NOW I’M A LIVING DEAD! (A True Life Story) – Onuoha Kelechi
I’m laid down dead on my bed, in my bedroom, watching and listening to Chioma my wife speak with her mother on the phone. She was happy I was dead. She killed me with a poison.
“Yes Mama,” she said over the phone, “the idiot is dead.”
“So quick?” Her mother said.
“I told you, Akanshi is a strong babalawo.”
“That’s true mama. What do I do now?”
“You know where he keeps all the documents?”
“Yes I do.”
“Perfect. Make sure you gather all of them together. The houses, the cars, the banks and every other document available.”
“Ok Mama.”
“After that start crying and call neighbors. I’m right on my way.”
Chioma had the habit of setting her phone on speaker, the reason why I could hear her mother.
My wife of three years conspired with her mother to kill me. Chioma that I loved so much, saw her through the university and sent her to Paris for her masters. The urge to jump from the bed and pounce on her was much but I held myself back. I needed to keep my cool to unveil more secrets.
I watched as she searched frantically for all the documents to my properties. She piled them up beside the wall mirror, looking herself in the mirror and smiling.
FLASH BACK:
I smiled within me, knowing how I just escaped death by the whiskers. I was such a lucky man. I remembered how it all happened the day before. I came back earlier than I usually do without calling to inform my wife. Chioma wasn’t in the sitting room, I decided to tip toe to the bedroom to surprise her.
On getting to the door I could hear her voice, she was on the phone with her mother.
“Mama, are you sure it will kill him?”
“Yes, I trust Akanshi.”
“I can’t wait for this man to die, I need my freedom to live as I want.”
“He will die tomorrow, just follow the instruction. Add the substance in his juice and make sure he drinks it.”
“I will Mama, trust me.”
I was glued to the spot. My own wife was planning to kill me and tomorrow I would die by poisoning. I tip toed back to the sitting room and as quietly as I entered I left. I left knowing what to do, for to die I would.
The next day, being today, the day of my death, I left very early to my office like everything was okay. I came back in the afternoon prepared to drink some juice and die. Chioma my wife was exceptionally happy to see me, I was pretentiously overjoyed to see her. We kissed, yes, and we made love on the couch.
According to her plan, she went and brought a glass of juice for me. And according to my plan I sent her to bring my briefcase to show her a very important document. She left. Before she came back I had exchanged the glass of juice with a different one. She saw me gulp down the last juice as she came back. She cracked a smile.
According to plan, I began to feel some pain in my stomach. As the pain grew severe I began to crawl on the floor. Chioma, as a loving and caring wife came to help, I told her to take me to the room. She did and laid me gently on the bed.
“Honey, you will be fine,” she assured, “I’m here for you.”
Such a loving wife.
I began to shiver and I began to foam from the mouth, then I died.
BACK TO PRESENT:
Chioma left the mirror and walked towards the bed. She stood over my dead body, with triumph on her face.
“Idiot,” she cursed, “anu ofia. I thought you’re a superman.” She spit on me.
I remained motionless but watching her every move. She took her mobile phone and dialed a number.
“Hello Chike,” she said.
Chike? Which Chike? Chike my best man and best friend?
“Hello sweetheart,” that was Chike’s voice. My best friend.
“My love, I have a good news.”
“Really? I can’t want to hear.”
“The idiot is dead.”
“Who?”
“Kacy naa, don’t you remember our discussion again?”
“Oh yes, I do I do. Great. Start crying, I’m on my way.”
My best man and best friend too was in the conspiracy to kill me. What a wicked world.
Chioma stored the documents in one of her bags, went to the mirror to look at her beautiful face one more time. Beautiful demon. She rearranged her hair and made for the door. Opening the door she turned back to look at me.
“Rest in peace,” she said and left.
I quietly got up from the bed, went to her bag and collected the file containing all my documents. On top of the wardrobe, the portable Nikon video recorder I had planted there earlier was still rolling, I collected it and turned it off. Quietly like the ghost I was, I opened the window, scaled through and vanished from the compound. Chioma’s voice could be heard crying loudly. I’m now going to be a ghost, to torment those that killed me. The battle line is drawn
“Those that murdered sleep should be ready for sleepless nights.”
The door to Gbenga’s house was open as I had anticipated. He was abrace of what was going to happen. The day I knew I was going to be murdered, I had gone to inform him, being a friend, a next gate neighbor and a man I had come to respect. He was there with his wife Abimbola as I entered.
“They have murdered me,” I announced.
“So you’re now dead?” Gbenga asked with a suppressed smile.
“Yes, dead but not burried.”
He took a glass of water that was on the table and began to sprinkle some water on me.
“Hey! What are you doing?” I exclaimed.
“To see if you will disappear. I heard that ghosts disappears if you sprinkle water on them.”
