"Eke Njaba."

"Don't kill it; else you perform some rite on it, and it must be buried like a human," my grandmother warned me sternly, and I was left in awe, wondering how I could pay so much homage to a common snake.

It's been a very long time since this happened when I went to visit my grandparents. Our bathroom was not as modernized as we have now; it was made of bamboo and palm fronds and it was outside the house in our village.

I remember my mom telling me about this particular snake called "Eke" in our dialect and popularly known as "Eke-Njaba." This snake is the python we all know today.

My mom told me how harmless the snake was and how it came to visit or welcome anyone who just arrived in the village, especially an indigene.

It finds its way to the room and then curls itself peacefully until you pick it up with your hands or use a long stick to take it out, but you must not kill it.

I laughed scornfully when my mom told me about one of our traditions, and to be honest, it was such a weird practice.

I, for one, can never sleep in a room where there is a snake, not to mention picking it up with my hands and whispering sweet nonsense to it. "Excuse me?" I will just flee and never return.

All of this became a reality when I last visited my maternal hometown. I remember that period when I wanted to sit for an external exam, and since my maternal hometown was closest to my centre, I decided to sleep over at my maternal parents' house and leave early for the exam the next day.

When I arrived at the house, I was more than excited to see my grandparents, and they were excited to see me too.

After the little chit-chat, my grandmother had prepared me hot water to bathe from the extended kitchen outside the main building, so I headed to the bathroom to bathe. As soon as I finished bathing, I saw the snake curled up in front of the bathroom door, and I nearly ran mad.

I screamed my lungs out and almost fainted until my grandmother rushed to meet me in the bathroom. I was pointing at the snake, hoping that she would be of rescue to me and maybe kill it, but then her reaction left me in awe.

"It came to welcome you; why are you scared?" She began to dance, and I was recognized in the home for the snake to come around.

I began to look around to see if there was a stick or stone to at least chase it or maybe hurt it so it could leave, but my grandmother warned me sternly never to hurt it or kill it; otherwise, it must be buried like a royal person with the next few days, or calamity is to befall the whole family.

"What?" As much as I love some of our traditions, this one is the most annoying of all. To pay homage to a snake, I remember my grandmother speaking calmly to it until it left that spot, and I never slept alone until I left the village. My grandmother became an escort whenever I wanted to use the bathroom because I couldn't stand the thought of seeing a python and not fretting.

These are some of the inherited traditions of my forefathers, and only they know why they had to entertain such a tradition.

If left to myself, I would never continue such a tradition because it's scary as hell.

Would you believe me that, because if that snake, I find it reluctant to visit my maternal hometown? I don't think I'll ever get used to such a dreadful sight.

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