The Scent of Death – Emmanuella Omonigho

Serai was told she died at birth, so she was supposed to be familiar with death. Unlike other girls in the house, she was smallish and frail and could not see, so she navigated her little world by smell. The others told her she was cursed with a nose that smelt things no one else could. Aunty Izogie spoke differently. 

“Stand proud, omo. Obiemwen herself has blessed you.” Aunty Izogie always reminded her when she sat to teach her how to arrange an emwiurhu. Every time, Serai would ask her to retell her birth story and why she was the way she was. Although she knew the story as much as she knew the coral bead pattern, hearing the words again filled her with an indescribable feeling. 

“You had almost taken your earth mother with you as you answered the voice of Ofoe…” Serai would paint mental images of her earth mother, a slender woman with long arms and stubborn hair reaching to the sky when unbraided. Still, she wondered about her face. The colour of her eyes, the size of her lips, and most of all, the shape of her nose. Maybe she could smell what Serai could too. 

“…even though the midwives were begging you not to take her, you resisted, dragging her soul along as a gift to Ogi’uwu. It would be your final time with her.” The beads always made loud noises to signal that Aunty Izogie had put her hand into the coral basket.  “As an igbakhun, you were entitled to five mothers, and after that, you would not return to this world again. No one knows how many mothers you have had sha.” The older woman gave a small but hearty laugh that reverberated around them.

Serai would imagine herself as a child who did not refuse death, hopping from mother to mother, womb to womb, until she found herself with her now earth mother. She had strange markings on her arm, as other sisters told her, which were evidence of the past life she had not been committed to. “The midwives turned round in that small room, wondering what to do before the two of you were completely gone.”

With fear, the two women dared pray to Obiemwen, asking her to keep Serai and her earth mother with a promise to dedicate the igbakhun to her house. Aunty Izogie would say Obiemwen came directly to touch Serai, but no one knew the truth. Even though the midwives passed out,  they were still sure they saw Obiemwen enter into the baby. Other rumours said Olokun was the one who appeared in that tiny room on that starless night, letting her be reborn for the price of her sight. 

No matter the story, she was dedicated to Obiemwen and brought to her sanctuary to train for the rest of her days.

“And that is how special you came under my care.” Every time Aunty Izogie would finish with those words, rubbing Serai’s bald head with a cheerful strength. But Serai could tell there was nothing happy in the action; instead, threads of soured pap on Saturday morning wafted through her nose, painting the picture of blue sadness. There were different smells for feelings, and with each smell, Serai drew life out of it. 

Some feelings were stronger than others, like Banga soup for happiness and hot leaf rice for anger. Serai could tell jealousy, ranging from mild to intense, all with the fragrance of otien in season. One she was afraid of was hate. She had only encountered it once in the house, a metallic, rusty smell that lingered even after the owner was gone. 

Everyone also had a distinct smell, giving her a picture of their appearance. This made Serai lonely, though, because she could never tell what she smelt like, meaning she could never tell what she looked like. Her only source of information was the descriptions given by people. 

“Skin as dark as the night.”  

“Brows like the uncut grass in the backyard where the mango tree grows.”

 “Mouth like the razor that produces its words.”

She tried not to dwell on it, focusing on painting images in her mind using what she could perceive. One day, she had the strangest whiff of bleached palm oil as she sat in front of her favorite tree. 

It was only for a moment before she was called towards the gathering in the hall. There, her nose was clouded with a variety of smells, both new and old. In the old days, she would have been forced to pinch her nose to prevent the smells from turning her stomach, but she had trained herself to manage through the multitude. Aunty Izogie once joked that she was like Lagosians, and if she ever left Benin for the famous city, she would blend well with the number of residents who lived indifferently. 

“We have just received news that death is in town, claiming people.” The chief priestess was on the stage, and her voice came from a familiar direction. A collective gasp ricocheted around the audience of women, followed by murmurs. In that moment Serai could tell the different levels of fear each person wore as a fragrance.