Gbenga has a great sense of humour. Our friendship wasn’t instantaneous, it began after the day we had a heated arguement during a meeting of Landlords in the close we lived at Ajao Estate. It was over who was better suited to be security operatives of our close; vigilante group or two Abokis. Few weeks later we became close friends. I called him Onye Ofe Mmanu and he called me Omo Ajalaokuta.
“I’m now a ghost,” I said and made a move like the zombies in Michaek Jackson’s Thriller music video.
He laughed hard with his wife.”We’re laughing but this is not a laughing matter. How could that woman be so wicked?” Abimbola said.
“Is it because I’m a strong man? You for don kill me tete,” Gbenga teased her, “see as landladies full all over Lagos.”
“Oriodaa,” Abimbola gave him a little push.
Abimbola was a very robust woman, so overweight she could hadly get up from a seat. She spoke english with a deep Yoruba ascent, but a very nice woman.
Now that I’m a ghost I have to start acting like one. How do ghosts act? There are two types of ghosts, gentle ghosts and angry ghosts. I’m an angry ghost with one sole mission….to torment.
Abimbola rubbed a white powder all over my head and face. I put on a white jalabia and a white hand gloves, and stood against a white wall. To act like a ghost, you have to look like a ghost.
“You look like a ghost from Imo state;” Gbenga said, laughing.
“I know, I am.”
“Are you ready?”
“I’m ready, let’s do this.”
Gbenga called Chioma’s number on whatsapp video call and stood before me. She picked and starred on the image on her screen. Confussion was all over her face. My hands were in the air moving like a zombie. Well, I think zombies and ghosts are closely related.
“Chioma, Chioma-a,” I began to speak, “why did you kill me?”
Her mouth dropped, her face panick striken and even more confused. I was enjoying the moment. It could be fun being a ghost.
“I loved you Chioma-a, but you killed me,” I continued, “Why? Why? Chioma why?”
FLASH BACK:
The first day I met Chioma was a coincidence I will never forget. It was a hurt hot afternoon in the busy streets of Lagos, I had gone to FHA office in Festac Town to make enquiries about a land I wanted to buy at Festac Extension. On my way going back to Ajao Estate, I noticed a girl at the back of a danfo commercial vehicle. She was putting on a sun shade, she was beautiful and she was crying.
The tears of a woman can melt an ice, but the tears of a beautiful woman can melt an iron. I drove after the bus.
Don’t get me wrong. I was used to beautiful girls, I had some at my beck and call. Like Iniedo, Genevieve, Chika, Aisha, Jumai….to mention but a few. But there was something different about this girl. The girl stopped at Ijesha, I parked my car and followed her.
“Hey young lady,” I called after her.
She looked at me but continued walking.
“It’s you I’m calling,” we were now shoulder to shoulder.
She looked at me.
“How may I help you?” She asked.
“I saw you crying in the bus,” I went straight to the point, ” and I want to know why.”
“I was’nt crying.”
“I know the difference between tears and rain. And today is a sunny day..”
“Even if I was, it’s not your business.”
“Well, I want to make it mine now.”
She began to walk away, I followed.
“Stop following me or I will shout that you want to kidnap me.”
“And you know what will happen afterwards? People will mob me, hang tyre on my neck and set me ablaze. My blood will be in your hand.”
She thought about it and began to walk again. I followed.
“My life is about to be messed up,” she began.
“How?”
“I’m supposed to be having my final exams soon, but I can’t without paying my school fees. I’m from a poor home.”
“And?”
“I told a distant uncle who is rich, he promised to help and asked me to come. Getting to his house at Satelite Town he showed me the money but placed a condition.”
“Which is?”
She looked at me without her sun shade, tears were rolling down her cheeks. She looked more beautiful than in the bus.
“That I sleep with him,” she admitted, “I refused and he tried to rape me. I was able to escape.”
Wicked. Why is the world full of wichedness and wicked people? Taking advantage of an innocent girl in her moment of vulnerability should be a crime against humanity. Punishable bu God and man.
“How much is the school fees?”
“Eighty thousand naira.”
“Follow me.” I beckoned.
“What?”
“Follow me.”
“To where? Why?”
“Listen, I’m not like your uncle. Just trust me.”
“All men are the same.”
“Some men are different.”
She hesitated for a moment before following me. At a building across the street was a Diamand bank, my bank. I went to the ATM machine, inserted my card and made a withdrawal. I then went back to her.
“Open your hand bag,” I said.
“What?”
“Open your hand bag.”
She opened it and I put some cash inside.
“In there is a hundred K.”
“What?”
“Eighty K is for your school fees.”
“What?”
“Use the remaining to help yourself.”
“What?”
“Ok, maybe I have to repeat what I said,” I was almost laughing, “you now have a hundred K that can solve your school palava. Go and make your parents proud.”
“What? Oh my God!”
“I have to be going,” I began to walk back to my car.
I didn’t ask her to follow me but she did. I entered my car and she stood beside the door.
“You didn’t even ask for my name.” she said, “and you didn’t tell me who you are.”
“Ok, my name is Kelechi Onuoha, but friends call me Kacy.”
