Divine SUN

Chika loved fighting since she was a kid. Her father would make her go to bed early because he did not want an eight-year-old watching a mixed martial arts fight, but Chika would crawl her way back on her tummy to avoid making any noise and peek out of the bottom corner of the chair to be able to watch the matches with him. Her favorite fighter was Rampage Jackson—she loved that he used to slam his opponents on the floor and dismantle them until their will broke and they had no more doubts they were anywhere near his level.

Chika successfully got away with sneaking to watch MMA fights until she was ten. For some reason, her father’s strides were quicker than she could anticipate, and she was still on the floor before she could dash towards her room. Her father, Mr. Smith, caught up with her and said calmly:

“The ground is very cold. Come and sit down on the chair before you catch a cold.”

Chika sighed in relief. She had dreaded this moment for years, and the fact that he wasn’t pulling on her ears or giving her a scolding meant that she had been bruising her ribs on the floor for years for no reason.

As they sat down and kept on watching the match, Mr. Smith turned and watched as his daughter observed the fighters destroy each other’s noses without a single flinch in her eyes.

“Do you want to try wrestling?” he found himself blurting out, making Chika turn with excitement.

“Can I try boxing too?” she asked. “It looks fun.”

Mr. Smith found himself chuckling. He had accidentally shared his love for fighting with his daughter and didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, he was proud. When he found out that his wife died while giving birth to her, he had felt a pang of regret, as he would have rather the only offspring from his dear Anne be a boy. That way, his family line would continue through the child, and by extension, Anne would forever be a part of his family.

Now, Chika was displaying traits that even a boy would not. He had seen grown men run from getting hit, and a ten-year-old was eager to get hit. On the other hand, he didn’t want the best reminder he had of Anne to risk herself in any way.

Regardless of his feelings, Chika was seated beside him with her seatbelt buckled as they drove to the only mixed martial arts gym in the small town of Igodomigodo.

As they drove into the gym parking lot, the first thing she noticed was a skinny boy around her age with long curly hair that covered his forehead, but she didn’t get to say anything to him. Before her dad was done parking, he had gone inside with who she could only assume were his parents.

Mr. Smith walked in with his daughter hand-in-hand and marched to the receptionist with a smile on his face.

“My daughter would like to learn MMA,” he said to the golden-haired boy with a dumb look at the receptionist’s desk.

“And how old is she?” the receptionist wondered aloud.

“Ten,” Mr. Smith responded.

“And would she be okay training with boys? It’s a mixed class. The teacher can’t teach separate classes, as there is only one other girl in her age class,” he explained, locking eyes with Mr. Smith the whole time.

Mr. Smith broke eye contact with the receptionist and crouched. “Would you be okay training with boys?” he asked with a small smile on his face. Mr. Smith was okay with her saying no. He realized at that point that he was pushing it, and MMA could be something that he just watched with his daughter—a way for them to bond in a world where they were the only thing that they had.

But Chika responded with a huge grin and a small jump of excitement, “Yes! Would the boys let me?”

The receptionist jumped in before Mr. Smith could respond. “Of course they would. There is another girl in your class already, and we are expecting more.”

“Then sign her up,” Mr. Smith said, standing up to pick up the sign-in sheet to write down her details and his as well.

Mr. Smith watched another young boy walk past in his gi. That was when he realized that he hadn’t brought one for Chika.

“Do you have any gi on sale?” he asked the receptionist.

“We usually do, but today, we do not. The ones we ordered are getting in tomorrow.”

Chika sat on the edge of the mat, legs bouncing with anticipation. She wore a borrowed white gi that was too big for her, the sleeves hanging past her hands. Her father watched from the small seating area, his eyes soft but alert.

The boy she recognized with his parents in the parking lot sat down beside her. That was when she saw his face properly for the first time—he had big, bright, vibrant eyes and dimples that made him look pretty whenever he smiled.

“I’m Fisayo,” he said with outstretched hands and a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Chika responded.

“How are you finding the gym?” he asked.

“It looks nice,” Chika answered.

