In my several years of practice as a psychotherapist, I have learned that swapping stories among my patients helps to improve their mental health a lot. I have brought the four of you together so you can all tell your stories. I believe it’s a step towards healing.
Before long our car was filled, I was glad when it’s engine roared to life signalling the commencing of our journey. Though sandwiched between a plump middle aged woman and a man with muscular arms in white overall and beards like those of Nebuchadnezzar I managed to smile. I had received a call from my cousin Nkem that my uncle was planning on erecting an edifice for himself on my piece of land in the village. He had already bought enough blocks for the project to begin the next day. “But why would Uncle Gozie plan to do such a thing?” I wondered. I couldn’t wait till the next day since delay might be dangerous, so I quickly packed a few clothes in my bag and headed for the park to board a vehicle heading East that night. Fortune smiled on me on arrival at the park when I heard a driver calling “Upper Iweka, Upper Iweka, just two more chance” . There were two passengers in it; a lanky man with an oblong face sitting besides the driver and the muscular man in white with a scary face. I immediately paid the driver and positioned myself at the back as well. After about a quarter of an hour, the plump woman arrived, she seemed to be a business woman who had goods to sort out at Upper Iweka. I was sandwiched between these two like hot akara balls being pressed together in an Agege bread ready to be devoured by a hungry Lagosian. Despite the discomfort, my mind was fixed on arriving at the village early the next morning to his surprise and to ‘change it for him’ if necessary. It was now an hour before midnight as our bus sped along the Benin-Ore Expressway, I calculated that my arrival at the village should be on or before 6am in the morning. The lanky man besides the driver had been talking nonstop since we left the park, complaining about the insecurities in the countries, highlighting the shortfalls of the government and suggesting solutions to the problems. I felt that he needed to keep on talking and not fall asleep so that the driver in turn might not fall asleep as well. It seemed as if he compensated his deficiency in fat and flesh with his oral ability. The woman at my right hand was busy making calls without minding the discussion that the lanky man was initiating, while the muscular man with his bright and scary eyes had been uncomfortably silent save for occasions when he’d let out terrible coughs and spit out thick sputum through the window to my disgust. I decided to rest my head for a little while with the hope of waking up when we get to Upper Iweka. Not long afterwards I heard the sudden screeching of our tyres, we were in danger! Some men with riffles had suddenly emerged from the bushes and had blocked the road. Our driver, a stout man with a cute gap tooth, had sighted them in time and expertly applied the brakes before we could get close to them. He instantly went on a reverse afterwards with the armed men firing mercilessly at us. We were all in panic as the lanky man had crouched and was crying, the woman was screaming at the top of her voice while the muscular man was mumbling silently . The car wobbled as it reversed and then finally made a violent stop when it went off track and hit a tree. “Blood! Blood! The driver was shot. He is dead!” cried the lanky man. There was no explaining on our next line of action, and as if of the same mind, we opened the car and dashed out, running as far as our legs could carry albeit in different directions into the woods. I could feel the thumping of my heart like a nuclear bomb ready to explode. “Were those men bandits who take delight in killing innocent people to prove a point?” I wondered. “Were they kidnappers, ritualists or human parts traffickers who harvest the human organs for sale?” Those thoughts ran seamlessly through my mind as I ran faster and deeper into oblivion among the trees. I felt a little relieved when I came across a high fence, without knowing exactly from what source I got the energy, I saw myself on the other side of it. Not wanting to leave things to chance, I ran even more. “Probably, I had run into a neighbouring town” I thought. Oh! How true that was – I had run into the courtyard of the dead. The moon’s face was already hidden and the only natural source of light were the little twinkles of the stars dancing in heavenly glory. Looking around I was shocked as to where I had found myself. Graves were arranged side by side like old pals gathering together for an evening meal as far as my phone’s light and my heavy eyes could see. The smell of rotten flowers and damp soil as well as other dead and decaying matter made me puke. Even though I never believed in ghosts but somehow I started to shiver in fear. The constant hooting of owls and the echoes it brought back added to the morbidity of the situation, my head grew light and I felt dizzy. As I tried to move, I felt a strong hand from underground pulling my legs. Oh no! I wouldn’t go down alive to Sheol. I screamed with all my might and jumped up, only to realize that it was a leguminous weed which had grown besides a grave. My hands felt the chalky texture of s stone and on looking closely I saw the words “Maria Richmond 1999 – 2020” inscribed on it. This person died at 37, the same age as I am. “Would today be my end as well?” I sincerely hoped not. Being the only living human in
