Daughters of Oduma

1

The Mud Fam

SIS DIRT, the Second of the Mud Fam, stood on the edge of the jungle, staring down the narrow path. Heavy fig and yaro tree branches dangled over it. Drooping vine bridges spanned its scant width, easy crossing for the snakes and gekko. The path was near invisible if a girl didn’t know where to look.

But Dirt had known the path her whole life, knew it better than any girl alive. She wasn’t there to learn its winding curves.

She was waiting for her sisters.

They were out on their morning run, the start of every Bower’s day. For the younger girls, the morning run helped build the endurance, strength, and discipline they’d need for Bowing competition. For the older girls who were already competing, the run gave them a chance to prepare their mind for a day of hard training.

A small part of Dirt missed it. Those jaunts through the jungle had made up much of her early life. But those years were behind her. Now she was an elder, more suited to a day of tea and sitting than one of runs and hard training. She was almost seventeen, after all.

Dirt heard her sisters before she saw them, their footfalls echoing through the bush as they rounded the bend and jogged into camp. Swoo was first, of course. Even in training, she needed to win. Despite the long run, her half-length top only had a few dark drops of sweat. Her pants, baggy around the thighs and cinched at midcalf, had none. What would have been a workout for some was barely a warm-up for Swoo.

Na good day, Sis Dirt, she said, still jogging in place.

Na good day, NoBe Swoo. Where are na Bibi?

Swoo shrugged. Too slow. She drew her handaxe from her waistband and squared off with an imaginary foe. The handaxe was for chopping wood, but Swoo used it mainly to practice chopping enemies. But I say to them, ‘Any Bibi too slow will feed na jungle cat.’ So they will hurry.

Dirt suppressed her irritation. It was Swoo’s duty to watch over the young ones. A Fam was only a Fam if each sister played her role.

While we wait for na Bibi, Dirt said, your Sis Dirt wants tea. She gave Swoo a flat look.

Swoo scowled, then went to get the requested tea, mumbling under her breath.

Dirt turned back to watch for the younger sisters, but called out over her shoulder, I cannot hear you, NoBe Swoo.

Your tea is coming, Swoo said sweetly before adding, in a lower voice, you shabby goat.

Dirt ignored her. Swoo lacked the size and fat a Bower at her level should have, but she more than made up for those in other areas. She was as unbearably confident as a Flagga boy, tenacious as a starving street dog, faster than any other NoBe and half of the Sis. She’d finished the season with five wins in a row and, with her exciting Bowing style, flashy dance skills, and fashionable haircut—shaved on both sides with a high strip of tight curls leading back to a fluffy bun—had become a fan favorite.

And she knew it. Her ego was growing faster than her belly.

Any other day, Dirt would have disciplined her. But today, peace was more important than pride. If Dirt had to swallow one to keep the other, then so be it.

Soon the Bibi came huffing out of the jungle. With her long strides, seven-year-old Nana led the way. She was the skinniest Bower that Dirt had ever seen, but her body was tall and strong, and she had a quick mind for technique. Little Snore, straggling behind, was the opposite. Short, more round than long, and with plenty of good child fat left on her bones, the four-year-old had the look of a future champion, but the mind and mood of a very sleepy mamba. When she was awake, she was tireless and always plotting trouble.

When she was awake.

Sis Dirt! Nana said. Na good day! She was missing a lower tooth, knocked out in yesterday’s training. The gap only made her smile more endearing.

Na good day, Sis Dirr, Snore said with theatrical exhaustion. She collapsed onto her back, swinging her arms and legs in the dirt like she was splashing in a puddle. Sis Dirr, I am tired.

Up, up, Dirt said. You are home. Na training must begin.

They groaned their disagreement.

The Mud camp lay in a muddy clearing amid the South’s untamed jungles. In the rear corner was the Mud Fam’s sleep hut, a driftwood shack bound by twine. Beside it lay the garden, which was half for crops—peppers, tea leaves, various fruits and vegetables—and half for chickens. In the center was the fighting ring, essential to any Bower camp. It was five strides in every direction, filled a finger deep with golden sand, and enclosed by a ring of canvas sandbags that divided it from the muddy grass of the rest of the Mud camp.

As Dirt ordered the Bibi into the ring to begin the day’s training, Swoo returned with the tea and an eye roll, offering both to Dirt before sitting over by the sleep hut to watch.

Time to train, Swoo, Dirt said. She could ignore the eye roll, but she couldn’t ignore the break from routine.

Why train with na Bibi? I am no longer NoBe.

