A child fell down the manhole and died.
It is a notorious manhole, at a notorious junction.
Granted, in Lagos, everywhere is notorious, that place is a city that never sleeps, the residents have no peace, and joy eludes them. They are always upset about something, trust me, do not judge them by how they look or dress. A man will own houses and shops and be dressed in a plain Tee, shorts, worn-out flip-flops and carry a leather purse under his armpit. Do not be fooled, that leather purse is full of wads of local and foreign currency.
Another could be driving in the latest Mercedes car, and you hit them from behind. Ahhh! You are finished. They open the door and out flies the crazy, they may pull their shoes to fight, and if you do not stop them in time, the wig goes off –that is when you are completely finished.
But you see that that junction called Enem Junction? It is most notorious.
It is an orita-merin, important to man, as well as spirit.
You would think the manhole would be a problem because of this, but the problem is more man than spirit.
“Enough is Enough!” I shout to my fellow ghosts at the meeting.
When I say fellow, I mean it only in how we share one thing in common – dying in the manhole of Enem junction. Here, you were younger than a two-year-old who got here before you, even if you lived to eighty before you died.
“Yet another child?” Annette screams in agony from her position on the fifth row. Annette is a kind ghost; the type I wish I had as a friend in my lifetime.
We are thirty-three at this meeting, thirty sitting in ten rows of threes each, on the floor at the junction, unseen to the naked human eye. The ones who can see us bow in acknowledgement and move on, saying nothing, because they know not to.
It is not 9.00 a.m. yet, and Enem junction is already in chaos, gridlocked.
The drivers disregard the traffic light, cussing each other, including the ones blasting gospel music from their music players.
“Annette…”, one of us whispers.
We are surprised, those in front turn their heads, the whisper is from the middle of the seventh row.
Barbara Ufedo.
She hardly speaks and has spent all her time here making visits to places she had lived back on earth. She had been walking home one evening after heavy rains, and in the darkness, tried to walk across the junction. There was a flood, and the water masked the death trap. Barbara never made it to the other side of the junction, and her body was found a few days later at a drainage exit.
Her parents wailed and wailed, blaming evil spirits because Barbara’s wedding was the next week.
Enem junction is important to spirit and man, I have said this already. But I repeat, the problem with it, is man.
Some rogues go at night and steal the manhole covers, so they can sell it as scrap metal, leaving the manhole open, and unsuspecting people – like me, walk into their death.
Barbara had hovered for one year around her Fiancé, only stopping now that he had moved on with another woman.
Closures mean different things to everyone. But today, at this meeting, we all want one closure – the end of deaths through the manhole at Enem junction.
“Annette, how old was the child?” Barbara continues.
“Eight,” Annette replies.
“What time was it?”
“4.00 p.m.”
“Where was she going to?”
“She was walking home from school.”
“What of her parents?”
“They say she walked home every day because her house was just a street away from the school.”
“The manhole is close to the school gate, why was it left open again?”
“They said the school authorities had written repeatedly to the Government to do something about it.”
“Did the Government do anything?”
“Yes, they replaced it.”
“And?”
There was silence.
Barbara repeats herself, “And?”
There is more silence.
The new ghost of Enem junction begins to sob. She is lithe, with her hair braided in suku.
She is lost.
“I want to go home.” She wails even louder.
Annette moves over to her and carries her, cooing, “You are home now, my dear.”
Gregory stands to his feet, I see the rage flow through him, it is the colour of flames from a gas cooker, blue.
“Barbara, you know the answer, it was stolen – again! Stolen!”
Gregory was a twenty-eight-year-old man returning from work the day he had died in the manhole. He had been murdered, pushed down intentionally by some hoodlums who waylaid him, stole his phone and laptop, and shoved him down the hole.
He continues, his voice, a mini thunder, “This will be the last time! The last time!”
“Yes!”, comes the chorus response.
I see sparks of blue flames across twenty-nine of them, Annette is incapable of anger.
I don’t like blue flames. I do not want this meeting riddled with tempers.
“Ghosts of Enem junction,” I cajole, “Calm, calm, please.” I bring my hands to my upper chest and gesture downwards, stopping at my abdomen. I do this repeatedly until the blue flames die out.
“We need our anger, but not yet.” I say to the gathering.
The madness at the junction is worse, the weather reads 39 degrees Celsius, it is not noon yet, but it is hot enough for the hawkers who have brought in their life-saving combo of Gala and La Casera.
There is a bus with school children, can you imagine that? They had surely missed morning assembly, and with the way the young ones are all sleeping, they certainly didn’t get the requisite hours of sleep. Some of them were probably woken up as early as 4.00 a.m., to meet up with their school buses.
Why?
