At first, the chief of the village that Abeni lived in was suspicious of Geneva. He didn't trust her presence in his village. Abeni was a very low class woman, but a member of the village nonetheless, and explained that Geneva had saved her. At the time, Geneva hadn't known was Abeni was saying to the chief of the village, for she didn't speak their language in the slightest. It was a rather confusing experience for her; to just stand there, not even remotely knowing what was being said all around her. Thankfully, when the chief questioned her, he was able to speak Portuguese to her, since he made most of the important dealings with the slave traders.

Geneva finally explained herself, but the chief wasn't entirely convinced. He was a bit suspicious still. Never, in all of his days, had he ever seen a white man—or in Geneva's case, a white woman—willingly buy a slave's freedom. Abeni was the lowest of the village, an adulteress, and she, along with other village criminals and lowly people, had been traded for Portuguese salt.

"This woman is worth salt to you?" Geneva asked, careful not to let her temper flare through her words. She was becoming angry.

"She is no good for this village," replied the chief firmly, his Portuguese noticeably better than the guard's. "She is a curse to my people! I will not house criminals and prostitutes!"

"Then you refuse me?" Geneva asked softly. Her temper flared in her eyes, and she let them flash gold, but she didn't imprint on the chief. She just let him see her power. The man took a healthy step backwards.

"A goddess," he murmured in utter awe and terror. The people around him recoiled upon hearing his words. The word "orisa" fluttered through the villagers, and more gasps were heard. Even Abeni gasped. Geneva hadn't quite been going for the title of goddess, but she supposed it couldn't hurt. They would listen to her now.

"You are a goddess," the chief repeated, dumbfounded. "Forgive my ignorance." He bowed where he stood, and then kneeled, the rest of the tribe following his lead. Now Geneva couldn't take it anymore. She wasn't a goddess. She was only the creation of a goddess.

"I am the creation of the goddess Calypso," she corrected him. "Do not kneel before me." The chief hesitated some, and then stood again. The rest of the villagers did the same after a moment.

"I am Calypso's sea lioness," she went on. "My name is Geneva Dalma. I chose for Abeni to be free to live, and that is my wish. If you choose to disobey my wish and curse her, I shall in turn curse you."

"We will not disobey you, Sea Lioness," the chief assured her. "She shall live here amongst us, and you are welcome here also as repayment for our wrongs against you." Geneva looked at Abeni, who had tears in her eyes. A man next to her was translating every word for her.

Geneva shook her head at the chief. "I am no goddess," she admitted. "I only look to protect the oppressed, and curse those who curse the weak. But I will live among you. I have been curious about your people for a long time. I thank you for your hospitality."

The chief was humbled by her decision, even though she was not a goddess as he had thought. She was still powerful enough to curse his village, and for their sake, he let her stay and live amongst them. In turn, Geneva stayed with them for almost four years. She learned to speak Yoruba rather quickly, and learned their customs and heritage. She lived just as they did, storing her old clothes under the bed they had provided for her, and wearing the clothes they gave her to wear. She even learned a new way to fight. She taught the villagers the European way of fighting, and in turn, they taught her their way of fighting. They could fight with two swords at once, and they also taught her how to use spears.

Their culture absolutely fascinated Geneva. They lived so simply, and yet their lives were so rich. They dwelled in vibrant tradition, and they had an appreciation for the world around them that went even beyond that of the most committed naturalists in Europe. Their roots were deeply secured in the idea of family and community, and even Geneva was included in the celebration of such values. Festivals were held often, and they were always magnificent to witness. It was beautiful land, a beautiful people, and a beautiful life.

Geneva couldn't believe their generosity toward her. She was a white woman, nothing like what they were used to. Still, though, they greeted her daily with open arms and thanksgiving. They welcomed her everywhere she went, despite who she was and how different she was. Even after she had finally learned Yoruba, which took a while to do even though she did learn it relatively quickly, people never ceased to shower her with joy.

Abeni never stopped being grateful toward Geneva. Even as the years began to pass, the woman always thanked Geneva daily. There was one particular time that Geneva never forgot, though. After three years, Geneva had learned Yoruba fluently, and regularly spoke the language to the villagers. So, when Abeni spoke to her on that afternoon, it was a conversation conducted entirely in Yoruba.

They had been washing clothes together. Abeni's son was now three years old, and he was playing with rocks and sticks under the shade of a nearby hut. Abeni put down the clothes she was washing and looked up at Geneva, who was still busy washing her own clothes.

"You know," Abeni said. "You say you're not a goddess."

"Because I'm not," Geneva said, squeezing the water out of the shirt she was washing.

"You always say you aren't," Abeni said. "Perhaps you are telling the truth. But you are not a simple human."

"I am a sea lioness," Geneva said, and Abeni nodded.

"Yes, but you are more than that."

"More than that? What more could I possibly be?"

"No man has ever shown me mercy like that before," Abeni said, thankfulness in her voice. It made Geneva stop and look at her. "I doubt man has the capability to do such a thing. So you cannot be a man. Perhaps you are what the white man calls an angel."

Nobody had ever regarded her in that way before. She hadn't done what she did to receive the title of an angel. She had only freed Abeni because she didn't deserve the fate of a slave. She wouldn't have made it across the ocean, especially not with a baby. It would have been a horrible life for her, and a horrible way to die.

As kind as it was for Abeni to say such a thing to her, for some reason, it ate away at Geneva like a termite. She was too comfortable there. She didn't want to leave, and it made her want to leave even more. She wasn't sure why, but the comfort offered by this home was becoming strangely agonizing. It pained her, no matter which way she looked. She didn't want to do what she had to do, but she had to. She just couldn't stay.

She couldn't bear to see the distraught looks on the faces of the villagers as she tried to explain herself either. So, she didn't. She just didn't say a word to them. She couldn't bear to. It was a painful decision to make, but she had to go. She had a goal to meet, and she couldn't accomplish it by staying comfortably where she was.

And so, she slipped out of the little village when the moon was new, only taking with her the colorful beaded anklet that Abeni had made for her. Since she couldn't bear to be entirely heartless, Geneva snuck into Abeni's hut before she left, and placed the beautiful set of clothes that she was given to wear at the side of Abeni's bed. She looked back at the sleeping woman for only a moment before leaving, and hesitated. Then, unable to withstand the moment any longer, she whispered "ese gan" (thank you) and slipped away silently into the moonless night.