The first time I travelled to Ijebu Ode, I lodged in a cheap hotel where the receptionist warned me never to answer anyone knocking after midnight, no matter how familiar the voice sounded. At exactly 1:13 a.m., I heard my late mother calling me from the corridor, crying and begging me to open the door, and before I could stop myself, I reached for the handle. The next morning, the receptionist saw my room door standing open and whispered, “You’re the first person who has heard that voice and survived the night.”