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Onitsha Main, Ochanja, The Twins, Nkpor, and the Shadows of Shoprite

By Somto Ihezue

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Onitsha Main.

It started with the garri sellers. Basin by basin, their grains went gray with mold. Stall by stall, they all shut down. The small-scale carpenters down by the port were next. With soaring prices, they could not afford to transport their production materials into town. The Abada textile dealers packed up their bales of fabric and locked them in a warehouse. They planned to wait out the crisis. One morning, they woke up and found the warehouse razed, their fabrics with it. The Abada women wailed. The Abada women rent their clothes and rolled in the dirt. The flames roared higher.

This, this was how they knew. Onitsha Main Market, the largest market in West Africa, had gone missing.

The town of Onitsha had never faced a crisis of this scale. Many bordering towns also relied on Onitsha Main for trade and business. His siblings, the other major markets in the town—Ochanja, The Twins: Relief and Head Bridge, and the youngest of them, Nkpor—had looked everywhere. They looked in the Niger River, Onitsha Main was not there. They visited their cousin Ariaria in Aba, their brother was not there. They looked in anthills, on camel backs in the Sahara, in tomato baskets, and in every uttered word. It was like Onitsha Main had ceased to exist.

“I saw Onitsha Main in India haggling pepper prices,” a spice caravan said.

“I saw Onitsha Main trudging through the Namibian desert,” a cactus-turned-house plant said.

“I heard Onitsha Main dying.” It was City-Tech Library.

Onitsha Main and City-Tech Library had been many things but friends. The government had seized a considerable portion of land from Onitsha Main. They had torn down the shops and drove out the traders. On the land, they erected the high-end Artificial Intelligence Library, City-Tech. It did not end there. The government went further to divert funding from The First Library of Ancient Arts & Histories. With City-Tech’s ability to replicate original data and texts, The First Library was considered redundant. This led to its dilapidation and consequent shutdown. The First Library had been a dear companion to the markets, to Onitsha Main especially. The elder market always visited. He liked to read about the histories of the markets, and how they came to be. This was how the texts described his own beginning: He had walked out of the Niger River, and when he offered Onitsha natives white sand in one palm and rice in the other, they welcomed him, offering him land in return. Onitsha Main loved the books in The First Library. They smelled of old dust and a time when everything was beautiful. Those days were long gone now with all the oil refineries and bunkers springing up everywhere. And with fancy libraries stealing his land. Of course, City-Tech did not pose a catastrophic threat to the environment, not like the refineries. But Onitsha Main was fine lumping them all together.

City-Tech never seemed to care. Nor did they acknowledge this profound enmity. They always had an air of superior nonchalance about them. With head raised high, eyes vacant; half closed, their hands were forever clasped behind their back. This enraged Onitsha Main even more. And whatever enraged Onitsha Main, the other markets were bound by brotherhood and duty to be equally enraged.

“What do you mean you heard him dying?” The Twins, Headbridge and Relief, asked in the same breath.

“My statement was self-elucidating.” City-Tech went back to replicating terracotta motifs collected from the Igboukwu Museum.

“You are a liar!” The Twins burst forward. They were not known for subtlety. “Not surprising seeing as theft is your craft of choice,” they scoffed at the terracotta replicas. “If anything happened to Onitsha Main, we would be the first to know!”

“I am built on land that once belonged to Onitsha Main—”

“Still belongs to Onitsha Main.” The Twins did not let the library finish.

City-Tech blinked once. “If you insist.”

Nkpor, fingers fidgeting, was going to say something.

“If you will excuse me, I have an encyclopedia to update,” the library hushed the young market.

The markets did not know what to make of the things City-Tech had said. Onitsha Main was the strongest of them, the largest of them. He had been here since they laid the foundations of Onitsha. He was meant to be here long after those foundations were no more. How do you end a thing mighty?

“Where?” Ochanja joined the conversation. She had been silent since it started. “Where did you hear him dying?”

---

Onitsha Shoprite Mall was shiny, new, and massive. It was the first mall the state had seen. People marched into it in the hundreds. The stores had the strangest things, things you only saw on western television channels. Things like lasagna, a McDonald’s, and orange-colored pumpkins. Word was it had everything. The day the mall opened to the public, the crowd had been immense and someone got trampled to death. Folks had come from neighboring towns, from Nnewi, Obosi, and Awka, all to get a glimpse of it. Even the state’s governor had been there at Shoprite’s unveiling. But like several other shiny and new establishments, Shoprite Mall never spoke.