It was somewhat true. Swoo would be a Sis next season and no longer compete as a NoBe. But the next season hadn’t started yet, and the girl needed to show some humility.

Dirt wanted to say something sharp, but she looked over at the sleep hut, where Sis Webba slumbered, and thought better of it.

Peace, not pride, she said to herself. Peace, not pride.

So instead she turned back to the Bibi.

Stand strong! Dirt boomed. The Bibi hurried into their Bowing stances, feet shoulder width apart, one in front and one behind. They bent their knees just slightly, hands up, upper bodies loose. When they were in position, she began the Bowing sequence. Slap na water!

The two Bibi did as told, rolling their shoulders, palms reaching out and smacking down atop an invisible waterline.

Ride na wind!

They crouched low and surged forward, so close to the ground that each girl’s rear leg dragged through the sand before she hopped back to her feet.

Trap na fire!

They smacked palm against palm and tightened their grips around the waist of an imaginary enemy.

And Bow to na earth! Dirt finished.

They were supposed to bend forward or backward or rotate sideways, bodies arcing like the unique swoops of narrow tree trunks.

But they were young.

Nana, indecisive as ever, couldn’t commit to any direction. So she did all of them, wobbling around like a palm in a monsoon. Completely ineffective.

For Little Snore, it was playtime. She fell forward, flat on her face. Her coughed giggle dispersed the sand around her mouth.

As the Second of the Mud, it was Dirt’s responsibility to train the Bibi and NoBe. She had to teach them not just the rules and traditions of Bower life, but also the fighting art of Bowing. She had learned long ago that she didn’t have the spirit for competition, but she knew the craft of Bowing well and had made herself into the best trainer she could be.

Breathe easy, Nana, Dirt said in a low voice. As usual, Nana was stiff. Even though she’d done the sequence a thousand times, her shoulders were tight with worry.

Nana let out a long exhale, the way Dirt had taught her years ago.

Snore, up, up! The youngest Mud sister stood back up and fell into her Bowing stance.

Once the Bibi were settled, Dirt continued. Again! she growled.

Even as the Bibi flopped through their techniques, Dirt felt a warm pride watching her sisters train. Ever since she was a Bibi, she’d dreamed of being the First of a mighty Fam, one with hundreds of sisters and a camp large enough for them all. She’d dreamed of walking among the ranks of her sisters as they trained, fixing their technique, adjusting their posture, giving a word of encouragement here and a reprimanding look there. Though she would never be a champion Bower herself, she could still experience the glory of victory through her Fam. That would be her legacy.

Her dream still eluded her. She wasn’t a First, she was a Second. And the Mud Fam didn’t have hundreds of sisters, it had five. But every tree started with a seed, and with water and sun and a little bit of—

Chaaaiii, Swoo exclaimed, watching the Bibi with mock disgust. You Bow like sicksick dogs. She hopped to her feet and headed for the ring. I will show you.

Snore laughed at Swoo’s criticism and barked like a dog. Nana, however, stared hard at the floor as if she’d been scolded. She was a sensitive girl; Dirt often had to protect her against Swoo’s flippant tongue.

Dirt felt a flame of anger starting to burn within her. Only Swoo ever made her that angry.

NoBe Swoo, sit dow— Dirt began, but Swoo was already going through the whole sequence.

She Slapped quickly, then glided low and cat-quick in a Ride, her favorite technique. She was one of the best Riders in the whole South, even when compared to full Sis. That was where her name had come from. The crowds that watched her fights loved to shout SWOOOO like the sound of rushing wind as she Rode.

Swoo snapped up to her feet, arms forming a tight Trap. Without slowing, she moved right into a flashy Back Bow, bending backward at the hip, far enough to threaten gravity, but not far enough to drive her head into the sand. Her Bowing technique was still years away from the level of the South’s elite Bowers, but it wasn’t bad for a NoBe.

Snore’s tiny hands broke into applause as Swoo finished. Chaaaiii, she cooed as Swoo flexed her muscles and soaked up the admiration.

Any other day, Dirt would have given Swoo such a tongue-lashing the arrogant girl wouldn’t be able to look Dirt in the eye for a half moon.

But not today. She couldn’t risk a loud argument.

Your toes, she said.

Swoo raised an eyebrow.

When you Bow, Dirt explained, you must rise on your toes. She stretched her back nonchalantly, wincing at the small, satisfying pops.

Swoo rolled her eyes. Sis Dirt, this is training. She did the whole sequence again, faster. Dirt grunted at the increasingly sloppy technique, but she envied the youthful athleticism. Training is not fighting.