“Yeah, I’ve been training MMA since I was five, and this gym’s coach is the best that has trained me. He allows us to go all out in sparring, unlike the other coaches who wouldn’t ever let me fight for real,” Fisayo found himself saying as his eyes shone with excitement. He loved fighting with all his heart and spent his whole kindergarten at home because he was always in fights—and by extension, he was always suspended.

Chika loved that she would get to fight like the men on TV. Her dream was nearly complete—the same dream she repeated to herself since she was a kid watching Rampage Jackson fight on TV. In that dream, she won an international MMA competition and Mr. Rampage was the one who put the belt around her, and her father could not stop smiling.

Her daydreaming felt so real that a smile formed on her lips, but the smile was soon interrupted by Fisayo tapping her on the shoulder and jumping up.

“Coach Stark is here,” he said excitedly. Everyone else seemed to know that the natural response to seeing the coach was to jump up and press both arms firmly at their sides, and Chika simply followed suit.

Coach Stark, a tall man with broad shoulders and a gentle smile, clapped his hands. “Alright, kids! Let’s get started! We’ll warm up first—jumping jacks, let’s go!”

Chika threw herself into the movements, trying to match the older kids who were clearly used to the routine. She counted softly under her breath, her breath coming in excited little gasps. Around her, the boys didn’t seem to care much that she was there—some glanced over with mild curiosity, but no one said a word except Fisayo, who ran over with his usual smile and demeanor.

“When coach asks us to pick partners, remember that you’re mine. Don’t pick anyone else,” he said with a small smile. Before she could respond, he had jumped away. Chika, who had not yet acquainted her laps to the rigor of the task, could not keep up enough to meet up with him.

“Good!” the coach said. “Now let’s stretch out—touch your toes!”

Chika leaned forward, wincing as her muscles protested. She didn’t mind. She was here, on the mat. That was all that mattered.

After stretches, the coach led them through basic grappling drills. Fisayo immediately rushed over and grabbed Chika’s hand and said, “She is my sparring partner.”

His urgency made Coach Stark laugh.

“Okay, we’re going to learn the double leg takedown today,” the coach announced. “I’ll demonstrate.”

He called up two older kids to show the move. Chika watched intently: one kid dropped low, grabbed the other’s legs, and drove forward. The takedown was clean and powerful. She felt her heart race. That was what she wanted to do.

“Alright, partners! One minute—take turns.”

Chika crouched low like she’d seen. Fisayo had a rocky smile on his face. Her partner looked nervous. She lunged forward, but he shifted, and they both stumbled in a clumsy tangle. They hit the mat hard. She felt her ribs thump, but she laughed instead of crying.

“Good effort,” the coach said as he walked by. “Try again, but keep your head up next time. Don’t look down, or you’ll lose your balance.”

She nodded. Again. Again. Each time, she felt her confidence grow. Each time she hit the mat, she got up faster.

When they swapped roles, Fisayo hesitated. “You sure?” he asked.

“Come on!” Chika grinned. “I want to feel what it’s like to fall too!”

He shot in, and she let herself go down, feeling the mat slap against her back. It was a new kind of thrill—being in control of how she fell, how she got back up.

At the end of class, sweat dripped down her face, and her gi was rumpled and dirty. Mr. Smith was waiting with a towel, eyes crinkling in a small smile. She had exceeded all his imagination, and he couldn’t be more proud.

“How was it?” Mr. Smith asked.

Chika wiped her face and beamed. “I want to come back tomorrow.”

That was eight years ago. In that time, Fisayo was Chika’s only training partner and vice versa. Training with Fisayo made Chika more physically dominant than every other girl she came across in the MMA cage, while training with Chika made Fisayo more technically sound than anyone he ever came across. Together they planned their fights and the best strategies to beat each other’s opponents.

One day after training, Coach called Fisayo and Chika into his office for a meeting. His white kimono reflected off the image of him winning a jiujitsu national championship in London.

Fisayo and Chika sat down opposite him calmly. This was the only time that they were ever on their best behaviour—usually they’d be giggling or finding ways to pinch the other’s shoulder or anything else that would bring amusement to them.

“You guys are a far cry from the skinny kids that walked into this gym eight years ago,” Coach Stark said, as if he were responsible for conceiving them.