“Ok, my names are Chioma Felicia Okoro. A final year student of Mass comm at LASU. I live at No 13 Friday street here in Ijesha with my parents, but I come from Onitsha..”
“It’s a pleasure to know you, Chioma,” I gave her my complimentary card, “call me whenever you want.”
“Thank you Kacy. God bless you,” she looked inside her hand bag, “Oh my God, Oh my God!”
I started the car and drove off. I watched her through the mirror, she stood there waving. And I could still hear her voice in my head…”Oh my God, Oh my God!”
A year and few months later we were married.
BACK TO PRESENT:
“Chioma why did you kill me?”
Her confusiion turned to terror.
“No! You’re a ghost,” # call…..her mother).
“Praise the Lord,” she shouted into the microphone.
“Halellujah,” chorused the congregation.
“Prai-prai-prai-praa-a-ise the Lord,” she shouted again.
With her right hand she held unto the microphone and with her left hand she waved in the air. She was elegant in her apparel, with a hair scarf that stool like a crown on her head. Everything she wore wasn’t cheap, a clear testimony to my benevolence. I wasn’t just an inlaw, I was also like a son. Or so I thought.
“Halellujah,” the congregation chorused again.
“Umu chineke ibe m, soronu m kelee chineke,” she started her testimony, “my brethren, follow me thank this our god. I don’t know how to start thanking him. I call him ebube dike, oloro ihe loro enyi, el-shaddai, miracle worker, kabiyesi, oghenedo, Jesus igwe.e.e!”
She made a dance move like someone posessed by an unseen spirit. The she began to sing.
“There is something that makes me come into your presence, my helper,” she sang and the congregation joined her.
I sat quietly at the last row of the seats and watched in bewilderment at this evil woman that just masterminded my death. She was evil, she was an elder in the church and she was supposed to be a born again christian. I looked at the name of the church inscripted bodly above the alter, “Holy Ghost Deliverance Ministry.” Such a perfect name. I’m the ghost that’s going to deliver her today.
“There is something that makes me come into your presence, my helper,” the spirit that posessed the woman seemed to have taken over the congregation too, they went up in a roar, “My helper o-o, my helper. My helper o-oh, my helper. There is something that makes me come into your presence, my helper.”
“My testimony is very long but I will try and cut it short,” the woman continued, “my daughter was attacked by a ghost but survived.”
The church went up in an uncontrolled murmur. Some people adjusted their sitting position, the testimony was getting interesting. The person sitted next to me looked at me and said, “wonder shall never end.” I responded, “Ghost kwa? Mhhh!”
“My daughter’s husband died few days ago and disappeared into thin air.” she continued, “We’ve searched for him everywhere but can’t find him. My daughter is devastated because she loves him so much.”
She started to sob. A dead silence fell upon the church. Nobody, including me, wanted to miss the story.
“Some days ago, Chioma my daughter got a video call, when she picked, it was the ghost of the dead husband that appeared. He attacked her, causing her a parcial stroke. Today she can’t walk properly and is speech impired but is alive……praise the Lord.”
The congregation shouted, “halellujah.”
“That ghost is wicked but the god I serve is greater. He wants to kill my daughter, a woman that loved him so much and took good care of him as a wife should. My daughter will recover fully soon and the enemies shall be put to shame in Jesus name.”
“Ame-en,” the congregation shouted.
“My brethren,” the woman raised her voice, “if you are praying to this our god, don’t……”
FLASH BACK:
I remembered all I did for this woman, a woman I called mother and treated as such. From the moment I entered into her daughter’s life, the family’s life changed for good. She used to fry akara at a bus stop in Iganmu, I opened a mini supermarket for her and she was doing well. I paid the other of her children school fees. I stopped her husband from being a gateman and gave him two commercial buses to be managing. When her husband died a year ago, the burial was on me and was befitting. Where did I wrong this woman? I once loved her as a mother but now I hated her with passion.
BACK TO PRESENT:
“Praise the Lord,” she shouted after ending her testimony.
The congregation responded with “halellujah.”
“Prai-prai-……….”
I had heard enough, this nonsense has got to stop. I looked at the name of the church again, “Holy Ghost Deliverance Ministry.” I stood up from my seat, this is deliverance time.
I started walking down the aisle to go take a seat at the front row. Then our eyes met, she froze.
“Prai-prai,” she stuttered.
She looked sideways, looked at the pastor like she was expecting someone to come rescue her and then back at me. People were confused at her sudden change of countenance. Her face was terrified and her complexion was beginning to change. She was becoming a ghost. I gave her a cruel smile.
“Prai-prai……no, no, it’s a ghost,” she was screaming. “Take him away from me, he’s a ghost.”
Her eyes rolled, and like a sac of cassava flakes she collapsed on the hard floor. The speakers made a cracking noise as the microphone hit the floor.
As quietly as I had entered the church I vanished.
THIS IS NOT THE END!
Chike, Chike, Chike…..how many times did I call you?
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