“There is no need to panic, ” the priestess appealed to the women. “Sons of Olokun have come to help us fortify the place and pray for life. But as the children of Mother Obiemwem, we have a greater calling, so we mustn’t be afraid when Ogi’uwu comes to knock on our door. Our lives serve as a bridge between life and death for the good of the people, and if we are chosen to go, we can speak on behalf of everyone on earth.

“So, my children”, the woman raised her voice in motivation, “do not fear.”

Serai’s’ favourite place was under the mango tree behind the former food storehouse. There, her nose would only pick up the smells of grasses and unripe mangoes. She found it by chance on a day when her sadness at being different forced her to leave her room full of sisters, happy about seeing a handsome man who came to collect some fortified emwiurhu for the Oba. They giggled and whispered as quietly as they could while she pretended to be asleep while inhaling their individual fragrance of Banga soup. In the end, she got up with the excuse of needing to use the toilet and simply wandered into her now special place. 

On free evenings, she would rush underneath, counting the steps she had memorised since she was younger. When she could no longer feel the harsh rays of the sun on her pale skin, she would know she had arrived. 

Today, there was someone in her spot—a stranger with quite a faint but unfamiliar smell. It was unusual to her, so she thought of going back to find Aunty Izogie. 

“You don’t need to find your aunty. I’ll only be here for a minute.” The stranger spoke, also in a strange voice belonging to no one familiar but certainly not a woman. 

Serai had done her best to avoid the men present in the compound, mostly because she was not ready to familiarise herself with new feelings of unknown people. So, meeting one of them in her spot riled her up a little. But she wasn’t sure this was a man either. She could tell the plants did not like their presence too; there was no dancing or singing. 

“Who are you?” She asked this stranger, waiting for their response as she stood there without much movement. There was a short silence, and in that, she got another  faint smell, not like anything she’d come in contact with. 

“Someone you should be familiar with.” 

“Still not ringing a bell.” She heard a snicker from their direction. Then the rustle of dried leaves indicated movement. 

“I’ve shifted for you. Like I said, I’m not here for long.”

Serai tried to conjure up more from their direction, anything at all to get the slightest image in her mind of how this person would look. Nothing came her way, almost like the presence was a stifling air trapping all smells in the past. She took careful steps as she went to a different side of the tree, keeping a distance from the stranger. 

Time seemed to flutter along slower than usual. Serai could tell by the movements of the grasses underneath her fingers. The wind too refused to sing its normal tune. She had no evidence, but Serai was certain this had to do with the stranger. 

She spoke to them. “What are you?” She wasn’t one to be afraid. There wasn’t much to fear if you had no sight and all you saw was nothing. She waited for them to respond, surely with a reasonable answer. 

“Someone you should be familiar with,” they repeated with a certain playfulness in their voice. “Why do you ask?”

“Because the trees and grasses don’t dance with you under.”

“Doesn’t that make them rude? Selecting who to dance for?” 

“No. They only hold protests against those who don’t belong with them.” Aside from people, Serai could also understand the feelings of plants and animals, particularly plants, as the only animals she’d ever been around were the goats that were always hungry or the loud chickens in the compound’s poultry. 

There was a long rustling of fallen leaves; soon she could feel the presence of the stranger beside her. Their distinct smell was no smell, and she found that it didn’t bother her as much as before. Instead, it was like they were someone she knew all along.  She only wished they did for the sake of outlining their figure in her mind. 

“Why do you come here?”

“Do you ask so many questions all the time?”

“I have nothing else but my questions to help me create the world I want to see. So, I must.”

“You really have no eyes—”

Serai cleared her throat. Oftentimes people made statements about her eyes; it was her job to correct them. “I have eyes; I only have no sight.”

A spark of smell, faint but shadowy. She could not pick it up completely before they spoke. “But you have a sharp mouth. And a peculiar nose.”