Please do not ask me why, it can take you two hours to get to the street beside your own, trust me.
Why do they still live there?
You cannot keep asking me these things, we like our Lagos like that. Okay, Okay, they, not we, I am here now, so, they. They like their Lagos like that.
The Ghosts who flank me come and whisper into my ear, Janet, after Kubirat. I give Kubirat permission to speak because she will lead whatever solution we come up with. She and Kubirat are in charge of whatever required physical combat with humans.
Janet has an athletic build; she jokes often about how she could have run at the Olympics if she hadn’t gone down the manhole at Enem junction. She is one of the oldest here because she died ten years ago.
“The plan is threefold; we will need the manhole supervised by a group of us, round the clock. We will need a group of us to bring the thief to his knees, and the last group will pin the thief down until morning.”
Barbara stands up, I see blue flames course through her form again.
“Tell me what to do.” She announces.
“And me too.” Gregory joins her on his feet.
“And me too,”
“And me too.”
The thirty-three ghosts of Enem junction approve the plan, the decision to act is unanimous.
*
It takes the Government three days to replace the manhole cover, and another week until someone attempts to steal it again. We are all at different places when the five ghosts keeping watch send out signals.
It is an eerily dark night, I don’t have a wristwatch, but perhaps, it is almost the witching hour. I guess so because some humans are trooping with small bowls and calabashes. They place bowls of Akara and other things at Enem junction, the spirits they are meant to appease are out, debating intentions and weighing the sacrifices and atonements. We say nothing to them, they say nothing to us, an Orita-merin belongs to everybody.
There is an even greater number of humans who can see us, but they go about their business. Some of them look worried, seeing thirty-three of us assembled around the manhole, they know it is an impending catastrophe. But they say nothing, do nothing, they don’t dare.
One of them keeps staring at us, refusing to lower or take away her gaze.
I see blue flames rise through Kubirat. Kubirat jokingly told me one day, that where she was from – while she was alive, they ate homage for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and abhorred whatever looked like disrespect.
This girl, staring at Kubirat, eyeball to eyeball, is looking for trouble.
We return our attention to the thief, he is a scrawny looking, middle-aged man. He is dressed in grey trousers and a shirt that smells like a five-day-old deposit of sweat from an undeodorised armpit. He has some tools in his hand and bends down to his dishonest work of unscrewing the cover.
The plan is simple: we allow him to finish, and then grab him and pin him to the manhole in whatever position we like.
We have decided to do this to the next five manhole thieves, and soon, word will spread, that the manhole cover at Enem junction is no longer thievable.
“There has been a change in plan,” Kubirat announces.
Her frame is blue, from the crown of her head to the sole of her feet.
“Kubirat, there is rage in you.” Janet points out, worried.
Kubirat’s eyes are fixed on the girl, the rest of us watch her watch Kubirat.
Kubirat begins to smile, and I recognise it – mischief.
“What is your name?” She asks the young girl.
“Baira” the girl replies.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“I came out to work.”
“Who is training you?”
“Ba mi.”, she retorts, pointing to her father, who is busy with the prayers he is offering.
“Didn’t Ba mi teach you the ways of the night?”
The girl shrugs nonchalantly.
“Alright, Baira, I see you are uninterested in paying attention to what your father is doing.” Kubirat smiles wistfully, “I have work for you.”
The flash is swift, and the breeze she leaves in her wake is the type you find around the sea on stormy nights.
Baira falls from the impact of the invasion, and then slowly rises to her feet, clasping her head in her hands. She staggers for a moment before she lets go of her head, and regains her balance.
Some dogs begin to howl some distance away.
I shake my head.
“Kubirat, what is this about?”
“A little fun.” She laughs.
Her laughter is too rambunctious for Baira’s body, even though the latter is a somewhat plump girl.
Kubirat walks to the thief.
“Oga, why you wan comot dat tin, na your papa buy am?”
The thief looks up, unimpressed.
Kubirat hands him a vicious slap that sends him reeling over.
“You dey crase?” he enquires, still on the floor.
He looks afraid. The girl whose body Kubirat borrowed is younger than him, and he can beat her up if he wants to. Yet he remains on the floor because they say that a chicken that begins to chase you may have grown teeth overnight.
Annette comes up to me.
“Ebby…” she begins, calling me fondly in a way that I had begged her to stop because it makes me sad and reminds me of my mother who endlessly grieves my passing.
“What is it, Annette?”
Annette is in her mid-50s, but I am the lead ghost of Enem Junction, also, we are fine with first names.
“Ebieya”, she continues, “tell Kubirat to come out, I want the girl’s body.”
A murmur passes through the thirty-three ghosts of Enem junction, the plan is going out of order.