Train bad, fight bad, Dirt said.

Train fast, fight faster, Swoo countered, still battling the air.

Dirt looked to the Bibi. Give Swoo no mind. There is much she does not know.

Swoo smirked. Eh heh, and what do you know, eh? Do you fight?

The mood shifted, as if a pebble had struck and sent a ripple through the camp. The Bibi’s eyes slid from Dirt to Swoo and back.

"Na Sis knows many things, NoBe Swoo," Dirt said.

Then come and show me, Swoo retorted. She stepped toward Dirt, competitive thirst in her eyes. Teach me, wisewise Sis Dirt.

Chaaaiii, cooed Nana and Snore.

Dirt sipped her tea, maintaining her calm. How can I teach one who knows all? Go and sit.

But Swoo didn’t move. She stayed in the ring, her face a mask of stubbornness tinged with curiosity.

Dirt understood what was happening. NoBe were young, strong, eager to prove themselves. The only reason they didn’t challenge Sis more often was out of respect, not humility. And Dirt was old and out of shape, her belly shrinking, arms skinnying. Even in her prime, she’d been a notoriously terrible competitor. In a fight, the best Bowers were able to clear their minds and focus on battle, but Dirt’s mind would get overwhelmed by her opponent’s moves, the crowd’s reaction, her sisters’ encouragement, and, mostly, her own doubts. She was the only Sis in all the South who didn’t actually compete.

In short, she was a perfect target for an overeager NoBe. To Swoo, Dirt wasn’t a threat, she was a trophy.

But the only thing worse for Dirt than having her weak body and rusty Bowing skills exposed by a NoBe would be ignoring the challenge altogether. The Bibi would never respect her again if she backed down.

You breezy, Sis Dirt? Swoo goaded, delight in her eyes. You breezy to Bow with Swoo, eh?

So Dirt did what had to be done.

I see you wish to learn, Dirt said. She hiked her baggy pants up at the waist, slid the cinched legs above her knees. Then come. I will teach.

2

Bowing Lesson

DIRT AND SWOO stared at each other from across the ring.

All around them, the camp was still. The trees were quiet. The birds and monkeys, normally so restless, settled in to watch the fight below. A delicate breeze rolled through, just enough to tussle Dirt’s short, already-tussled hair.

Nana let out a concerned groan. Sis Webba! she shouted, speeding off toward the sleep hut.

Mama Eghi’s teeth…, Dirt swore. Nana! she hissed, but the younger girl was already going through the sleep hut door.

Just like that, all the care Dirt had taken to not wake Webba was wasted. But if she chased after Nana now, Dirt knew it would only look like she was trying to avoid the fight. Swoo would never let her hear the end of it.

She would settle this problem with Swoo, apologize to Webba, then discipline Nana appropriately.

Other than the creatures of the jungle, Little Snore was their only spectator. The youngest Mud sister found a good angle outside the ring and plopped down to watch.

Swoo fell into her Bowing stance. She was heavier on her front foot than most, a common trait among Riders. It allowed for a quicker burst toward the opponent. Dirt could remember the exact lesson, years before, when she’d taught Swoo that stance.

Then Swoo started Slapping, her shoulders rolling, hands outstretching and touching down on the air at shoulder height before retracting. She was gauging distance with caution and precision, like a snake’s tongue tasting the air.

It was at that moment that Dirt realized exactly how much of a fool she was. Swoo was five years her junior, a competitive Bower approaching her prime; Dirt was an aging, long-retired coach. Swoo was already making all the calculations a fighter had to make, ready to capitalize on any error Dirt made; Dirt was still standing with her arms at her side, watching the younger girl advance. Swoo was one of the best NoBe in the South, lean muscle and a small but firm belly; Dirt was the only Sis in the entire Isle who didn’t compete, with a great belly that was soft and sagging.

Dirt wasn’t just going to lose. She was going to be humiliated.

You ready, Sis Dirt?

Na Gods forgive my proud head, Dirt thought.

Swoo Rode in hard, springing forward and low, arms outstretched. The speed of it froze Dirt in place, too quick for her to react, but Swoo must have thought it was some sort of trap. She stopped mid-Ride, springing away and to the side, well beyond Dirt’s reach.

Dirt finally raised her arms and began Slapping. Offensively, a good Slapper could quickly push an opponent out of the ring for an easy win. Defensively, a good Slapper could keep an opponent away for as long as she wanted. In her youth, Dirt had been as good a Slapper as Swoo was a Rider.

In her youth.