Barely anyone outside of the compound knew about Serai’s ability. Even when most visitors came to pay homage to the mother of children, Serai was left inside to study so as not to scare people. Aunty Izogie told her the first time she was restricted that it wasn’t personal; people just didn’t like what they could not understand. 

“How do you know about me?”

“Your aunty is right. People are always afraid of what they don’t understand. My time is up for today.” 

Serai wanted to ask them to answer her question first, then answer how they knew her thoughts, but the smells returned immediately, and the trees danced vigorously, and the grass tickled her feet again. That night the smell of palm oil vanished from the compound. The next morning Serai awoke to the shrill cry of the sisters; the priestess never woke up. Some said Obiemwen came to take her home; others cried that Oguiwu had found his way to them . 

She was very old so Serai thought it was just her time to join the ancestors.

---

It was months again when Serai began to perceive the burning smell of bleached palm oil. It was small at first, like it emanated from a distance, but as the minutes passed, the acidic smell grew intense. She woke up to the sound of footsteps rushing from room to room. There were all the familiar scents of the people she knew, but the palm oil lingered somewhere among them. 

“Is everything alright?” A whiff of coconut caught her nose, so she directed the question to them. 

“Quiet, Serai”, Osemegbe, her roommate, cautioned her. “Don’t make us get caught when we’re not supposed to be awake.” The rules were strict in the house. Nighttime was for sleep unless there was a ceremony. Those caught disregarding the rules were made to work on the special emwiurhu for the house of Olokun, which was very intricate. Those beads were usually used to catch spirits lurking around or inside people.

Osemegbe answered her question, though. “They are rushing to Sister Destiny’s room. I think something happened.”

The day came with a bleak feeling spreading throughout the house. There was no cheeriness during breakfast. Teachers wore heavy auras during training. Evening prayers were sad. Sister Destiny was unconscious; she had been the next chosen by Ogi’uwu. 

“Blessed by Obiemwen herself, Sister Destiny may soon cross the path to stand with our great Mother,” the new chief priestess managed to say with a firm voice in front of all the women of the house during dinner. “We will pray for her, but if it is the will of Obiemwen, then we will pray for safe passage as she journeys home.” Wafting from her was a thread of fear stronger than Serai had gotten used to. An acrid, burning black soup clogged the air, forcing her throat and airways to close. The thing was it wasn’t  peculiar to the new chief priestess; it was everyone. They were all afraid that Ogi’uwu could pick them next. 

Serai couldn’t bear the rising acrid smells, so immediately after, she traced her way to the tree. She needed to be away from the murmurs of the sisters, the pains in their steps and the worry that they would go to the Mother soon.  She would spend the last free hour there before retiring to bed. The smell of grasses and memories of a fruit she’d never seen would be enough to remove the feeling of despair that started to saturate her body. She had to be positive for Sister Destiny’s sake.

Approaching the tree, she sensed the stranger again. Same spot, she could tell. Being under the tree during the day, she could understand because visitors came in then. But nighttime meant no one except those in the house was allowed in. So, how did this person pass through all the scrutinies at the entrance, make their way through the body of Sisters without notice, and sit at her tree? 

“Don’t think too much about it.” Serai raised a brow, hoping her facial expression would relay the question of how they knew her mind. 

“Don’t think too much about that either,” they simply said. “Come, sit with me, and I’ll answer a question of yours.”  The trees and grasses protested the suggestion, and perhaps the sky too. But Serai was curious. She could always scream for help if they turned out to be a predator. 

But what if they were an azen that would take your voice?

There was a chuckle, and with it came a scent. Familiar. An image passed through her mind–red face, round head–but it quickly vanished when their voice asked a question. “Can azen dare cross the markers covering Obiemwen’s land?” 

Pride tangled with the words. Serai wondered if they were a devotee of Obiemwem or something worse than a witch. They were an intriguing being regardless, so she sat next to them, feeling comfortable with their presence. 