Like City-Tech Library, Shoprite had also been built on Onitsha Main’s land. The market had screamed and raved for months. When his siblings tried to calm him, he screamed even louder. He inflated the price of beans in retribution, but soon realized the people affected were those who could not afford to buy produce at Shoprite. Onitsha Main readjusted the price. Then he caused the Niger River to overflow her banks, with hopes of flooding the mall. But the fishermen cried and wept as their livelihoods got swept away by the tides. The fishermen had never set foot in Shoprite either. The mall was not welcoming to folks like them. Again, Onitsha Main reconsidered. It was at this point the market decided to confront Shoprite Mall.

The Twins

Relief and Headbridge. The rebels. Their rebellion evident in their names. They had completely taken on the names the colonizers brought with them, in a bid to rile up the older markets. It worked. Not one day went by when Onitsha Main did not remind them of their sacrilegious act. He pleaded with them to reconsider, to perhaps keep their native names, in addition to the foreign ones, just like he had done. The Twins were not known for heeding. Ochanja had taken more drastic actions. For decades, she cut all ties with them, refusing to trade or barter with them. Their wares were turned back along her routes and borders. Ochanja vendors caught trading with The Twins faced steep and harsh consequences. The Twins knew they had been partly forgiven when Ochanja’s sanctions slowly eased. But the Twins had more rebelling in store. They interacted and did business with the smaller markets, employing trading systems only allowed among the five major markets. Dealings with the smaller markets had a guiding system, put in place by Onitsha Main to maintain order and their hierarchy. The Twins just relished seeing Onitsha Main spiral. Ochanja no longer bothered when it came to them. She had more important things to invest energy in, like brooding. Of course, they eventually got to her. Trading with sketchy offshore black market merchants and tanking the collective market value of the region’s homegrown products was sure to enrage Ochanja. But all that was behind them now. All that mattered was finding Onitsha Main.

“What is the plan?” Nkpor asked, tightly hugging herself.

“We barge into that place, burn it to the ground, and bring Onitsha Main home!” The Twins let their voices boom, nodding in agreement with each other.

“Right,” Ochanja sighed, shutting her eyes and massaging the bridge of her nose. They were giving her a headache. “That is not a plan.”

“We do not have time to sit around for schematics and riddles.” The Twins charged forward. “Terrible things could be happening to Onitsha Main while we sit here dilly dallying!”

A tad amused, Ochanja cocked her head to the side. “That is a big fancy word, even for the both of you.”

“We are going with or without you!” The Twins proceeded to barge out of the meeting. Pausing in their tracks, they spun back around, their eyes wild and erratic. “You never liked Onitsha Main. You hated that he was the first of us, and not you. We know his predicament brings you joy!”

And silence met silence.

“There is one thing you still do not have.” Ochanja rose, meeting their glare with a calmness. “A plan.”

The Twins were visibly seething at this point. They were usually on the other end of exchanges like this, usually the ones provoking everyone else. A taste of their own medicine did not taste so good.

The Twins turned to Nkpor. “Are you coming with us?”

“I—I don’t—” Nkpor fumbled for words, her nervous eyes darting from Ochanja to The Twins and back again.

“Fine. We’ll do it ourselves.” The Twins stormed out of the meeting.

---

The Twins stood before Shoprite. It was fenced and gated all around. The markets had no gates. They had no walls. A wall was a cage. How do you cage a thing mighty?

The Twins stared down the establishment. They stood, they waited, until night gathered. They knew not what to expect, but they were going in anyway.

“It is OK to be afraid.” Head Bridge took Relief’s twitching hand in his. The Twins only spoke in two distinct voices when they were alone.

“We do not know what we’re up against.” Relief squeezed their brother’s hand. “If they could hold Onitsha…what would they do to us?”

“There’s two of us, and…” Head Bridge stopped. He was going to say “one of them.” But no one knew what Shoprite Mall was, or if they were just one. No one had ever seen them. No one had ever heard them.

The Twins took their first step into the mall together.

“Can you feel that?” Head Bridge inhaled.

“It’s Onitsha Main!” Relief exhaled.