“Trust me, please.” She begs.
“No!” Kubirat bellows, turning in the direction of Annette’s voice.
The thief sees the young girl turn to speak to someone he cannot see and he hears the anger in her voice, he looks a tiny bit afraid.
“Why, Annette?” I ask.
“I want to talk to him.”
“Why?” Gregory asks.
“Please, just five minutes.”
Barbara is unimpressed too, and she stands by Gregory,
“If everyone uses her body, what will be left of her? Besides, this whole debacle is unnecessary drama. Let us go back to the plan.”
“Please Barbara and Gregory, I only want to hear his side of the story, two minutes.”
They both shrug.
I turn to Kubirat.
“Come out.”
“No, I am lead for tonight.”
“Kubirat, come out, please. She wants only a few minutes; besides I am the Overall lead and you have done this without my consent.”
Kubirat grunts, and steps out.
The girl collapses to the ground and Annette goes in.
Annette is gentle, the girl recovers quicker than she did with Kubirat.
“Oga, why you dey do dis tin na? E no good.” Annette reprimands.
The man is taken aback by the now gentle tone of the young girl.
He does not reply.
“Oga, na you I dey follow talk.”
He stands to his feet and resumes unscrewing the manhole.
“You no know say dem dey sell am as scrap iron?”
Annette shakes her head in disappointment.
“How much?”
“N10,000.”
Annette heaves a heavy sigh.
“So because of N10,000 you dey kill people?”
The man stops for a while, looks up at her and waves dismissively.
“Na just Iron I comot, I no kill person.”
“Wetin you think say go happen when you comot am?”
The man throws his head back in laughter.
“Guffmen go put anoda one na.”
“Before then, if person fall inside nko?”
The thief was sweating, big, fat drops of sweat, he was nearly done.
“If dem fall inside, dem go bring am out na!”
Annette goes to sit down on the kerb.
“So, what now?”, Kubirat demanded.
“We watch, let him finish.” Annette smiles.
The thief is puzzled.
“Auntie, who you dey follow talk?”
Annette continues to smile.
The manhole cover is out now.
Annette stands up and walks to him.
“I wan show you something.” She points down the hole, “look.”
The thief is hesitant.
“Look.”, her voice is curt now, it is an order.
He walks back to the hole and looks in, its mouth, now hungry for another death. He stares down the hole.
“Ewwweeee!” he exclaims in shock, “e deep o! This one fit swallow full human being.”
I see the blue rage through the forms of the other ghosts, expectedly, it is a reminder of their painful end.
“So why not cover it back?” Annette smiles, her motherly smile.
The man picks the manhole cover and places it underneath his armpit.
“Auntie, I no fit. Money wey I wan use buy melecin for my pikin?”
“You no get any other way to get money?”
“Auntie! Wey work!? Work no dey, you think say na clear eye pesin go use comot house for midnight come tiff scrap iron? When Guffmen no dey take kia of im citizens nko?”
“The Government is doing their best, and we must play our own part as citizens…”
Kubirat has lost the last of her patience.
“Ghosts of Enem junction! The time has come, let us do as we have agreed.”
Annette turns to Kubirat, “Oh please, let us hear him out.”
The thief packs his tools and makes to leave.
“I, Kubirat, have no patience for that, everything is not a Montessori class, Annette! If you miss teaching so much why not reincarnate and continue?”
“No personal attacks, Kubirat,” I warn.
Kubirat swings in anger, “A thief like this is the reason my children are motherless! Suffering the loss of their mother, I have no time for pity, none!”
She begins to exude a grey colour – sadness, a colour I do not think anyone has seen her exude.
Janet, Kubirat’s second-in-command speaks for the first time this night.
“Let us not get above ourselves.” There is quiet.
Janet’s voice is like that, alluring and commanding at the same time. She continues, “Annette and Kubirat, you have both stepped out of order tonight. Annette, please return the girl’s body, her father is nearly done with his work, Kubirat, you need time out, I’ll take over from here – with your permission, Ebieya.”
“Permission granted.”
Annette walks away from us to the other side of the junction where the young girl stood before she caught Kubirat’s fancy.
The thief begins to walk away, with his trophy and tools, a satisfied smile on his face.
Janet grabs him and flings him to the floor, Gregory snatches the manhole cover.
At dawn, the thief will be found inside the manhole, but only halfway in, with his upper body exposed to mosquitoes, and his lower body, a banquet for the rodents of the manhole. He will be alive, but with scars that tell the tales found on our bodies when they were retrieved.
This is how we will get them, one thief at a time.
His screams rent the air.
I stand by, cradling in my arms, as grey sweeps through her form, the reason for the call to action; the youngest, saddest and newest ghost of Enem junction.
