A GHOSTLY GIFT

A GHOSTLY GIFT

I saw the house loomed up from the shadow. I burst into the room, my arm stretched out toward my mother. As she reached out to take the parcel from my outstretched hand, I lost consciousness.

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This incident happened when I was twelve, but reflecting on that now, I am still baffled to know; does ghost truly exist and move amongst us?

My mother offered to take me along on the next market day, and since it was the holiday period, I readily agreed. It was not a bad idea, I thought, as I may have some adventures to talk about, being to Ndelle, when we resumed back at school.

My mother has always been telling us about that market. I will not miss the opportunity to visit it for once. My siblings were also interested to go but since I was the first one that made the suggestion, she obliged me the privilege.

I am the second child of my parent’s three children. I was nick named the “Hunter” by reason of my always picking up stick to take a hunters posture whenever I see a bird flying over our house. But my name actually, is Inikiomoye Olali. None of the kids in our village call me by that name, probably they consider too long.

Well, this is the holiday season and every child is looking for an opportunity to leave the village for few days. We considered it an adventure. Most of us will simply accompany our parents to their fishing settlement to spend to season.

Ndelle is a town higher up the River Barbara in the Niger Delta region from my home town. It takes about twelve hours of hand paddling in a medium tide, or more if it is in the rainy season when the current is swiftly going down stream.

The significant thing about this town is the huge market which congregates large number of people from the neighboring towns and far away places like Nembe. One striking thing about this market was a strong rumour which struck awe on us – the kids. It has been rumoured that certain number of the people in the market are not truly human. That some of them came from the underworld, and that it is often possible for one to come across a dead relative.

However, my willingness to accompany my mother was not on the possibility of meeting a dead relative. If there is any slight incline of thought of that possibility, I would have decline the offer and prefer some fishing expedition with my father. After all that is also an exciting holiday past time to us and which tales I may tell some someday.

It was a smooth voyage on the day we set out from our little village down the creek on this day long journey. We set out as early as 4 o’ clock in the morning.

The journey proved to be one exciting experience for me at that age. Though I consider not outlining all the fantastic moments we had on the way. I am however, compelled to state this moment that captured my feelings.

How crowded the market would look like came in the last few minutes of our journey. The numbers of canoes increased all heading up the river toward Ndelle. The women exchanged greetings and wished themselves good sales. It was a magnificent sight of varying sound that filled the evening air.

Some women singing, children crying, and others were laughing. The chap- chap-kprok –kpom of the paddles as they struck the water, and the corresponding effects as they came in contact with the canoes; and of so many paddles. It was simply musical.

What sensation it would have had on me now is something I do not know, but it was quite amazing then; seeing so many people coming together.

We arrived at Ndelle at about 6 O’ clock in the evening. But it was not until about an hour later that we were able to secure our canoe amongst the thousands, and went to the house of our host; my mother’s customer.

The market was on a high ground. There are steps carved out of the slope to the water front where the canoes were tied. It was therefore possible for us to be seeing our own canoe from where we were lodging.

Sounds were coming from everywhere in the market as we settle down in the evening. Ipigansi, our host, greeted us warmly. I looked him over from the glow casted by one oil lamp standing on a table in the center of the room. A tall broad shouldered man. His wide face appeared to have what could be a fixed smile. He looked me over and clasped my hand with his powerful arm. His palm, I felt, was hard and rough from years of toiling. I answered his greeting shyly, and sat down on a wooden bench propped up against the wall.

There were three other people in the room. One was an elderly woman, of about my mother’s age - 30 years. She looked at us as we came in to the room from the corner of the room where she was obviously tending to a pot standing on a tripod. Glowing under the pot was a little fire. She is a little woman compared to her husband. Our host must be the husband, I presumed. She beamed with a smile as she recognized us. Calling my mother some pet name, she embraced her with a wide smile.

There was another man in the room whom I believe was a visitor, as he left soon after we arrived. There was a boy of about my age, sitting on a mat spread at the right corner of the room. He was peering at us without saying a word. His eyes were shining in the dark light. He held his lower lip tightly with his teeth. I can not help wondering if he will not bite them through.

It was a warm evening, and we were entertained to cocoyam porridge. Ipigansi talked of various issues in the course of the evening. He spoke about his farm, and how other community is having a problem with them over a parcel of land. He talked about his hunting and the games he had during the last hunting season.

Soon we all engaged in talking on one thing or the other. I became gradually aware that, though many people come to Ndelle in the first day of the market, it was not until the next day that the actual buying and selling will start.

During a lull in the talk, I managed to whisper to my mother if I could go for a walk around the market in the morning. It was Ipigansi who answered enthusiastically, “sure, sure, why not. You certainly will have time to go for a walk and see the market.” Then he became serious. “Only, Azibalua will accompany you so that you will not get lost,” waving his hand toward his son. Well, I do not if I detected a veil reference of the rumour about Ndelle with that statement. I raised my eyebrow at the boy as to say a deal. He smiled at me as in agreement. I saw the dimple in his check as he did that, and I am sure I am going to like this boy.