But at sixteen, she wasn’t young anymore, and before she could find a rhythm, Swoo was Riding in again. Dirt Slapped twice, landing glancing blows on each of Swoo’s shoulders, but Swoo blew through them as if they were no more than mosquito bites. Her arms wrapped just under Dirt’s armpits, around her back. She felt Swoo’s palms clasp together, locking her in place. Trapped.

Sis Diiirt, Swoo crooned into her ear.

Dirt was already breathing heavy. Eh?

You ready, eh?

That was when the real struggle began. Trapping was the most exhausting part of Bowing. It was a fight to break the opponent’s grip and establish one’s own. It involved prying fingers off, wrenching limbs askew, jutting hips out of reach in a struggle for superior position. Swoo’s Trapping technique wasn’t the best, but she was relentless, and far stronger than she looked. It took all of Dirt’s strength and balance to break grip after grip, and soon her muscles became too tired to break them. All she could do was fight to keep her balance as Swoo dragged her around the ring, setting up what would surely be a painful and demoralizing Bow.

As her strength ebbed away from her, Dirt began to remember. The speed of the fight. The tug and pull, the shifts in weight, the moments of gulped breaths before the struggle resumed. The rhythm. You could always hear music when Bowing, even if none was playing. It was the music of the dust swirling beneath the feet, the music of the pounding heart, the music of the opponent’s Slaps and Rides.

Swoo fought like a drum circle, fury from every direction.

Dirt fought like a broken kora, strings all akimbo and out of tune.

Swoo suddenly slipped beneath Dirt’s armpit, sliding around to take control of her from behind.

You ready, Sis Dirt? Swoo bellowed in triumph. Eh? You ready?!

A quick buck of Swoo’s hips and Dirt felt her feet leave the earth, hauled up by the strength of another girl for the first time in years. In that moment, the shame of being so viciously Bowed by a NoBe didn’t even occur to her. All she worried about was being dropped on her head, sand exploding all around her and raining into her eyes and mouth and nostrils. Her teeth would slam together, maybe even onto her tongue.

Chaaaiii, what is this?! a voice called.

Instead of flying backward, feet over head, Dirt was dropped back down to the earth. Instead of climbing off the ground with a head full of sand, she was standing, whole and unBowed. Swoo’s arms fell away.

Only one person could make Swoo stop so suddenly. Only one person commanded such respect.

Na fight, eh? the voice said, and Dirt turned.

Sis Webba, the First of the Mud, the champion and leader of the Mud Fam, stood beside the ring, deep-black skin shining in the morning sun. Her round face was split with a grin, her thick nose flared in joy. She was the biggest of them, in every sense of the word. She was as wide as she was tall, with a good layer of fat over her muscles and a belly that thumped like a tree trunk when she smacked it. She clapped her thick, meaty hands. Hands that were feared all over the South for what they could do to a girl. Beside her, Little Snore immediately imitated Webba’s clapping. Nana was a few strides away, stuck between wanting to clap along and wanting to cry.

Young NoBe fighting na old, saggy branch, eh? Webba said, laughing. Bibi Snore, you see your sister? She walked forward into the ring. You see why she is ‘Dirt,’ eh? If I do not come, she will Bow na poor NoBe Swoo. Boom! Webba made an explosion with her hands, eyebrows dancing in amusement.

Dirt was still breathing too heavily to talk, but she nodded to her Sis then bent forward, hands on knees, wheezing.

Never! Swoo shouted. Sis Dirt cannot Bow me! Did you not see, Sis Webba?

Webba went over and put an arm around Swoo. Breathe easy, Swoo. Sometimes na saggy branch can be strongstrong, eh? She let out a roar of laughter, one hand on her belly. Strong Bow, my sisters, strong Bow, she said, strolling over to Dirt. She threw an arm over Dirt’s shoulders as well. You ripe, my Sis? she whispered. Swoo punish you, eh?

Dirt enjoyed a small laugh, relieved that the fight had ended with her dignity intact. Even in her old age, she was just as nervous in a fight as she’d been when she was a Bibi.

Shameful.

She took a deep breath and straightened. I am fine. She turned to Swoo and extended her hand. Strong Bow, my sister.

She was met with a glare that could carve stone.

Swoo avoided Dirt’s hand like it was a rotted fish, then looked to Webba, a plea in her eyes. Sis Webba, before you come, I am winning. Do you not see?

But Webba had already moved on to tossing Snore in the air, spurred on by the Bibi’s mad giggles. Swoo frowned and then left, tugging her handaxe out of its wooden block and wandering into the jungle.