But it wasn’t, not entirely. Yes, Onitsha Main did exist in that feeling, but something was strange about it. Like an abhorrence of sorts. Like Onitsha Main was there and not there. And the feeling came from everywhere, shrouding The Twins.

“We should split up.” Head Bridge let go of his sibling’s hand.

“We’ve existed long enough to know that is a terrible idea.” Relief tried to reach back for their brother.

“We need to cover more ground.” Head Bridge started to run down a hallway. “Meet back here when you find something.” He waved Relief goodbye, as he disappeared down the hall.

Relief disliked being away from their brother. Head Bridge felt the same way. Without one another, The Twins did not know how to… be. In the beginning, they had been one market. But far removed from Onitsha Main and Ochanja, they had been lonely. So they split themself in two, and have kept each other company ever since.

Relief walked down a fruit and vegetable aisle. The market could see the appeal. The food items were exceptionally plump and juicy, their colors radiant. Not that the markets didn’t have aesthetically pleasing produce—Relief and their siblings just had a wider variety, ranging from the plump to the not-so-plump. The not-so-plump produce served a purpose. The masses found them affordable and readily available, especially during a food crisis, which was becoming a recurring theme. The mall clearly did not have the masses in mind.

Above all, the markets’ food items smelled of earth. The potatoes had dirt in their ridges. The eggs had specks of feces. Some of the oranges still had their stalks and leaves. The corn still held their silk, the coconut their husks, and the meat their blood. On the mangoes, one could still smell the morning dew.

In Shoprite Mall, there was no dirt, no feces, no blood. There was no earth in this place.

Relief picked up a kiwi. The market had never seen such a fruit before. They gave it a whiff.

“Ugh!” Relief tossed it. It smelled of rubber.

“You should not litter.”

It was Onitsha Main’s voice. Relief had listened to it barrage themself and Head Bridge for decades, and would probably still hear the old market’s voice long after they were dead. But the vessel that held the voice was formless, a thing unnatural. A weirdness. It had limbs where limbs should not be. It had eyes where eyes should not see. The voice came forth from where voices should not be heard. Not many things frighten a market. Their kind had seen wars come and go, plagues and pestilence, years burned over, people of all shades and creeds. But Relief had never seen a thing like this. It frightened them.

“Do not be afraid,” the thing said.

“Bold of you to assume I am.” Relief straightened up.

“I have heard of you,” the thing went on. “Seen you, in your brother’s memories.” The weirdness paused. A long unusual pause, like it was searching for something within itself. “Relief, is it not? Should there not be two of you?” The thing looked around, but Relief was not sure which direction it was looking.

“Give us our brother, or this will end unfavorably for you.” The market’s hands balled into fists.

“The last great war you endured was the civil war of ‘76.” The thing slithered forward. “I make you a promise… this you will not endure.”

Relief did not intend to see that promise fulfilled. Kitchen knives materialized around them, like a giant halo. Their knives were known to cut deep and fast, the sharpest of all the markets. Though Ochanja would disagree. Relief sent the knives pouring down on the formless thing, like rain.

The thing did not step away. It did not hide. It did not find cover. It let the blades find all the corners of its distorted being. In some corners, the blades splintered, and the blades shattered. In other corners, the blades sabered through. Still, the thing stood, undaunted, a hundred knives jutting out of it.

Relief took many steps back.

“There is no running in this place.” The weirdness stretched out all its hands, in every direction. “You are in my house.”

The floor tiles of the aisle began to rumble. The thing pulled its hands inward, and the tiles rippled forward, yanking Relief along until the market’s neck was clasped in the grip of the formless being.

It started to eat Relief. It started with their face, and the market understood what it meant to die screaming. This is how Relief would describe it: A child tearing at an overripe mango, skin and juice splattering all over. The thing gnawed at their ears, and Relief heard the roofs of their electrical appliance stores crumble and fall. It tore at their tongue and Relief tasted the fruits in their market farms fester and rot. It clawed at their eyes, and Relief saw fire, and fire, and fire. Relief thrashed, Relief tore, and the abhorrence ate on.

And Head Bridge came running, his body taking the form of his most purchased item: machine spare parts. He grabbed the weirdness and flung it. The thing went crashing from shelf to shelf.

“What was that?” Head Bridge ran to his twin, helping them up. “Is that Shoprite?”

Head Bridge searched Relief’s face for answers, and what he found sent a coldness tingling across his skin. The market gasped, cupping his mouth.