The morning was quite noisy and busy as everybody was trying to set up their wares for sale. There were not enough stalls in the market to accommodate all the traders. Every open space in the market was taken by traders who spread out their goods for sale. I cannot help getting trepidation of what will happen if the skies will just open up with a down pour.

There were goods of every kind in the market. Different kinds of food stuff. Other goods include fish of varying kinds. These were brought by the people from the creeks, like us. Others with different types of clothing hung or spread out in mobile trucks. Music were blaring from loud speakers. The noise was horrific. I wondered if any one could stand this for more than a day.

We helped my mother to set up our stall early in the morning, and told her we will be back soon, and we were gone. Azibalua happened to be an easy to get along kid. He took me round the length and breadth of Ndelle by mid day. He pointed out to me and explained things and places of historical value as much as he could tell then at his age.

We came to eat something in the stall. My mother has already finished her sales and was now buying things we will take back home for to resale. I asked her if there is anything I could help her to do. She said I should not bother, that later I should come to help her load the things back into the canoe.

Naturally, we will not be leaving Ndelle until the river starts to ebb; and that will be about mid-night.

Leaving my mother there with her buying, we went out the second time. Our outing this time was not as exciting as in the morning. The sun was up and burnt fiercely on the dry hard mud. The milling crowd was telling on us as we try to meander our way through them.

You can hardly walk a pace without bumping onto some one. There was a pulsative stink in the air as the dust mixed up with the perspiration stuck to our breath. We sort the shelter of a large cotton tree beside the river and passed the day chatting.

Later in the evening, worn out by the activities of the day, my mother decided to take a forty wink before we should leave for home. I sneaked out of the room, unobserved by Ipigansi who was preparing to go for night hunting, to take one last look at the market by night. It was an error of judgment I will live to regret.

I have hardly walked three poles from the house when suddenly, the road forked out into two straight lanes. One going as far north as I can see from the pale light casted by the moon. The other slopped gently down into the river.

Night could play funny on one imagination, I presumed, but I can not recall coming across this road in my afternoon walk with Azibalua. Now, where is that boy, I asked myself. I should have come with him. I felt a little gnaw in my chest.

I looked around me. Everything seems normal; children playing, and few women gossiping in front of their huts. A dark cloud slowly sailed across the moon, casting a shadow over the market. An owl called from across the river, another picked up the call further, and so it went into the silent night.

That does it. I decided to go back to the house. Then from across the road, a shrilling voice called out, “My son.” My heart jumped into my mouth. That voice. I could recognize that voice anywhere. It was my grand mother’s, and she had been dead four years.

I whirled round, and there, sure as the very Devil of Ndelle, was Munabo, my grand mother, dead four years ago of heart failure. She was lurching toward me from the land of the dead, across the road with those very steps I have known of her when she was alive. Only, in place of the walking stick, was a package.

I have known fears, but none of them could be compared to the one I felt now. I wanted to run, to shout to the people around me for help, but my knees were wobbling under me and refused to move, neither could any sound come from my mouth.

She walked up to me. Now that she is so close up to me, I know I was not having a nightmare.

“My son.” Her voice quivered, and extending the package to me, “my son, take, give it to your mother. She has forgotten to collect it from me.” She regarded me for a moment, “take care of yourself son and don’t wonder alone into the unknown. It is unsafe.” Still unable to utter any word, and like one hypnotized, I reach for the package. As my fingers griped around it, my head seemed to swell, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I tried to focus my sight on her, but she has gone: vanished into the very air of Ndelle.

The stench of the dead filled the might air around me, and for the first since our encounter; I came back to my senses. Everything looks normal all about the market. I trusted myself to my heels and as fast as my legs could go, and to the amazement of the people, heading toward the house, the package still held tightly.

I was still running when I saw the house loomed up from the shadow. I burst into the room wailing “Mama, Mama.” She came awoke with a start almost falling off of from the wooden bed she was sleeping on.

“Ikio…W-what-..the….” Here,” I stretched out my hand toward her, the package still clutched firmly. As she reach out for it. I lost consciousness.

I came around from my coma sometime in the night surrounded by a large crowd. When I lost consciousness, my mother had raised an alarm which brought this uninvited crowd to the house, each given his solution and suggestion on what to do and what must have happened. Somehow, I was resuscitated back to life.

My mother later confirmed to me that the package contains a charm that was prepared for her by a native doctor in our village against “Ogbanje” spirit, as I was taken for one. She had entrusted it to her mother for safe keeping.

I really have enough tales to talk about Ndelle, with my friends than I otherwise would have thought to tell, when we resume school.