Who Fears Death (Who Fears Death, #1)

by Nnedi Okorafor

From the moment the child was born, Najeeba understood that it would dislike surprises and have little patience.

One day, Onyesonwu will speak her name correctly , she thought.

YES, THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF MY LIFE WAS ROUGH.

“People hate what they don’t understand,” she said.

He paused, looking at me more intensely. “Is it better to give or receive?” “They’re the same,” I said. “One can’t exist without the other. But if you keep giving without receiving, you’re a fool.”

First, there is great grief, then someone who loves us demands that we become who we must become.

Soon the world of the spirits, a place I would learn to call “the wilderness,” began to melt and mix with a star-salted darkness.

“Mwita, stop being such a camel’s penis,” I said, annoyed. “Women always have to have companions,” Mwita mused. “And men always have false senses of entitlement,” I said.

My parents were fishermen.” He turned to me and smiled, “Shall I call my mother a fisherwoman? Does that suit you?” I smiled back, “Yes, very much.”

“BRICOLEUR, ONE WHO USES all that he has to do what he has to do,” Aro said. “This is what you must become. We all have our own tools. One of yours is energy, that’s why you anger so easily. A tool always begs to be used. The trick is to learn how to use it.”

I was good at changing but each and every time was an effort. It is not something you just let happen. Your body knows how to do it, but you still have to do it. Nevertheless, as it is when one is good at something, I enjoyed the effort because in many ways the effort was effortless. I spread my wings and took to the sky.

Here’s something scary: If you don’t recognize yourself, then who is the one who reminds you of who you are?”

To be something abnormal meant that you were to serve the normal. And if you refused, they hated you . . . and often the normal hated you even when you did serve them.

I was Ewu, who would listen to me without the threat of violence? Like those disgusting men outside the tavern. They hadn’t heard me until they feared me.

Envy is a painful emotion.

I was standing near a family’s tent. A mother, a father, and two boys and three girls. Or maybe some of the children were from other parents. Maybe the two “parents” were lovers or friends. You never knew with the Vah. But a family was a family and I envied what I saw and again missed my mother.

And when people hugged me, I could hear their hearts beating.