious and commanding.
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"Not yet, Grandma," Amina replies. "I'll wait for you to finish so I can take the utensils back and eat at home."
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Grandma shakes her head, her expression stern. "Nonsense. You'll eat with me. A young girl like you shouldn't go hungry."
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Amina tries to protest, but Grandma insists, gesturing to the empty space beside her on the bed. Reluctantly, Amina serves herself a portion and sits down. They eat in companionable silence, the only sound the clink of spoons against plates.
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After the meal, Amina stands and retrieves the packet of malaria pills from the basket. She pops two out and hands them to Grandma along with a glass of water.
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"Here, Grandma. Take these. Dad said you've been feeling unwell."
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Grandma looks at the pills, then at Amina, her expression unreadable. "I never asked for any medication," she says slowly. "Do I look ill to you?"
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Amina hesitates, her heart skipping a beat. "But... Dad said—"
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"Oh, did he?" Grandma interrupts, a strange smile playing on her lips.
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Before Amina can respond, the door to the hut slams shut with a force that makes her jump. She turns, her breath catching in her throat, and watches in horror as Grandma's wrinkled face begins to change. Her skin tightens, her features smoothing out until she looks decades younger. Her eyes glow with an otherworldly light, and her hair flows around her like water.
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"Grandma?" Amina whispers, her voice trembling.
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But it's not Grandma anymore. It's Mami Wata.
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The spirit smiles, her beauty both mesmerizing and terrifying. "Amina," she says, her voice a melodic whisper. "You can't escape me."
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Amina stumbles backward, her legs giving out as she falls to the ground. She tries to scream, but no sound comes out. Mami Wata rises from the bed, her body floating effortlessly above the floor. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against Amina's cheek.
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"Come to me," Mami Wata says, her voice echoing in the small hut.
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Amina feels her body levitating, pulled toward the spirit by an unseen force. She struggles, but it's no use. Just as she's about to be pulled into Mami Wata's grasp, she feels a sharp jolt, and everything goes black.
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Amina wakes with a start, her heart pounding. She's standing in Grandma's hut, the basket of food still in her hands. Grandma is sitting on the bed, her wrinkled face creased with annoyance.
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"Are you going to give me my lunch," Grandma snaps, "or stand there like a statue?"
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Amina blinks, disoriented. The hut is calm, the door still ajar, and there's no sign of Mami Wata. She looks at Grandma, her mind racing. Was it all a dream?
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"Sorry, Grandma," she says, her voice shaky. She steps forward and sets the basket on the table, unpacking the food with trembling hands.
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Grandma watches her closely, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You look pale, child. Are you feeling well?"
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Amina forces a smile. "I'm fine, Grandma. Just... tired."
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Grandma nods, though her expression remains skeptical. "Sit down and eat with me. You look like you need it."
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Amina obeys, though her appetite is gone. As she sits beside Grandma, she can't shake the feeling that something is still watching her, waiting.
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