The sun rose blood-orange over Ọhịa Udo, but no one celebrated its warmth. It was the seventh sunrise since the spirits began to speak, and in that time, five elders had vanished, nine children were born with white eyes, and the river refused to give fish.
But on this morning, Mma Oluchi gathered the daughters—those marked by Adamma's beads, those who dreamed in old tongues, those who bled without wounds.
It was time for the *Naming*.
Not the names given by men, but the names the ancestors remembered.
They stood in the sacred grove, where no trees had grown since the forest was cut to build the first slave stockade. The soil had stayed bare for over a hundred years.
Until now.
Green sprouted in spirals. Thick roots twisted upward, curling like fists through the earth. It was as if the ground itself was breathing again.
One by one, the girls stepped forward. Mma Oluchi burned palm oil, ground kola nut, and whispered into their ears.
"You were not born in silence. You are not nameless."
Each girl received two names: one of the past, one of power.
Chinwe: "God owns me" and *Iduoma*: "Blood that remembers."
Ngozi: "Blessing" and *Abaiku*: "She who cannot be buried."
Ebere: "Mercy" and *Onwuli*: "Death ran from her."
And then the last child stepped forward. She was small. Barely twelve. Her eyes were completely white—no iris, no pupil.
She did not speak. She had never spoken.
But when Mma Oluchi leaned in to whisper her name, the girl spoke first.
In a voice not her own.
*"My name is Adamma."*
Gasps echoed through the grove.
And then she smiled—not the sweet smile of a child—but the sorrowful, dangerous smile of something *returned*.
"I have work to finish," she said.
The earth trembled.
Mma Oluchi did not flinch. "Then let us begin."
***
Word spread that day. Across hills and rivers. To towns that had forgotten Ọhịa Udo even existed. Old people stirred in their hammocks. Drummers changed their rhythms. Dogs barked at empty spaces.
The dead were not just awake. They were speaking through blood.
***
Far away, in the city of Enugu, a British-named oil company began plans to drill near ancient ruins.
That night, their CEO had a dream.
He saw a girl with red beads.
She pointed to his chest and said, "You sold us. Now we buy you back."
When he woke, his hands were covered in soil.
And his eyes bled.
—