“Thanks, Coach,” Fisayo responded.

“Now that you’re both 18, I’ve sent your film to the Mixed Martial Arts National Agency in London, to put both of you up for the next competition that’s coming up in three months,” Coach Stark explained with a huge smile on his face. “And you both got in.”

Fisayo had never been someone who was able to contain his excitement—he jumped up and shook Chika. “We are going to London!”

Chika did not like the idea of leaving her father, so she said, “I’m going to turn 18 in two days’ time. Wouldn’t that be a problem?”

“Of course not,” Coach responded. “If you both win this competition, then you’d be able to qualify for the Global Talent Visa in the UK. You’d become citizens and be able to travel the world, fighting in different organisations.”

Chika loved fighting. The idea of her fighting all over the world sent a pulse of excitement through her body. “Would my dad be able to come with me?” she wondered aloud.

“Unfortunately not. You’re over eighteen and so don’t need parental supervision,” Coach Stark responded. “I would be travelling with you guys as a coach though.”

Fisayo, still excited by the prospect, had already begun swinging his arms and jumping around the room. “We are going to have so much fun—travelling the world and destroying everyone’s nose!”

Chika found herself chuckling. Fisayo’s energy had always been contagious to her. They both strolled outside with Fisayo still grinning.

“Now we have to make your birthday party extra special,” Fisayo said. “It’s basically going to be the last birthday that he does with you for a while.”

“We don’t know that. He might not let me go, and even if he does, there’s no guarantee that we will win,” Chika responded.

“Don’t talk like that. You know there’s no one in our weight class that can handle us. They don’t call me the Nose Destroyer for no reason.”

Chika chuckled. She knew he was right. They were going to maul anyone they came across.

“Let me go home and find out my fate,” Chika said as she picked up her gym bag and slung it across her shoulders.

“Before you go, I have something special planned for your birthday. So, on August 19 from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m.” Fisayo said with a huge grin on his face.
“I will be there,”

Chika was dropped off at the bus station by Fisayo’s mom, then she took a bus and went home. During the bus ride, she wondered the best way to let her dad know that she was going to leave him without breaking his heartand after alot of contemplating she decided that she was going to let Coach Stark tell him.

She got home and opened the door expecting to hear the tv and see him in the living room with his feet hanging on the table, but she was greeted with total silence.
Instead, she noticed that the kitchen window was broken, in her bid to find out what happened she tripped over her fathers limp body.

As she crashed on the floor to wake him up, she felt a cold red liquid on the floor. Chika threw herself on him trying frantically to beat his chest back to life, but to avail. Her fathers body was not moving and no amount of screaming or hitting was making him move.
Drawn to her hyperventilating and screams, her neighbours soon showed up and in no time had shown up as well.
“It looks like a robbery gone wrong,” She overhead one of the police officers saying to his colleague, but she was in a sunken place, nothing anyone was saying or doing around her made was making sense to her. Her dad was gone.
Chika sat down in her assigned room at the O2 arena where she was fighting at the finals of the Iron Teen Mma competition in london at 130pounds, with her legs crossed and her eyes closed as she visualised the spirit of her late parents. She had been initiated into the tradition of Ifá a month after his passing.

After her father died, something switched on in Chika’s brain that she did not know was there. It was almost like she could sense that there was something outerwodly going on around her. She would see light flickers around her and hear clear voices telling her things that came.
Then, she started to have dreams of her parents  giving her instructions on how to talk to them from behind the veil, the instructions included her building an altar to talk to them and feeding them their favorite food to show them love and build up the connection.
After she followed their instructions, she began to see feel their presence more and open up communication channels whenever she wanted to ask any questions. But that was not all she did, before she went into any fighting arena, she would set up a makeshift altar and channel her ancestors who were amazing fighters.
Chika had done this in all her fights and the result was that she demolished her opponents in  the first round. It was like her body went into auto pilot, she would read her opponents feints, leg kicks and measly attempts at a takedown and finish them however she liked.

