Everyone, in adolescent, has some
kind of fear. My own childhood (adolescent) fear was about meeting a ghost of a
dead person.
In the community of Akoko North of
Ondo State of Nigeria, where I was born, there was the make belief that the
dead do rise from the grave, and walks round. Hence, each time I heard a person
died, I fear to go to sleep. I’d feel some forms of apparition following me.
It didn't actually happen, until, my
elder brother, one day, acted ghost-like during the half moonlight, in order to
scare me. I had gone to play with Tunde (my friend), and had, unfortunately,
stayed late. It was already dark when I was returning home. On the way home,
the apprehension of meeting with a ghost bumped into my mind; but, I tried to
act bold by singing “Orlando Owoh” song. As I was just a few meter to my house,
lo, and behold an image, veiled in snow-white from head to toe stood in front
of me. I cried, and run, my heel almost touching the back of my skull. The
apparition chased after me, caught up with me, and grabs hold of my hand. My
blood bumped and went cold. I fainted, and woke up to find myself in the
clinic, surrounded by nurses.
Later, mom brought me food. I held on
to her hand, snuggle closer, and told her: “mom, do not to leave me, you know,
the ghost could come back. Tell dad to bring his cutlass.” Mom and the nurses
laughed it off heartily, and I was taking aback why they would be thinking an apparition
that had wanted to kidnap me was funny. I grew irritated by their laugh, and I
said: “mom, this ain’t some funny stuff, you know?” One of the nurses asked me:
“Deola, how did the ghost look?
As I was trying to narrate the
encounter, the post trauma of it set in on me again. I drifted back to seeing
him (the ghost). I became instantly frightened, and fainting. Then, mom hugged,
kissed me, and said: “Deola, it ain’t a ghost you saw. It was Dada (my elder
brother) who acted the ghost to scare you.” Whoa, mom, you meant he did? I’m
gonna have to look some ways to teach him a lesson in revenge. Everyone, except
me, laughed. It was a terror of the valley of the shadow of death. The shame of
being so naïve terrified me each time I hobble into a gathering of people who
had heard about the story.
Dear readers, do you enjoy my story?
Do you, too, have an adolescent fear? How I wish you could gist me your fear.
Thank you for your reading.
=DEOLA
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