I snicker at how absurd that sounds. "You don't also believe that, do you?"

Ovivi drives us down the main road stretching northward, the canopy of trees on the roadside blocking the overcast sky. The mage pretends he didn't hear my question for a minute. I get tired of waiting for a response and am about to look out the window when his voice breaks out, carrying a somber depth I'm hearing for the first time.

"Your surrender, whether rumored or true, inspired my alliance with the Ézori. I always wondered why a force as powerful as yourself would give up everything in pursuit of redemption," he says, half his attention on me. "So you better hope for your own sake that you had a damn good reason for trusting those self-righteous primates in the first place."

I can almost hear Agidi's offended voice cutting through the distance to rebuke Ovivi's remark. I laugh out loud, casting my eyes at the blurring trees outside. I don't say another word, allowing the silence to create a rift between us as we journey to the city. Yet unlike my lonely self, who's used to the blissful silence, Ovivi can only stand it for a few minutes before turning on the radio, playing a Yoruba Voodoo track. The drumming is a refreshing change to the tasteless silence I'm used to. So I enjoy every second of it, filled with nostalgia from when I had my first guest from Benin City.

A spiritual chief in the 1800s came with his drummers and singers and put on a mesmerizing performance for me. It was very generous of him to offer that much to a shackled prisoner with no past. All they needed from me was proof that a man with godly abilities exists.

I showed them myself—or at least a version of me they could handle. It was back when I wasn't starved of fear victims and attention. I was completely in control of the darkness, and he willingly relinquished the Voodoo faith for something more practical. Me.

Onyi, I still remember his name, devoted the rest of his life to serving, or in simpler terms, worshipping me. He honored the ground I walked on, went above and beyond to seek my approval. The Ezori warned him about me, told him I'm a being of darkness, not of light, but he chose to worship me anyway, until I got tired of his clinginess and compelled him to kill himself.

Oh, the relief of not being troubled in my misery. I didn't deserve his devotion. He really should've known better.

The Voodoo track ends after about an hour. Ovivi must've played it on repeat. But the silence that follows after is so suffocating that I look up at my new master and say, "What do you intend to do with me really?"

He doesn't answer. He ignores me the rest of the ride. The blaring horns of other vehicles as we enter the traffic of the busy street disorient me, stealing my attention from him. The lamp lights from posts illuminate the streets brightly—perhaps too bright. I have to squint through the glare to notice the large trucks on the road, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles. They look exactly like the photos those European scientists showed me in their visits. The only distinction lies in the people operating them. These weren't the pale, colorless folks in those images. These were people very much like me, all caught up with the modernistic advancement. I'm genuinely envious realizing how much of the White man's magic I've missed out on.

"I can't remember what things used to be like before this, but I expect they'd look... happier," I say more to myself than to my traveling companion, my eyes catching the callous looks on the faces of these self-absorbed vehicle owners. "Everyone seems more focused on the destination. They have no idea how far they've already come."

"Oh, Adahwahyi, you have no idea how much times have changed." Ovivi smiles, skillfully navigating his way through the crowded roadway. "The idea of happiness is lost to contemporary folks."

"Why?" I sigh, still searching for one content soul on the street. It's almost as if people are afraid of showing too much emotion. They come off as unnaturally stiff and blatantly unoriginal. "Why would anyone trade the simple joys of life over a performative lifestyle?"

"To keep up with the trends? Be cool?" he says. "Gone are the days when drunkards paraded the streets with unhinged dance moves for the simple joy of being weird."

"There are no more drunks?" I gasp in disbelief.

"No, Adahwahyi." He chuckles. "Intoxicants are now addictions. A means to escape reality, not to celebrate it."

"How?"

"They drink themselves numb until they pass out."

"That's pathetic." I shake my head in disgust. "I mean, drinking back then was just for sports. No one made it their personality."

"Welcome to the 21st century, then, Adahwahyi." He laughs at the confused look on my face. "Just give it time. You'll get used to a lot of strange habits after a while."

I fall silent and avoid looking outside the window altogether. I could've sworn women used to gather in groups on the streets at night to serenade each other and embody that divine femininity one can only dream of. But I've lost all recollection of my past, so I can't tell for sure if it was just that—a dream.

Yet looking at the women out here competing with men for dominance both on the roadway and the sidewalks, driving massive vehicles, wearing similar garbs as the opposite gender, I instantly lose hope of that dream ever becoming a reality. My life itself is complicated enough as it is without all these modern-age contradictions. I find myself wondering if my memory loss is more of a blessing than a curse. Having no past to compare the modern-day changes to makes it easier to process the oddity of today's age.

---

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