The Ember months that instil fear in the Ejiofor family signify wealth for my family. Like many Nigerians, they shake in terror at the thought of travelling during the last four months of the year.

While the firmament still held on to the moon, I began preparing to take Pastor Ejiofor to Enugu. It has been three years since he entrusted me with driving him on his annual trip to Enugu every October to collect his electrical goods and return to Lagos. For a trip that covers five months of my family’s rent in two days, I was willing to drive to the East despite the bad weather.

I shine the windows of my 2014 Toyota Sienna Wagon to remove the dusty coat of raindrops from them. My rosary swings on the rearview mirror as I blast Duncan Mighty’s *Onye Nkpom Hio* on my way to the Infinity Park. It is the only time I will be allowed to play the music I like.

Pastor Ejiofor may seem to be a paranoid man, but only those conversant with the reality of Nigerian road travel would understand his fear. He fills the car with worship and prayers in tongues throughout the trip. His tales of family members and close friends who lost their lives on the road during the Ember months remain unending.

Pastor Ejiofor arrives at the Infinity Park with his wife at 6 a.m. The black jeep is parked beside my car while his wife continues in prayer.

“The accidents of the Ember months shall not meet you, N’aha Jizọs!” His amen is loud and clear.

“Good morning, Mummy E,” I greet his wife.

“Morning, my dear,” she responds. “Please take care of my pastor.”

I reassure her that we will be safe and enter the car to begin our trip.

“Good morning, sir,” I greet Pastor Ejiofor.

I start the car and begin to drive. He takes off his cap and commences his worship to God. The road is muddy and unpaved. Driving in this area requires the skill of evading potholes.

Pastor’s pitch increases as he notices a truck hurtling in our direction.

“Chima, slow down!” he screams.

I reduce my pace, but the truck continues to hurtle towards us. My attempt to swerve on this patchwork of a road leads to the bonnet of the car meeting the tailgate of the truck.

The screeching tyres fall silent when we collide with the truck. I can faintly hear the crowd mumbling. Mummy E’s voice slowly overshadows them. I can hear her wail and ask for help.

With time, the voices become quiet. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes.

I had become a victim of the Ember months.