We did not hide it under a tree or inside a river or in the tangled foundations of Saul’s village house. If the Ada’s human parents found it and destroyed it, we would never be able to go home. If Ala’s womb holds the underworld, then the iyi- ụ wa is the shortcut back into it. Humans who have sense always look for the iyi- ụ wa, so they can dig it up or pull it from flesh, from wherever secret place it was kept, so they can destroy it, so their child’s body will not die. It is usually buried or hidden because it is the way back, if you understand that the doorway is death. When spirits like us are put inside flesh, this oath becomes a real object, one that functions as a bridge. The oath says that we will come back, that we will not stay in this world, that we are loyal to the other side. It is a promise we made when we were free and floating, before we entered the Ada. This compound object is called the iyi- ụ wa, the oath of the world.

With a force like ours, we dragged other things along-a pact, bits of bone, an igneous rock, worn-out velveteen, a strip of human hide tying it all together. Think of brief insanities that are in you, not just the ones that blossomed as you grew into taller, more sinful versions of yourself, but the ones you were born with, tucked behind your liver. This is all, ultimately, a litany of madness-the colors of it, the sounds it makes in heavy nights, the chirping of it across the shoulder of the morning. Her writing has previously appeared in various literary magazines, including Granta. Akwaeke Emezi is the recipient of the 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize for Africa. When Ada leaves Nigeria for college, her moodiness becomes something else entirely: she develops separate selves.

Ada's parents successfully prayed her into existence but she's a worrisome child prone to bouts of anger and grief. The following is from Akwaeke Emezi's debut novel, Freshwater.

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