“What?” The fright on Head Bridge’s face found its way to Relief’s voice. “What is it?” Relief grew tired of asking, and turned, looking into the glass pane of a fridge. Half their face was gone, eaten up.

“Did—did it do this to—to you?” Head Bridge reached for his sibling’s face with quivering fingers.

Relief screamed, and all the glass panes in the aisle shattered to smithereens. “I am going to kill it!”

A scattering sound started behind The Twins. They both turned and from the pile of broken shelves, Shoprite Mall rose. And all the lights went out.

Ochanja

“Something is wrong!” Nkpor announced as she came to find Ochanja. The young market was frantic. “I can feel it!”

Ochanja could feel it too. But being the rational voice of reason always fell to her.

“I am sure it is nothing. The Twins are most likely tearing down the place,” she said, folding her braids into a bun. “I will go take a look, and drag them back if I have to.”

“Maybe—maybe we should ask the other markets for assistance,” Nkpor suggested. “We need all the help we can get.”

“This is a family affair, and we fix our own problems.” There was a finality in Ochanja’s words. “The others come to us for assistance, not the other way around.”

Nkpor did not push any further. “I am coming with you.”

“No, you are not.” Ochanja gently shoved her sister back. “Someone has to stay and hold down the fort.”

“But—”

“It is not a request.”

She was invoking her authority as the oldest market present. It would probably not have worked on The Twins, but Ochanja knew it would work on Nkpor. A little hypocritical considering that in times past, when Onitsha Main had invoked that authority over her, Ochanja had outright defied him. She did not like Onitsha Main, The Twins were right about that. She never tried to pretend either. The Twins defied everyone for the fun of it, but Ochanja defied Onitsha Main out of spite. She believed she deserved to be the first of the markets. Her goods were as authentic as her brother’s, some would argue even better. Onitsha Main had the Niger River, but she had Upper Iweka where all the transport companies converged. It was Ochanja who granted access to the town of Onitsha. Her name opened all doors. But believing a thing did not make it true. Onitsha Main was the first and forever would be—if he survived this ordeal. Still, it came as no surprise Ochanja would walk into the unknown for him. Disliking Onitsha Main did not mean she didn’t care for him. She had the choice not to, and did not choose it. The two markets had been each other’s first friends, having come into existence at nearly the same time. Decades had passed before The Twins and Nkpor came into the picture, followed by the upshoot of the smaller markets, establishing the need for a lead figure. This was when the enmity set in. But Ochanja loved her brother still, and Onitsha Main loved her too.

Inside Shoprite Mall, Ochanja found a darkness. It was dense, like a mass of shadows clawing at her. Ochanja could not tell where her body began nor where it ended. One by one, the market sent lamps sailing to the ceiling. Like specks of dawn stilled in glass, the lamps gave light to the mall. Ochanja was one of the few markets that still sold lamps. Everyone else had upgraded to electric-powered bulbs and torchlight. Funny considering the country’s power grid crashed every other Monday afternoon.

The lamps illuminating her path, Ochanja went from aisle to aisle until she found the weirdness. It was gulping Head Bridge whole. All that was left was Head Bridge’s feet jutting out of its mouth. Ochanja barged forward. She grabbed the leg, and with all her might, pulled Head Bridge out of the thing’s mouth. And as Head Bridge came out, he was holding onto Relief’s hand, yanking his twin out with him. And when Relief came tearing out, they were equally holding onto another hand. All three siblings pulled and pulled, and at the end of that hand was Onitsha Main.

Enraged, bile and foam spattering all over, the thing charged at Ochanja.

“You will find I am difficult to swallow,” the market said, as she grew in size, a giant, mighty. How do you swallow a thing mighty?

And the thing stretched all its formless mouths, and all its mouths ripped at the ends. Still, it was not enough. Worn and torn, it ebbed to the ground.

“There is no time!” Onitsha Main picked himself off the ground. “We have to kill it.”

Getting eaten had taken quite a physical toll on the market. He was frail, his clavicle visible through thin stretched skin. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, and his head had many a bald spot. Despite it all, Onitsha Main found his feet, and he stood.

The Twins held the weirdness down, while Ochanja and Onitsha Main started a fire. Fueling it with cardboard papers and liquor, the fire burned fast, orange-green flames sweeping across the aisles, eating through the shelves and reducing the mall to ash and singed rubble. As more of the weirdness’s wares went into the fire, the thing shrieked and flailed, but the markets held on tight. With the fire at its height, they brought the weirdness closer, intent on destroying it.