Now, surrounded by flickering candles and the scent of camphor and palm oil, she prepared to speak across the veil.
She reached into the calabash beside her and drew out opele, her divination chain. With steady breath, she cast it on the white cloth laid out before her. The signs danced into position, and she read them with quiet reverence.
Then she began her incantation:
“Orunmila, hear my voice.
My late father, my father in the spirit world, come and speak.
My ancestors, those who came before me, come and support me.
Strengthen my hands, remove fear from my heart.
Your bones lie in the earth, but your spirits soar above.
Let no sword harm me; let no deceit touch me.
Chukwu the Creator, my personal Chi, align my path and soul.
My father, I honor you. My mother, my heart is in your hands.
Do not abandon your child in the time of battle. Stand with me as I fight in sacred purpose.”
Chika then reached into the calabash beside her and drew out opele, her divination chain. With steady breath, she cast it on the white cloth laid out before her. The signs danced into position, and she read them with quiet reverence.
Then she began her incantation:
“Orunmila mo pe o, Baba mi, mo be o, wa ba mi soro.
Spirits of my blood, ancestors whose bones sleep in the earth,
Stand with me now, as I step into battle.
Let no blade cut deeper than my purpose.
Let no fist carry more weight than my destiny.”

……………………..
Fisayo was waiting for her outside with his back rested on the wall and a hood over his head. He was used to the new Chika as he would label her in his head, the chika who talked to herself and burst out laughing like someone had made the funniest and wittiest joke of all time. The chika who seemed to develop a sudden inner glow even in the most traumatic periods of her life. The weird Chika who even if they lived together barely saw each other because Chika was always in her room meditating.
He was glad that thing that brought them together as friends did not change about her after her father died, Chika still loved fighting.
When the news of her father’s murder had gotten to him, his first worry had been she wouldn’t want to go to London with him for the competition, that her grief would paralyse her and she wouldn’t want to fight anymore.

But, that was the total opposite,  if anything it transformed her into a more vicious fighter and she was knocking everyone out in the first around. And as usual as she got better, so did he.
“What are you thinking about?” Chika asked, interrupting Fisayo’s train of thought.
“You.” He responded as he stood up from the wall. “Your walk in is in ten minutes,” Fisayo added as they both strolled to the front of the tunnel.
“I’m ready,” Chika answered stretching out her hands for him to begin wrapping. Fisayo took her outstretched hands and went to work.
“Aren’t you going to tell me how you’re going to knock her out?” Fisayo probed with a sheepish look on his face making Chika chuckle.
“I feel really happy that i was able to get you to giggle. You’re too serious.” He added. “
Chika felt her heart flutter as held her gaze with the same loving look that he always had, ever since they were kids. He had always made her feel weak in the knees but she had gotten better at hiding it over time. She somehow felt like she was supposed to be alone because everyone around her crossed over.

“Five minutes!” An official came to notify them as Fisayo was almost done wrapping her hands. He nodded back and gave the official a thumbs up at the same time before he said to Chika.
“Your birthday is in three days. You owe me a date and ita time I get it.” Fisayo said with his shoulders relaxed and his chest upright.
“Perfect timing,” She responded, but he wouldn’t back down. “We both know that you’re going to destroy Mariana or whoever it is that you’re fighting. Stop pretending that you’re nervous.”
“Her name is Maurine. And you’re supposed to be my coach. How do you not know the name of the opponent you’ve been training me for the past two months?”
Fisayo chuckled. “Your attempt at changing the topic is pitiful. We both know that I am terrible at names. So, tell me, what’s your answer?”
“It’s wrong for coaches and their fighters to be in relationships,” She responded with a smile.
“But you’re my coach as well.” He responded with a quizical look on his face.
“Exactly,” Chika answered as touched her toe to enable her get a full body stretch. Before Fisayo could muster a response, loud rock music, signifying her entrance music blared through the speakers and then the announcement rang.
………………………….
As Chika walked through the tunnel, the deep bass of her entrance music pulsed through the walls. Every step echoed the rhythm of her heartbeat. She wore a red wrapper around her waist — a sacred cloth tied during her invocation — beneath her standard fight shorts, and tucked into her sports bra was a small piece of kola nut from her altar.