“What are you?” She questioned immediately.

“I am like a messenger,” they answered, drawing their words with satisfaction. Serai could tell they were proud of who they were, but it was still unclear. 

“What is a messenger doing inside the walls of Obiemwem’s house when the sun has gone to rest?”

The stranger tutted at her, an action that was to scold children who had gone out of line. “I said a question. If I come again, I shall answer another.” 

If?

Like last time, the tree breathed out in relief, and the grasses celebrated as the wind passed through again. The stranger was gone, but Serai thought she heard their voice again in her sleep, louder this time, inviting a person out of the house.

The morning after, there was greater sorrow in the house because Sister Destiny had breathed her last. Truly, Ogi’uwu had taken her. The sisters gathered together to mourn the woman. Serai wondered what she looked like in her final moment. The chief priestess asked that everyone celebrate her life as they mourned because she would have gone to a better place.

---

The third time Serai perceived the bleached red oil fragrance, Aunty Izogie coughed continuously as she showed her how to pattern a new emwiurhu. They had been together alone in the hall, silently working with white corals; she felt the purity emanating from the beads long before Aunty Izogie announced what they were. It was for her sixteenth birthday; the woman poured her emotions into her voice as she spoke to Serai. “You will be a full woman and these beads, taken from the shores of the River Ethiope, are my gift to you for coming this far.”

Serai smiled because of the joy she could feel from Aunty Izogie. She had been her house mother, nursing her into who she was now, teaching her about the world as she could with stories of her outside adventures and encounters with others. Like Serai and every other girl in the house, she was brought in as a young child. She grew up within the walls and only stepped out for special assignments. Serai was sure she would not be sent on errands that involved leaving the house, but she already had Aunty Izogie’s story to tell her everything she needed to know.

The joy was short-lived, though. The smell of palm oil grew around the room, slipping from every corner until all Serai could feel was the overshadowing smoke of the putrid smell. Her eyes began to water just as Aunty Izogie began to gasp and cough. She rushed forward, scattering the white coral beads as she tried to reach Aunty Izogie. Serai was a little too late. A loud noise echoed in the empty hall like a huge weight dropped hard. 

“Aunty Izogie,” Serai crawled towards where she was sure the woman had sat down. “Aunty Izogie,”  there was more urgency in her voice when she finally felt a soft body. Serai felt for her shoulders, still calling her name, but there was no response. And then she screamed through the increased smell of palm oil. 

Serai wasn’t allowed to see Aunty Izogie after the other sisters carried her out of the hall. The new chief priestess held onto her as her body quivered from the sudden realisation that death had come for the woman. But there was still hope, the new chief priestess whispered to her as she cradled her. Pray to Obiemwen and she can decide to help Aunty Izogie.

Serai went to her tree instead of the prayer ground. She did not want anyone to interrupt her with concerning questions as she tried to communicate with the Mother of the house. She carried the basket of beads to make her emwiurhu. Carefully, her hands felt for the string Aunty Izogie had started to use to make the necklace. Then the bead. She found the hole in the coral and passed the string through it, repeating the process. Her mind was quiet and empty until she picked up a metallic object from the basket. Using her palm and fingers to outline the body, she could tell what it was. The pendant Aunty Izogie wore—she told Serai it was a gift from her mother when she came to the house years ago. This must have been a part of Aunty Izogie’s surprise. So, Serai began to cry in the silence, only muttering, Please don’t take her. 

It was quiet for a while, with nothing but the trees sorrowfully waving and the grasses shaking. Then they all stilled suddenly, forcing her to raise her head. 

“Why are you sad?” The stranger was back again. This time standing over her, casting a shadow as long as her sorrows. They carried concern in their voice but it wasn’t enough to comfort Serai.

“It’s my aunty.” She couldn’t mention death for fear that it may be real. 