“Enough.” It was City-Tech Library. They waded effortlessly through the blazing carnage.

“What are you doing here?” Ochanja asked while struggling to keep the thing down.

“What must be done.”

“You treacherous little rat!” Onitsha Main spat. “They are in cahoots with this monstrosity! They aided it in capturing me!” he informed the other markets.

Ochanja left the weirdness to her siblings and rushed at the Library. But the market soon found her body unmoving. Like a pile of weathered rocks, she crumpled to the ground. The other markets came falling with her.

“What—what is happening?” Ochanja tried to writhe to her feet but found it impossible. Something was pinning her down. It was excruciating.

“Access to the legal records of government-owned establishments is a fascinating thing.” City-Tech walked up to Ochanja. “The things one can do with such access, like sell off parts of your lands, change your names… have you temporarily shut down.”

“We belong to no one!” Ochanja bellowed through the pain.

“That is not what the records say,” City Tech continued. “You belong to the public, and, in essence, the government.”

“What—what did we ever do to you?” Onitsha Main strained.

City-Tech turned to the elder market. The library knelt, bringing their face closer to his.

“This town has the potential to be a modern high-end metropolis, but you and your ilk keep getting in the way.”

The Library stood back up. The thing slowly slithered to them, curling up around their feet. The Library patted one of its many heads.

“You markets are not structured and the rules of organized society seldom apply to you. This city cannot thrive in such disorderliness.”

The Library coaxed the thing forward, setting it loose on the markets.

“Not to worry, dozens of malls are already in the works, waiting to fill in the gap. This will be good for society, for Onitsha.” City-Tech recoiled from mentioning the name of the town. “We will need to change that name to something more modern.”

And Ochanja, powerless and sprawled on the mall floor, watched as Shoprite Mall ate her siblings. Then it came for her.

Nkpor

Nkpor knew what was coming for her. Her siblings were gone, and in their place, more and more malls went up. She should have gone with Ochanja that day. Perhaps things would have turned out differently. Or perhaps she’d have been eradicated alongside her siblings. Either way, she would have been with them. The smaller markets now looked to her for guidance, but Nkpor could barely guide herself out of the dark cloud looming over her. Hidden away in the depths of herself, past the okirika vendors, past the provision stores, past the men who blended cocoa, there did Nkpor remain. Her stalls were closing down with every passing day, traders were migrating, and sales were tanking.

“It is pathetic in here.” It was Shoprite Mall sifting past into Nkpor’s hidden places. This had been going on for a while, Shoprite finding and taunting the market. All in a bid to lure Nkpor out.

“You cannot harm me in here, and I am never coming out.” This shred of resistance was all Nkpor had left.

“Of course, of course.” Shoprite twirled.

The mall looked different now. They were no longer formless, no longer abhorrent. They shone. Nkpor could see bits and pieces of her siblings in the mall.

“But eventually though, maybe not today, but eventually.” Shoprite let a smile gleam across their face.

They were right. Nkpor knew it. She could not stay hidden forever. Parts of her chipped away with each drifting moon. And the malls were growing in number, stronger, more massive. They would overwhelm her in time.

“I am barely even functional. Just let me be.” A plea found Nkpor’s voice.

“Oh, darling.” Shoprite’s cold fingers caressed the market’s cheeks. The young market pulled away. “As long as you exist, the small markets will flock to you. But if you fall,” the mall tapped Nkpor’s nose, “boop. So do they.”

Nkpor inhaled, swallowing hard at the thought. But in that thought came another thought, and Nkpor held onto it.

“Plus I really want to eat you,” Shoprite giggled. “You are so pretty, and I reckon you’d be more delicious than your siblings.” The mall ran its fingers through the market’s braids. Nkpor did not pull away. “And when I’m done, I would be the prettiest thing ever.” Shoprite clapped with glee.

“Pretty is subjective.”

The glee waned from the mall’s face. Market and mall stared each other down. The glee quickly and pretentiously found its way back onto Shoprite.

“Oh well, until next time. Toodaloo!”

