The ghost story.

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“We are going to ask Old Mama Agba( Old elderly Mother) if ghosts are real” the children argue as they go to the village square for the moonlight story gathering every weekend. They all sat on Raffia mats under the famous gigantic Igi Odan( the wide canopied tree) as the night was calm, with the moon casting its silver glow over the village square for the children who gathered their eager faces facing the flickering flames of a small fire. The air carried the sweet scent of roasted corn, and laughter echoed as the little ones jolted at the good spot.

Old Mama Agba (Elderly Mother) arrived, her walking stick tapping gently against the earth. She was bent and old, her back curved like the bow of a calabash, yet her presence was strong and commanding. Her hair, white as cotton, glistening in the moonlight and the lines on her face told stories of many seasons lived. “Eka Le oo !! Mama Agba” ( Good Evening, old, elderly Mother), the children chorused as she draped her faded wrapper tightly and sat upon a low bamboo wooden stool, and she kept her walking stick resting by her side.

“ Alo oo” (story ooo) was chorused.
She answered “Alo!!” (Story).

“Itan, itan” (story story ) the children chorused again and she replied “ itan” (story). Olatunbosun, a girl in the crowd, raised her hand, and old Mama Agba asked her to stand up.

“ I greet you, old Mama Agba, we have a question that bothers our mind,” she said.

“I am all here,” old Mama Agba replied, getting hold of her walking stick, which fell beside her.

“ Is it true that there are ghosts and they do come to pay their relatives a visit when they wish to see them?” she asked.

“What a question that was, but are you ready to hear the story behind it from my perspective?” old Mama Agba asked.

“Yes,” they all screamed.

Old Mama Agba started, “This will make me tell you a story. I was a participant in it”.She looked up and down as usual, as this is the style she uses in activating her story. Many, many years ago, while I was a teen, my father had a square mile of farm land where he planted Cocoa, cassava, coconut, and Palm trees, and employed so many people who worked on our farmland. Because I love farming and other fooding stuff that came from the farm, as a fuddy duddy that I was then, I used to follow my father to his farm even though it was very far from home. Father built a hut where we sleep whenever we are not going home, and just after our farm came another farmer, Baba Asake, who has a smaller farm, and he and his family are usually on his farm too.

“Do you know what Baba Asake loves the most in this world?” old Mama Agba asked, opening her teeth, yellowed with age and slightly crooked which clacked softly as she spoke, each word escaping through the narrow gaps left by the ones long gone.

“No, old Mama Agba,” the child answered, as usual, to further her story.

“Baba Asake loved Asake, his daughter, and the farm more than anything else,” old Mama Agba answered and continued. He once told his daughter to come back home and farm with him when she was not well taken care of by her husband. On this faith day, Baba Asake skipped farming for two weeks, which is not possible, and we later heard that he had died. No one came to the farm as Asake went back to her husband's home and the farm was left untouched and uncultivated. After a year, the farm became extremely bushy where we hunted bush rats and others. Then on this faithful day, after farming and everyone had gone home, I left my parents in the hut and went with my brother to check the traps set. Getting to the extreme ends of our farm, we saw a man in a flowing gown and a dog-eared cap who backs us facing Baba Asake's uncultivated and bushy farm. “ Eku ikale baba” (Weldon sir), we greeted, but the person just waved us without uttering a word. Then my elder brother, Alamu the daredevil, moved closer to him, and as the unknown man heard my brother's footsteps, he turned to face us, and we saw that it was Baba Asake. His eyes were red like charcoal and his lips were dripping saliva as if he wanted to say something. It was that day that I knew I could run faster than my elder brother as we raced after each other. We got to the hut and told Father, who claimed that Baba Asake came to visit his farm and saw that it was unkept. Father said that we should have waited a while; maybe he wanted to pass information to us, and it was this statement that made me realize that Father was toying with us. My elder brother and I decided not to go out alone since that faithful day, and we even went back home because of the fear. Old Mama Agba gave a smirk and continued. “ Let it be a big lie so that my mouth will not bring me three lumps,” she concluded.
All the children responded with laughter and clapping but the atmosphere and children did not disperse joyfully as usual. Knowing that some children always mimic the characters in the story while others will sing or chant while going home. Everyone just left slowly in fear after hearing the ghost story.