My Sis Dirt, Webba said, setting Snore down with an affectionate tug of the young Bibi’s ear. Come and speak with me in your boring voice. She headed back to the sleep hut.

Dirt nodded. Slap na water, she said to the Bibi. Five hundred Slaps before I come back. She ignored their groans. Then I will teach you na Back Bow.

Nana and Snore lit up at that and immediately started practicing. Dirt followed the First of the Mud out of the ring.

The Mud sleep hut was only as big as it needed to be, rising scarcely above Webba’s head and with just enough floor space for the five Mud sisters to sit in a circle around a meal. The girls spent most of their day outside: training, tending the garden, resting in the shade. They only used the hut for meals, sleep, and changing clothes.

The last of which Snore still hadn’t figured out. She always left her discarded pants around, no matter how many times Dirt disciplined her for it.

I am sorry, my Sis, Dirt said, collecting the latest pants from the center of the floor. It was an old pair handed down from Nana, light brown cotton with a border of little green jungle cats stitched around the leg holes. Nana should not wake you like this. You need rest.

Unlike a Second, who had duties toward all the Fam’s other sisters, a First only had one job: fight. Throughout the Bowing season, Bowers fought each other to determine how they ranked, from worst to best. Then those rankings were used to determine who moved on to compete in the annual God Bow tournament, a monthlong, high-stakes series of fights that determined the future of each competing Fam. While it was common for Seconds, Thirds, and even Fourths to qualify for the tournament, only a girl with the power, experience, and mental strength of a First had a chance to win it.

As such, the reputation and future of the Fam depended on the First’s victories. With the final fight of the Bowing season less than a day away, Webba’s rest was more important than ever, and it was Dirt’s job to ensure she got it.

Webba shrugged. Nana does not wake me. I am awake. She grabbed a mango from a fruit basket they kept in the corner and ate half of it in a single bite. At least she was eating properly. I hear na old woman fight na NoBe, so I go and watch. Swoo almost Bow you, eh? Her face lit with mirth while she chewed.

Dirt grunted. Strong girl, Swoo, she admitted.

Young girl, Swoo. ‘Na fierce wind will spread na young seed but break na old tree.’ And you…

Eh heh, Dirt said. When she and Webba were Bibi, the elder Mud Sis had been full of such wise sayings, but Dirt hadn’t memorized them the way Webba had. I am na old tree.

Webba’s tone became uncharacteristically serious. Almost na woman, eh? You have na plan?

For what? Dirt asked, even though she knew what Webba meant.

Na Bow is for girls, Webba said with exaggerated patience, as if explaining to a new Bibi. Soon na Gods will Scar you and you must go. But where, Sis Dirt, Second of na Mud? Where then will my oldold sister go?

I have no plan, my Sis, Dirt sighed. The only way she didn’t spend all day worrying about her life after Scarring was by worrying even more about Webba’s fight. I do not know what I will do.…

The Gods had left the Isle long ago, but They still watched over it: Mama Eghodo the Lawbringer, Papa Oduma the Defender, Mama Ijiri the Trickster, and Papa Abidon the Liberator. When a girl reached her seventeenth year, They Scarred her face, marking her as a woman.

And Bowing was for girls. Girls only.

Dirt would be seventeen just after this season’s God Bow tournament ended. Then her Scarring would come. When that happened, she would have to travel to Antie Yaya’s compound, and she would never be seen again. As a young girl, Dirt had watched the elder Mud Sis say goodbye on the day of their Scarring, uncertainty in their eyes as they walked into the jungle. Soon Dirt would join them, begin her life as a woman.

Except Dirt had no idea what life as a woman was like. The only woman in all the South was Antie Yaya, but Antie Yaya was special. It was said that all the other men and women had been taken by the Gods, as a punishment for some ancient crime. Like every other girl in the South, Dirt’s earliest memories were of being a recruit in the halls of Antie Yaya’s compound, where she was taken care of by Antie Yaya and the Mosquito girls who worked for her. But at four years old, when the New Year came, she’d decided to become a Bower, and since then she’d lived with the Mud Fam, growing up among the secluded plot of jungle they called their camp. In her twelve years as a Bower, she’d never spoken with, seen, or even heard of another woman besides Antie Yaya.

I… do not want to go, Dirt admitted. She felt like a coward. Scarring was tradition. Leaving the Fam was tradition. Traditions had to be followed above all else. Na Mud is not ready, she said.

Because we are few, Webba noted.

Dirt nodded, then gave Webba a desperate look. Too few, my Sis.

Webba pursed her lips knowingly.

A