It is #Ugblogweek and Like Mable ,Phiona and many of you on this blogosphere I was waiting for someone to start a chain story I can jump into.
I have read most of your stories -I read Cynthia’s poem on valentines and Joel’s story on church circus and I just couldn’t get this
box of head to create something.
As I sank in my fountain of mysery, heaven opened my mind to something from my past.
Kagomesi the Ghost
“Ritah! Ritah! wake up” I yelled as I shoved the girl with whom I shared my decker.
Oblivious of my efforts to drag her from the arms of Morpheus she smiled and turned back to hitting her head rhythmically on the decker.
“Ritah! Ritah!” I continued as I pulled her blanket away.
They had always told us of a dark figure,an assailant that haunted the dreams of children in boarding school.
Uganda is not Nigeria,we have difficulty inclining to superstition -it’s not the lack of faith it’s just genetic stubbornness.
As I watched this girl hit her head on the metallic arm of the bed to a well so familiar rhythm “Kaka Kaka Kaka kalabanda” ,I knew her ancestors had returned to punish her for her blatant permissiveness.
I warned her. I told her not to dance on jaja Kagomesi’s grave.
Ooh the many times she twisted her hips as she danced larakaraka over the dead man.
Ritah would not listen to me, she even made the girls call me names.
“Ritah!! your hurting yourself wake up” I said pushing her head off the decker arm.
She jumped off the bed and sat up straight.
Yesu Christo!! electric chills went through my heart.
My hands released rivers of perspiration as I attempted to hide in the shadow of darkness.
Her eyes peered through the room like a lion seeking prey.
She then jumped off the bed with a pair of scissors clenched tight in her hand.
My heart started out in a song victory belongs to Jesus but my mind knew too well that if I didn’t scamper for dear life I would soon be like jaja Kagomesi.
The thought of death,the pain of not enjoying the fruits of my education “I am not ready to die I just can’t die yet” I thought.
She bent over my bed and tried to feel for my head.
I was seated at the corner of the bed, my hands tightly hugging my legs, tears flowed effortlessly down my face. I was not scared ,I was terrified. My mind was blurry I couldn’t think of anything else but just then she spoke.
“Her voice, his voice” ,I thought she spoke in the voice of a man.
It was husky and frail but in the graveyard silence I heard it say
“Bring her to us, we want her.”
Us? ,We?,me?,I was confused.
Why was she speaking like a man?
why was she not blinking? why was she feeling for my head? why is this happening? ,these thoughts barricaded my mind.I sat there like a dwanzi –helpless.
Ritah bent again over my bed and started to feel for me.
Her scissors hummed the tune “Kaka Kaka Kaka kalabanda”
And then, just then I felt her hand touch my feet…………………………………….to be continued.
if you read and you feel you can relate kindly continue this story and link back to this post I would love to read your stories.
This is my first story telling on my blog wuhuu.
#Ugblogweek day one.