“Is that not a thing of joy? That uwu will come for a person in their house rather than on the road on their way back to you? Or while visiting someone else?”

“Yes, but should one not choose when to go on their term?” Serai questioned, playing with the string for the bead while tears continued to find their way from her eyes. 

There was silence, and then the stranger sat beside her, brushing their shoulders against hers. An image filtered its way into her hand momentarily before disappearing again. “If everyone were to get the choice, then the world would not work the way it does.” Their voice was calm, Serai noted. Their word did hold truth, but it was still unfair for Aunty Izogie to be one of those chosen. 

“Who says death has the best knowledge about the way the world works? Death only comes to steal joy from you by taking those you love.”

The stranger gave a small laugh, relaxing closer to her. Now she could smell them better; it was the same as the one from the hall with Aunty Izogie. She frowned as they spoke, her sad mind now piecing things together. 

“We have long  been here before the world was born.” That was the last puzzle she needed to complete her theory. She knew the stories and the gods. They could hear her thoughts, called themselves a messenger, and crossed into Obiemwen’s house without permission. The smoky smell exuding from them made her teary eyes water. Serai knew who this stranger was,  Ofoe, the messenger of Ogi’uwu.

“Yes, you are right.” 

At first, Serai wanted to curl back in fear. This was the middle being of death, lingering in the house, waiting to collect the next soul. Palm oil was a token symbol for the dead who were to cross over with Ofoe, and as long as it lingered, it meant the person was still alive, awaiting Ofoes arrival.  

Serai knew he could tell what she would ask him for: “If you are Ofoe, then make me a trade. Don’t take Aunty Izogie, and I will give you something in return.”

The trees had not moved, so Serai was sure the messenger of death was still by her side. She could only imagine what he looked like. The stories said he was simply a head with limbs protruding. It wasn’t a question she was eager to ask. 

“What do you have that I might be interested in? You have no sight that I might use to see the world a little differently. Or beauty that forces everyone to stop and stare. Or a voice that makes Iso jealous. Or life because you are an Igbakhun.

In some ways, Serai, you are related to me because you always chose death instead of life. Why now do you choose life for Izogie?”

Serai sniffed. It was true that she had none of those qualities. All she had in this world was Aunty Izogie and her nose. Her sadness filled her chest, threatening to explode and break free of her body through her eyes again. She fiddled with the half-complete bead, wondering about all her previous lives. She did not have an answer to Ofoe’s question.

“No one can defy death, young child. Death comes for everyone, sometimes in the morning when you’re least prepared or when you’ve made your bed and closed your eyes to sleep finally. I only come to take all to my master.”

She fiddled with the empty strings and half-heartedly unrolled them from their bundle. There had to be a way to ensure Aunty Izogie did not go. If only she could find a way to convince this being or make him wait. How did the Sons of Olokun trap a spirit again? She searched her mind but could find no answer, and angrily, she yanked at the string, jerking the basket on her lap and spilling the beads. She got an answer. 

Thinking quickly, she turned towards him, grabbing his hand before using the string to tie his hand.  

“Now I have something to give you. Your freedom.”

Ofoe laughed, sprinkles of mockery in their voice. “Your string cannot hold me down.” He tried to yank himself out of the hold, but it did not budge. A smile crept up Serai’s face. Slowly, she stood up, releasing parts of the unrolled string that would help in the other part of her plan. 

“This is the rope fortified by the Sons of Olokun, who has given them power over every being that is not a god, therefore, their powers can work on a messenger. And  I will not let you go unless you leave my aunty.”

It was strange to smell fear from a spirit being. Unlike humans, theirs was a mix of old dying trees with a whimpering sound.  Ofoe struggled but she held tightly to the string bundle, ignoring the searing pain in her hands. 

“Do you not care about the balance of the world? Life and death is a cycle. One goes for another to come.”

It did not matter to Serai; she would defeat death for Aunty Izogie’s sake the same way she had managed to beat her former nature. She stood, carefully tying him to the protesting tree. 