Maurine Rivera stood across the cage, bouncing on her heels with the calm of a snake before a strike. A Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu black belt, Muay Thai champion, and undefeated in her career like Chika, she was known as The Butcher for the surgical way she dismantled opponents.
Chika stepped into the cage, bowed to each corner, and tapped her chest twice — once for her mother, once for her father.
The bell rang and round one began.

Maurine came forward fast, testing Chika with stiff jabs and a snapping leg kick that echoed like a whip crack across the canvas. Chika absorbed it, but it rattled her bones.
Maurine pressed — clinch, elbows, knees to the ribs. Chika gritted her teeth, trying to feel her ancestors, but her body screamed from the onslaught.
A right hook slipped past her guard and grazed her temple — the first time in the tournament she’d been touched clean.
She stumbled back.
The crowd roared.

Fisayo’s voice cracked through the cage-side noise: “Chika! Breathe! Find the rhythm!”
The first round ended with Maurine having a slight bruise on her cheeks but that was all. Chika strolled to her corner and crashed into the chair provided for her. This was the first time she had to fight a second round in her career, so as she saw the crowd of bodies surround Maurine giving her advice and comfort, it  was the first time she noticed that it looked weird that she only had one person in her corner.
Fisayo poured water over her shoulders. “She’s timing your stance switches. Set a trap. Bait her in,”
Chika responded with a wry smile. “Fighting is getting boring. I think I would retire after this fight. It’s too easy.”
Fisayo didn’t know how to react, from his lens, she was on her way to losing her first fight since her professional debut, but to her the right was too boring that she was considering retiring.

“Let’s finish this fight. We can go for dinner and talk about it,” Fisayo ended up suggesting in a bid to return her focus back to the fight, and it seemed to work because Chika responded by jumping up with a stern look in her eyes.
“You’re right.” She responded. “A spinning back kick to the liver.”
“Let’s go!” Fisayo found himself screaming as he jumped in excitement. His faith in her winning the fight had been restored, one of the reasons he was scared that she was going to lose was that she didn’t make a prediction of how she was going to finish the fight.
His reaction had inadvertently also sent fear down the spine of their opponent and her team as they did not understand why Fisayo was celebrating when Majrrinehad an amazing first round against Chika even after the mistakes that she made.
“I’m still retiring. Don’t be surprised when the speech starts.”
The second round began like a loaded gun—silent, tense, ready to explode.
Chika moved with the grace of a panther now, her feet kissing the canvas like whispers. .
It happened in the first fourty seconds, an opening no wider than a breath.
Tasha’s elbow flared out after a failed cross. Her ribs shimmered like a target drawn in chalk.
Time slowed.
Chika pivoted hard on her front foot, spine coiling like a spring wound by fate. Her heel blurred into motion—a crescent of vengeance. The spinning back kick tore through the air with the sound of slicing silk.
THUD.

Heel met liver.
Tasha’s face collapsed like a building hit from within. Her breath fled. Her knees buckled like old wood under stormwater. She dropped with no scream, no protest—only that universal silence that says: the body has shut down to protect what little fire is left.
The referee dove in.
The crowd didn’t erupt. It gasped.
And Chika stood there, chest rising, not in celebration—but in ritual. She bowed slightly, whispering under her breath in her father’s tongue.
The war was over.
And it ended in a circle drawn by her heel.

Fisayo jumped into the cage screaming like a girl with his hands flapping around, making Chika chuckle. He always found a new way to embarass her especially on days she wanted to be serious. She had decided to retire from fighting two fights ago when she realised that it was too easy, she was no longer getting the same amount of stimulation that she did while she was a kid.

Soon, the area was cleared and it was time for Chika to be announced as the winner of the fight.
She stepped up to the middle of the ring with a small smile on her face. “Ever since my father died i have not really loved fighting as much, its become boring. I could have won today in the first round but I wanted to see if she would be able to challenge me further so I didn’t go for the knock out early, but like everyone else she is a disappointment.”

Chika struggled to hide his laughter, Fisayo was beign crazy and he loved it. He was low-key tired of her always acting like she was the best behaved person on the planet.
“Basically, im retiring.” She announced dropping the mic on the floor and walking away. Fisayo strolled behind her smirking and waving at the crowd.  Chika was the baddest woman in the world and he was her only friend, he felt special.