Writers 
The first time the funeral drum played by itself,
Mama said it was the dead calling.
At first, I didn't understand what she meant
because the old man who had played
at many funerals with the same drum
had died the night before.
The strange thing was,
we heard the drum playing by itself.
And the next thing we saw
was Pa Oyeniyi being buried beneath the earth
with his drum.
We all thought that was the end of it
until we heard the same familiar sound
coming from the village chief's house.
The next morning,
the chief was dead.
That was when I realised
the drum was called a funeral drum
for a reason.
Mama stopped letting me sleep alone.
She kept the doors locked
and whispered prayers beneath her breath
whenever the wind carried the sound of drums
through the village.
But that night,
I woke up to the sound of loud drummingβ
so loud it felt like it could damage my eardrums.
I was terrified.
The sound wasn't coming from outside.
It was right beside me.
The funeral drum sat in the corner of our room,
beating itself.
No hands.
No drummer.
Just the sound.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
I stared at it, frozen,
wondering who the beating was for.
Then I heard Mama's breathing beside me.
I slowly turned toward her.
She was awake too.
And somehow,
she was already crying.
Me or Mami?