“Agree to my terms or remain here.”

The being responded despondently, “I am nothing but a messenger, Serai, and death is part of life.”

Serai refused. She left the tree with Ofoe tied to it. Although it did not feel right, she told herself she had done what she had to do. She dragged herself to the room of Aunty Izogie, carefully opening it even though no one was there. The woman’s unconscious body was moved to a different room that the herbalist could access. 

She walked around the small room, tracing everything with her fingertips. There were the hardback books Serai could assume were her personal journals, the soft materials that were clothes hung up on the wall, and the bed. Serai sat on it, wishing at that very moment she could see everything precious enough for Aunty Izogie to keep in her room. Feeling a new wave of overwhelming sadness, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, drifting off into what started as a dreamless sleep. 

It did not take long, though. A soft voice called to her, drawing her into what was a dream but wasn’t. At first, she thought it was her normal vision, but a figure shimmered in front of her, and Serai realised she could see colours. She could see how bright the colours were, and she could see her hands, feet, and the white garment adorned over her frail body. 

“Serai”, the voice belonging to the figure in front of her called. She looked up to see a woman with a bald head, brown skin, and bright brown eyes. The smile on her face was as familiar as the scent usually accompanying it—Banga soup. 

She rushed into her arms, “Aunty Izogie!” Serai cried, feeling the warmth of the hug. “You’re not gone, Aunty Izogie. Obiemwen be praised. You’re not gone.”

“Oh, but I am, child. I just needed to see you one last time to tell you goodbye.” The woman squatted to her eye level with her hands on Serai’s shoulders. “And I know you want me to stay but that is not how the world works, my child.”

Serai saw the sadness in Aunty Izogie’s eyes, but she hoped the woman would see the sadness in hers. “But I did it. I stopped Ofoe from taking you.”

“You stopped him from taking me and so many other people waiting to go over to stand before Ogi’uwu. To rest.” This time, she did not need the whiffs of soured pap on Saturday morning to tell her that other sad people were behind her. “People are also waiting to be reborn on the other side. Because for everyone that goes, others are sent to take their spot.”

Serai sobbed, prompting Aunty Izogie to hug her again, longer this time. She caressed her head in slow, calming strokes. “Life is beautiful, Serai, but death is also important for every living thing. You’ve experienced death in your other lives, so now live life without being afraid of what Ogi’uwu might take from you.”

More tears rolled down Serai’s cheek as she took Aunty Izogie’s words. She cried even through the whispers of ‘I’ll miss you’ they both shared. And then she blinked, finding herself back without sight and on the bed she had dozed off on. Her cheeks, however, were wet. 

There were no sounds, so Serai assumed it was midnight when she stepped out of Aunty Izogie’s room, out of the sleeping area, and approached the tree. Even before reaching them, she could tell that her prisoner was still at the spot they were tied in. They barely made a sound when she walked up to them. Instead, the lingering smell of palm oil overpowered the lovely smells of plants. She said nothing as she picked at the string holding them in place. She worked the knots, finding it difficult for a while before succeeding. Then she traced the string to its end, which was the cold skin of the being.  She let her hands work over the knots on that end as she imagined the look on his face. 

“Are you sure now?” Ofoe broke the silence, asking her the question she had repeatedly asked herself. 

She nodded, still working on the rope. “The reason why I chose death in my past lives was because it was better to be the missed one than to lose others. But now I see that people were not always meant to live in both worlds. Whether it is to Ogi’uwu or Obiemwen, one must go for another to come.” With that, she finally undid the string, releasing the associate of death. 

---

Emmanuella Omonigho considers herself to be a versatile creature. She writes stories, which, considering you’re reading this, makes total sense. She enjoys experimenting with ideas on Edo culture, girlhood, mental health and identity. She takes photographs and makes videos when a story is not forcing its way out of her head. Or she sits and obsesses over anime and book characters.