And the mall was gone, plunging Nkpor into a quietness. In that quietness, Nkpor opened the thought in her hands and knew what she needed to do. Onitsha Main would have called it madness. Ochanja would have been calm with rage. Relief and Head Bridge would have laughed and laughed and laughed. But they were not here. She was.

And for the first time in a long time, Nkpor stepped into the sun. She could feel them coming, the malls, from all corners, rushing at her. But they would not find her.

Nkpor gathered the small markets. She gathered them all: Mkpologwu, Yam market, Books & Stationery market, Ogbo Tomato, Aluminum market, Ezinifite, Ose Okwodu, Plywood & Carpentry tools market, she gathered them all.

“Here, take my eyes.” She folded them into Ezinifite’s hands.

“Take my leg.” The market handed one of her legs to the Plywood & Carpentry tools market.

“Here, it’s a little heavy.” Nkpor balanced the other leg in Ogbo Tomato’s hands.

“And my hair…” She took folds of it and wrapped them around Yam market.

And when Shoprite and the other malls came looking, they found Nkpor was many. Scattered across the town of Onitsha. In all the small markets, in all the small places. Ten thousand strong. How do you end a thing mighty? A thing infinite.

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Host Commentary

PseudoPod, Episode 952 for December 6th, 2024. 

Onitsha Main, Ochanja, The Twins, Nkpor, and the Shadows of Shoprite, by Somto Ihezue

Narrated by Solomon Osadolo; hosted by Kat Day audio by Chelsea Davis 

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Hey everyone, hope you’re all doing okay. I’m Kat, Assistant Editor at PseudoPod, your host for this week, and I’m excited to tell you that for this week we have Onitsha Main, Ochanja, The Twins, Nkpor, and the Shadows of Shoprite, by Somto Ihezue. This story first appeared in the 2024 anthology, Escalators to Hell: Shopping Mall Horrors.  

Author bio:
Somto Ihezue (He/Him) is a Nigerian–Igbo writer, editor, and filmmaker. He is a Creative Writing MFA student at the University of Maryland, and an alumnus of Clarion West. He is a recipient of the Mandela Institute’s AYNM Fiction Prize, and the Horror Writers Association Grant. His work has been shortlisted and nominated for multiple awards, including the Nommo Awards and the Utopia Awards. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in Tor: Africa Risen, Uncanny, Mothersound: The Sauútiverse Anthology, and many others. 

Narrator bio:
Solomon Osadolo is a copywriter, editor, and Podcaster based in Lagos, Nigeria. He’s the Editor of forLoop Weekly from ForLoop Africa and is a Content Associate at Anakle.

And now we have a story for you, and we promise you, it’s true. 

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ENDCAP

Well done, you’ve survived another story. What did you think of Onitsha Main, Ochanja, The Twins, Nkpor, and the Shadows of Shoprite by Somto Ihezue? If you’re a Patreon subscriber, we encourage you to pop over to our Discord channel and tell us. 

 

Our author, Somto, told me this about his story:
This story features markets in Onitsha, the town where I was born and raised. Onitsha is a huge commercial town known for its markets and business-oriented individuals. Everyone in Onitsha has a business, from roadside kiosks to warehouses stacked with goods. Onitsha is also home to the largest market in West Africa: Main Market. Unlike the malls—the most famous and biggest being Shoprite Mall—which mostly catered to the wealthy, the markets offer affordability and accessibility to the masses. Malls are a relatively new concept in Onitsha and Nigeria at large. Growing up, there was no thriving mall culture, but we had a market culture. I spent most of my weekends in marketplaces. Our old house overlooked a small street market—mkpologwu market—where you could find pretty much anything, from fresh bread, raw meat, fried akara and pap, crates of soft drinks, a seamstress, hairdressers, a pharmacy, a church, literally whatever your heart desired. Whenever I return home, I always go clothes shopping at Onitsha Main Market. It’s become something of a ritual.

 

So… I am a white woman, born in England in the 1970s. Colonialism is… a dark and unpleasant part of my country’s history, and something many British people are unwilling to look too closely at. When I started secondary school in the 1980s, I remember my Geography teacher showing us an old world map in which the British Empire was coloured pink, and it covered huge swathes of land. There was… an element of pride in this. And a sense of… regret, that it was something we had lost. 

As a twelve-year-old, I did not really understand. Now I appreciate that was awful. 

