I didn’t sleep.
To be fair, if an old woman materialized beside your bed at midnight, eating groundnuts and casually informing you that a dead man wanted to speak to you, you probably wouldn’t sleep either.
I spent most of the night staring at my ceiling and trying to decide which was more likely. I was seeing ghosts, Or my brain had finally decided to resign. Personally, I was rooting for the second option. Brain damage was terrible but at least it made sense. Ghosts didn’t.
I woke up tired, mentally. Like my brain had been running background processes all night.
I didn’t go to work. For the first time in almost a year, I called in sick which wasn’t entirely a lie. I might not have had malaria, but I was definitely experiencing some kind of system malfunction.
I showered, got dressed and made up my mind. I was going back to the hospital. If I was going insane, I deserved professional confirmation.
The hospital looked exactly the same, the smell of disinfectant, the nurses moving around briskly, the endless sounds of monitors and distant conversations. This place had once held my dead body.
Funny thought.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
The consultant who had attended to me wasn’t available, he was in surgery. I almost left, then someone called my name.
“Kelechi?”
I turned, the doctor looked familiar. Young, probably in his early thirties, dark-skinned, sharp features and friendly smile. Then I remembered, he was there that night. One of the doctors, the one who kept checking my pulse. The one who looked the most shocked when I woke up.
He smiled.
“You remember me?”
“Barely.”
He laughed.
“Wonderful. That’s exactly what every doctor wants to hear.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“I’m Tunji.”
Right, that was his name.
“I was one of the junior doctors on duty that night.”
“You look disappointed that I’m alive.”
He laughed again.
“No. Just surprised.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve been alive for three months.”
“And I’ve been surprised for three months.”
I liked him immediately. Some people have that effect, they make conversation feel easy.
He led me to the cafeteria.
“You look troubled.”
I almost said no. Then I remembered I had come all the way here to ask a ridiculous question. I sighed
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Can dying cause brain damage?”
He blinked.
“That escalated quickly.”
“I’m serious.”
He became serious too.
“Why are you asking?”
I hesitated, then decided to take the risk.
“I’ve been seeing things.”
“What kind of things?”
“People.”
He frowned.
“What people?”
“Dead ones.”
Silence.
Then:
“Okay.”
I stared at him.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something doctor-like.”
He laughed.
“Alright. Have you been hearing voices?”
“Sometimes.”
“Seeing people nobody else can see?”
I nodded.
“Any headaches?”
“No.”
“Blackouts?”
“No.”
He folded his arms, then looked at me carefully.
“You know… after what happened to you, I don’t think I can confidently call anything impossible.”
I blinked.
“What do you mean?”
Tunji leaned back.
“You were dead.”
I swallowed.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I mean… my heart stopped.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I mean dead.”
I frowned.
He continued.
“I’ve seen people crash before. I’ve seen resuscitations fail before. I know what a dead person looks like.”
He looked directly at me.
“And that night, Kelechi, you were dead.”
The words hung in the air.
I suddenly felt cold.
“There was no pulse.”
He counted on his fingers.
“No heartbeat.”
“No breathing.”
“No response.”
“Nothing.”
He shook his head slowly.
“Then six minutes later, you opened your eyes and scared the life out of everybody.”
I forced a laugh, it didn’t come out properly.
“You should stop saying it like that.”
“I’m just saying what happened.”
I looked away.
He was still speaking.
“You were a miracle.”
I hated that word.
Miracle.
It implied purpose.
Meaning.
I wasn’t interested in either.
I just wanted my life back.
Then I saw him, the old man. Standing behind Tunji, watching me, again. I nearly jumped.
Tunji frowned.
“You okay?”
The old man looked angry, actually angry. Like somebody who had been ignored for too long. I rubbed my face.
No.
Not here.
Not now.
The old man pointed at me.
I ignored him.
He pointed again.
Then folded his arms.
I sighed.
“Kelechi?”
I looked at Tunji.
Then back at the old man.
Then back at Tunji.
I finally asked:
“Can you see him?”
Tunji blinked.
“See who?”
“The old man.”
Silence.
“What old man?”
I pointed.
“Standing there.”
Tunji slowly looked behind him, then back at me. There was concern in his eyes now. The kind doctors reserve for people who may require medication.
“There is nobody there.”
I looked at the old man, he was still standing there, arms folded, waiting. I looked at Tunji, then at the old man again, and then back at Tunji.
I stood up.
“I should go.”
“Kelechi…”
“I should really go.”
I grabbed my bag.
“You don’t have to…”
“I’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t.
I knew I wasn’t.
I walked out of the hospital, I didn’t know where I was going. I just walked, the old man followed and I ignored him. I walked faster, he still followed. I turned left, then right, crossed a road, walked through another street. I kept moving, I don’t know how long I walked.
Five minutes.
Twenty.
An hour.
I don’t know.
All I know is that eventually I stopped, I looked up, and I had no idea where I was.
None.
I turned around.
Nothing looked familiar.
Wonderful.
I was either being haunted by dead people or developing schizophrenia, and now I was lost.
Fantastic.
I was still trying to figure out my location when a familiar voice shouted:
“You see your life?”
I closed my eyes, of course.
Mama Nkem.
She appeared out of nowhere, hands on her waist and looking deeply offended on behalf of common sense.
“You have been ignoring this old man since yesterday.”
I sighed.
“Please.”
“You think the dead enjoy following stubborn people around?”
“Please.”
“You nearly got yourself killed.”
“Please.”
She stopped, really looked at me, and then her expression softened.
“You are frightened.”
I didn’t answer.
She nodded.
“Good.”
I frowned.
“Good?”
“Fear means your brain is still working.”
I stared at her.
“You are strange.”
“So they tell me.”
For the first time, she sounded almost kind.
“The old man wants to commune with you.”
I rubbed my face.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“He wants to speak.”
I looked around.
“I don’t want to speak.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
I looked at her.
Unfortunately…
She was right.
I sighed.
“Fine.”
The old man appeared, right beside her. For the first time, he spoke. His voice was deep, tired and slightly annoyed.
“You ignored me.”
I blinked, that was his opening statement?
“I have been trying to speak to you.”
I stared at him.
“You are dead.”
He frowned.
“That is not my fault.”
I almost laughed. Mama Nkem slapped his arm.
“Ask politely.”
The old man looked offended.
“I have been wandering for fifteen years.”
“Ask politely.”
He sighed heavily.
“I am trying.”
I looked from one old person to another, then another figure appeared.
Oba Adefolarin.
He looked at both of them, then sighed.
“You are embarrassing yourselves.”
Mama Nkem folded her arms, the old man folded his too, and for some reason, I found the whole thing funny. Three old dead people arguing in the middle of nowhere and somehow I was involved.
The old man sighed, then looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“I need your help.”
I said nothing.
“I died fifteen years ago.”
His voice became quieter.
“I was murdered.”
The humour vanished immediately.
“My family never found me.”
He swallowed.
“They still search.”
I felt something in my chest tighten.
“I cannot rest.”
He looked away.
“I cannot move on.”
Then he looked at me again.
“I need you to find my body.”
Silence.
“And the man who killed me.”
Another silence.
“He was my friend.”
The words landed heavily.
I stared at him.
The old man stared back.
For the first time…
I didn’t see a ghost.
I saw a tired man.
A lonely man.
A man who had been waiting fifteen years to be heard.
And somehow…for reasons I still didn’t understand…
He had chosen me.