She nodded. “It’s the highest peak on the island,” she explained. “From the summit, you can see the whole island on a clear day. It’s actually an old volcano, now extinct. The last recorded eruption was in 1923.”
“It must be stunning to see a volcano erupting,” commented Clarence, lost in thought. “I imagine it like an outpouring of passion. For a period it remains dormant, contained, hidden from the outside. The only one who knows how alive it is inside . . .” She realized how serious she had become and laughed. “I’m not surprised that volcanic land is so fertile. Well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?”
Iniko looked at her in the mirror with an intensity that made her blush.
“I like that,” he said. “I think it fits our way of life very well.”
“Don’t be upset,” she replied with irony, “but I thought your people were known for being quiet and peaceful.”
“Until we explode.” Iniko gave her a wry smile.
Bisila cleared her throat. “Did you know that the peak has five names?” she asked.
“I know two, Basilé and Santa Isabel. My father and my uncle always referred to it as Santa Isabel. And the other three?”
“In Bubi it’s called ?wassa,” answered Bisila. “The Nigerians called it Big Pico. And the British called it Clarence Peak.”
“Well, well!” exclaimed Iniko sarcastically. “The Clarence volcano! Don’t be upset, but I think you are a quiet and peaceful woman.”
The three of them burst out laughing. Even Bisila seemed more relaxed. They continued chatting until they got to Rebola, a town on a small hill at the feet of a beautiful Catholic church. Iniko went to visit some people, and the two women strolled along the streets until they got to the upper part of town, where they had a wonderful view of Malabo Bay. It was the first time Clarence had been alone with Bisila.
“I find it strange that churches like those in my village are in a place full of spirits,” mused Clarence.
Bisila explained why the Catholic religion had become so deeply rooted. Clarence listened, surprised by the similarities between the Bubi story of creation and the one she had learned as a child.
“There isn’t that much difference,” added Bisila, “between our Mmò and the Holy Spirit, between our bahulá abé and the evil spirits and demons, between our bahulá and the pure spirits and angels, or between Bisila and the Virgin Mary.”
“But admittedly, you are known for being much more superstitious than we are. Everywhere there are amulets, animal bones, shells, and feathers . . .”
Bisila looked at her with an amused expression. “And what do you say of your relics—saints’ bones, holy cards, and medals?”
Clarence did not know how to counter this argument, so she decided to ask why the Bubis so honored the souls of the dead. Bisila explained that the world consisted not only of the material but also included the ethereal, or spirit, region. The pure spirits, or bahulá, were in charge of the world’s physical laws. But the human souls were in charge of the baribò, or the souls of the various family heads that made up the Bubi people. When she saw Clarence frowning, she explained.
“I’ll give you an example. God created my soul, but he ceded or sold it to the morimò, or the soul of one of my ancestors, who has protected it and will protect it all my life in exchange for me honoring him as is due. And I, as any heir of my family or line, make an effort to give homage to both my protector spirit and those of the rest of my family so they can safeguard our prosperity, both on earth and when I’ve gone from it.”
“You mean when you have . . . died.”
“You say it as if it were something terrible,” said Bisila, raising her eyebrows.
“Because it is.”
“Not for me. When we leave here, the soul goes to a much better world. Precisely to prevent the soul of a dead body losing its way, wandering in torment, and becoming an evil spirit, it’s necessary to have funerals of mourning and adoration to our ancestors.”
Clarence could understand respect for their ancestors, but believing in spirits seemed a little childish.
“So,” she said carefully, “you believe it’s possible that here and now, there are one or more wandering spirits, trying to find their way.”
“If their families haven’t honored them well,” responded Bisila with conviction, “yes, of course.”
Clarence gazed over the red roofs of the small houses and paused at the spectacular view of the sea fading on the horizon. A light breeze began to rustle the palm trees. Beside her, Bisila rubbed her forearms.
Suddenly, something ran toward them and stopped a few paces away. Clarence let out a scream and clung on to Bisila, who showed no signs of fear.
“What is it?” she asked.
Bisila chuckled. “It’s only a lizard, Clarence. Don’t be frightened.”
“You mean an alligator or colored crocodile,” said Clarence, looking at the enormous green, red, and yellow animal.
“It’ll leave soon.”
But the reptile did not leave. It looked at them inquisitively, moving its short and wrinkled neck from side to side until it shot toward her. She stayed as still as she possibly could, willing to give it a kick when she got the chance, but the lizard did not seem aggressive. It halted a few centimeters from her, and as if possessed by a fit of madness, it started to go around in circles trying to bite its tail. It spent a good while at this until it managed to do so. Then it stopped, looked at the women, let its tail go, went around Clarence a couple of times, and disappeared.
Clarence was perplexed. She turned to Bisila and saw that she had covered her mouth with her hand.
“It’s a message,” she said in a deep voice. “Something is going to happen. And soon.”
A shiver ran down Clarence’s spine.
“Ready to continue!” exclaimed Iniko behind them.
He looked at her and asked with a worried face, “Have you seen a ghost?”
“Poor Clarence!” explained Bisila. “We were talking about religion. I think I might have frightened her a bit with so many spirits and dead souls.”
“Thank God it’s midday!” joked the young woman. “If we had talked about this at night, I would have died of fright.”
Iniko turned and stood in front of Clarence. Bisila continued walking toward the car.
“I think I have the cure for your fears,” he said.
He brought his hands up to his neck and undid the leather cord from which a small shell hung. Carefully, he moved her hair away from her neck and knotted the cord.
Clarence could feel Iniko’s hands on her skin. She shivered once again, but this time with pleasure.
She turned to look into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “But . . . who will protect you now?”
“We have two options,” he whispered. “I can buy another one, or I can stay close to you so that the same amulet can protect us both.”
Clarence bowed her head.
At that moment, she felt how the real Bioko and the imagined Fernando Po began to meld together in her heart.
10
The Guardian of the Island
“What’s our next destination?” Clarence asked while she pored over the simple map.