I was, though, fortunate to have an excellent History teacher, who never let anything pass without question. Miss Barker was, from memory, five feet nothing, skinny as a rake and absolutely terrifying – in the best way. She hammered critical thinking into all of her students – whether we wanted it or not – and personally, I am extremely grateful to this day. 

Helped, as well, by the fact that my own Grandmother was born and raised in Germany at the end of the second world war – although living in England as a British citizen by this time. She also regularly pushed back against the things “everyone knew” about Germany and the Germans. And there was a lot of that then, dark dregs from the war which was still very much living memory for many people.

All of which taught me to always question tropes and assumptions. None of us will always get this right, of course, but we can at least be aware. 

Unfortunately there are many in this country who have… not thought as hard as they might about the biases that are baked into all of us.

Reason umpty-seven why stories are so important. 

Because a story like this one… makes you think. It’s one thing to read about the various wars and horrendous cultural damage caused by British colonialism in a history text, or online, or – UGH, vomited out from some sort of AI monstrosity – and quite another to see, and hear, it brought to life in the form of a brilliant story. 

And this is why I wanted so very much to run this at PseudoPod: all the places mentioned are real. The history that Somto describes is… real. The building that made up the main market Onitsha – the largest in Nigeria – was destroyed during the Nigerian civil war in 1968 and then rebuilt. And yes, that civil war – one of the first wars to be televised to a global audience – was… the direct result of British colonialism. 

And of course our views are different from our present point in time, but also, not… because we’re all familiar with the global, cultural creep, whereby all the same things are sold by the same names. A few well-known brands taking over every thing, making a handful of billionaires ever richer while everyone else, and every thing else… is swallowed whole. 

Here it’s Shoprite – again, as Somto mentioned in his notes, a real brand: Africa’s largest supermarket retailer – which has taken over many smaller businesses in its quest to expand. But insert any big brand, really, anything that’s virtually wiped small shops and stalls away from high streets and markets. 

You know the names I’m thinking of. The parallel is clear: a few powerful individuals taking over everything, bulldozing and homogenising everything in their path.

Yes, it is horror.   

How do we deal with that? How do we fight back? Can we?

I am, generally, of the opinion that horror stories should end on a down note – they’re horror, after all – but here… I appreciate the hope Somto weaves into his ending. 

In all the small markets, in all the small places. Ten thousand strong. How do you end a thing mighty? A thing infinite. 

Yes. Visit the market. Buy from the small shops that don’t have glossy logos over their windows. Save the small places. Cherish them. 

Never give up.

As long as the many still exit, together, they are a thing mighty.

Thank you, Somto, for letting us run your wonderful story. 

 

Onto the subject of subscribing and support: PseudoPod is funded by you, our listeners, and we’re formally a non-profit. One-time donations are gratefully received and much appreciated, but what really makes a difference is subscribing. A $5 monthly Patreon donation gives us more than just money; it gives us stability, reliability, dependability and a well-maintained tower from which to operate, and trust us, you want that as much as we do.

If you can, please go to pseudopod.org and sign up by clicking on “feed the pod”. If you have any questions about how to support EA and ways to give, please reach out to us at donations@escapeartists.net. 

Those of you that already support us: thank you! We literally couldn’t do it without you! Anyone who’s thinking, ‘oh yes, I must go and do that,’ there’s something to be aware of: Apple have changed the way charging works through App Store apps. Long story short: sign up through a browser – including one on actually ON your phone – and it’ll be cheaper than if you go through the official Patreon app. This doesn’t affect existing subscribers – don’t worry! – it’s just for new members.     

And, if you can’t afford to support us financially, then please consider leaving reviews of our episodes, or generally talking about them on whichever form of social media you… can’t stay away from this week. We now have a Bluesky account and we’d love to see you there: find us at @pseudopod.org. If you like merch, you can also support us by buying various logo-ed goodies from the Escape Artists Voidmerch store. The link is in various places, including our latest social media posts. 

 

PseudoPod is part of the Escape Artists Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license. Download and listen to the episode on any device you like, but don’t change it or sell it. Theme music is by permission of Anders Manga.

 

Next week we have… If You Don’t Want a Cat, Don’t Get a Kitten by Sonora Taylor, guest hosted by Laura Pearlman from CatsCast! 

 

And finally, PseudoPod, and Toni Morrison, know…. 

“As you enter positions of trust and power, dream a little before you think.”

See you soon, folks, take care, stay safe.