The sharp clipping of the heels against the tiled floor echoed throughout the length of the hall as she walked towards the office of the Proprietress with an aggressive energy in her stride. The Proprietress could hear the approaching footfalls, and had already braced herself. The door swung open and she strode in. “What exactly is the meaning of this?” She demanded to know, her voice hard and hostile. “Good morning, Mrs. Abani,” the Proprietress saluted. “Yes, it is morning, but there is nothing good about it!” Mrs. Abani blurted. “You may sit,” the Proprietress urged, gesturing at a vacant chair. Ignoring the offer to sit, Mrs. Abani went on, “I demand to know why you made such a decision without consulting us parents!” “Mrs. Abani, there would have been objections if the parents were informed.” “But I have a right to know. We have a right to know.” The Proprietress sighed. “Why do I have a feeling that it is just because we didn’t tell you about it that you are getting worked up?” For a moment, Mrs. Abani was silent, but there was so much noise in her eyes. “What do you mean by that? And even if that is what I am worked up for, don’t I have the right? I am the chairperson of Parent-Teacher Association, but I don’t get to know things. Why would you plan to take kids to a graveyard and refuse to inform the parents?” The Proprietress made a pleading gesture. “Mrs. Abani, I am very sorry.” “Yes, you should be,” Mrs. Abani pointed out. “It is just an excursion, and they are not kids anymore. The average lad in that class is thirteen years old.” “In the future, I wouldn’t like hearing news from my son. Otherwise, I would step down as PTA chairperson,” Mrs. Abani said. “I promise, it won’t happen again,” the Proprietress said, pleadingly. “And the cemetery is not the only place we will be visiting. It would be loads of fun, and that is why we decided to keep the details from the parents. All you need to know is that we are camping.” “But you will ask us to pay for it,” Mrs. Abani said. The Proprietress shifted in her seat, and said nothing. “When are they leaving?” “This afternoon,” The Proprietress returned. **************** Johnny seemed the happiest student among the lot. He had a brilliant, expectant smile that never left his face. So great was his joy that when he was telling his mom about the camp, he had said more than was necessary. The teachers had told the students in a subtle way that on one of the three nights of camping, they would go and see the graveyard, and in his excitement, Johnny told his Mom everything. He regretted it when his mother began to insist that he wouldn’t go, but after all said and done, they were finally here, in the woods, setting up their tents, just like they do in movies. It was an hour and thirty minutes of work, and all sixteen tents had been erected. The tents would be peopled equally between the boys and the girls. The male teachers would stay with the boys, and the female teachers would be with the girls. The sun was sinking behind the horizon, and in its descent, it glowed a dull red. Within an hour’s time, darkness would have crept up, and Miss Efuru, the English teacher, had told Johnny that there would be campfires just like in the movies. Being unable to contain his joy, Johnny had told the other students who became even more expectant to sit around the heat and listen to stories. Everyone knew Mr. Lotam, the Social Studies teacher, had such enthralling tales. Dusk fell faster than expected. It was only a few minutes past 18.00hrs when it got really dark. Johnny thought, in his wild, excited manner of thought, that there was something spooky about this night, and he went about scaring the other students with lies about seeing something moving behind the hedges. The students gathered about the campfires in circles of twenty, each group being supervised by a teacher who told them stories and allowed them to tell theirs if they had any. And when it was 20:00hrs, Mrs. Membolu, the head teacher, said it was time to go to the Cemetery. The students had begun whispers about seeing ghosts and for this, they were so jubilant. Mrs. Membolu said the Cemetery was within a stone’s throw of the camp, and so they walked the length, controlling the students, and taking headcounts at intervals to make sure they weren’t a person short. They got to the Cemetery at 20:30hrs. They spread out mats, and on the spaces they could find, on which the students sat, and Miss Efuru, because she was the one to address the students, sat on a grave. “Who can tell us why we are here?” Miss Efuru asked as hands crept up. She looked through, and pointed at Amanda. “We are here to see ghosts, ma’am,” Amanda said with a huge smile. Miss Efuru nodded. The students still had their hands in the air. She pointed at Johnny. “Ma’am, are ghosts real?” Johnny asked. “Ghosts are real, Johnny,” a boy shouted at Johnny. “I didn’t ask you,” Johnny shot back. “Ma’am, have you seen a ghost before?” Amanda asked. “Okay, boys and girls,” Miss Efuru called.”Can you keep quiet for a moment?” “Ghosts…” “Shh!” Miss Efuru hushed Johnny to silence, and they remained that way for some five minutes, listening. But for the distant hoots from a family of owls, there was absolute silence. “Do you hear anything?” “No,” the kids replied. “Now, all these people here are dead, and can’t speak,” Miss Efuru said. “They once had voices, they once had ambitions, they once had goals, they once had things they wanted to achieve, but they are dead now. The only thing that would matter is how
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