Hiding in a closet is the most terrifying thing, especially if you’re claustrophobic. The air is taut as screams pierce the night, sounds of the wounded and dying cutting through the rainforest like the harmattan from the Sahara. Oyinda puts her fingers over her ears. Her mother, Ireti, is on her knees and sweating, praying to the Old Gods and the New. “Mummy, would we see daddy again?” “Quiet, child! Let us live till the morning. It will be fine if we can live till sunlight!” Outside, it is ...