The girl walked into the room alone, neutral coloured clothing and staying close to the back wall. Her nervous smile and downcast eyes inform me of how shy and self conscious she is. Her ankle length dress matched the off-white colour of the Chapel’s back wall. Her short natural Afro hair had been combed back and left to hold its own. The ladies in her pew spoke among themselves, momentarily pausing as she takes her seat, then turning back to their chatter. Dismissed, the girl picks up the program and flips through in less than a minute, then sighs and puts it down. She studies her own dress where it drapes over her knees and remains very still. I wonder at her choice of colour for a funeral and let the thought go.
An elderly lady now walks in, looks round the two last rows and makes her way over to the girl. She steps on a few toes, as she tries to balance between the kneeling form and the benches. A few of the young ladies she passes wince in pain, while others turn their knees sharply to one side, to avoid her heavy form squeezing past. The elder woman smiles as she ambles forward, leaning hard on the benches, as she struggles to keep her balance.
The girl looks up and recognises the woman heading toward her. She smiles and her eyes flit round the room, to see who is watching before quickly looking down at her shoes. She is a little embarrassed, from what I can make out.
The older woman calls out her name, ‘Mbaka, I have made it!’ she announces in their local dialect. The girl looks up at her, smiles nervously and looks down once more, moving quickly to one side as she makes space for the awkward lady.
My good friend who is standing next to me follows my gaze and blurts out, ‘They are back! Interesting that they have turned up, after all they have done!’ She snorts and looks away.
Who are they and what exactly have they done?’ I ask, perplexed at her unkind remarks. It is so odd for her to react in this way and I move to make eye contact, still bewildered by her comment.
Staring at them, my friend, Mwara glares in their direction and then turns to face me. ‘Those two are complete witches and should burn in hell!’
I blink away my shock and disbelief, ‘A real witch or a rumoured one?’ I asked, staring into her face closely., adding, ‘Surely you mean they are just unpleasant and should be avoided?’
Mwara looks straight at me and tells me how the two women colluded to defraud the deceased of his land, before he mysteriously and quickly died, as they tried to care for him. The sad part is that they kept his close family at bay, claiming he was recovering and doing well, until he quite suddenly died. His neighbours and friends concluded foul play. The ploy played out when the two women went to court within a week, to claim he had left them his land. Even the judge thought it odd and sent them off to bring all supporting documents of their claim, duly signed and handed over by his living family. They left the court and had not been seen since. That was a month ago.
I looked at Mwara, stole a glance at the two seemingly harmless ladies and then asked Mwara. ‘How and why do people dream up such evil? Are you sure it was them or was there someone else involved? What?’ my voice trailing off, as I look across the room at the two odd women.
The two strange ladies were flipping through a Hymnbook now and whispering, as they looked around nervously. I could not help noticing how churchy and innocent they looked. Both wore loose, long dresses, ankle length, as though they did not want to draw any attention to themselves. Each wore a sweater over their dress, almost fully buttoned up to their necks and in this heat too! Very churchy. The older lady had a scarf with a church emblem on the front, signifying she was part of the senior matriarchs in the community. Very churchy. So unassuming.
Mwara tugged at my arm, ‘Don’t stare. Act natural.’ I blinked and looked away, pulling on the strap of my handbag, suddenly feeling unsettled. ‘Let’s take our seats and focus on the funeral. We can catch up a bit more later.’ We sat and faced forward just as they organist cued-in the Vicar.
The funeral service moved ahead briskly and the choir stood, sang, we stood, prayed, knelt and sat back down a few times and then came the tributes. The man’s immediate family and friends gave short but moving tributes. Mwara teared and wiped her eyes with each speaker. She and her uncle had been close and I comforted her a best as I could.
The final speaker was invited forward and the old strange lady ambled up to the pulpit. The Chapel fell into a hush; more of a collective surprise than out of respect. She chuckled as she leaned into the microphone, blared out greetings and then introduced herself. A few people around us smarted and others shuffled in their seats, clearly unhappy she had the chance to speak. We listened with quiet displeasure. She finished with a glowing remark at how she will miss her former classmate. Mwara let out a sigh and leaning forward, held her head in her hands. This was the last straw for her. With one more chuckle and a disarming smile, the old lady tongued her dentures back in her moth, then ambled her way to the back and the service quickly drew to a close. In our dismay, we did not hear the benediction prayer and promptly left at the last Amen.
Outside, we found the old lady chuckling away with a few of her age mates, many of whom had attended school with her and the deceased. Mwara’s sister also came to console us, declaring, ‘I just wish she would find her broom and Just fly away!’ With that, we all left and went to the gravesite. The final rites were over quickly and we left for Mwara’s parent’s home for the night. It was a long, quiet and restful night, in an old and well-loved home.
The next morning, Mwara and I awoke early, Before dawn, packed quickly and set off into her parent’s kitchen to prepare an early breakfast, in the dark, before leaving for the city. Simple sweet potato, arrow root, some maize and tea. No jam or margarine or bread. It just the way we liked it growing up in the village. Smoke infused tea and food. We quietly washed up and made to leave, when Mwara’s sister walked in and asked us to follow her out, very quietly, so we could catch a grave dancer in the act!
We looked at one another and hurried On tiptoes after Mwara’s sister into the farm. She stopped and pointed in the misted direction of the family graves. As the rays of sunlight shone through, we made out a lone female figure, dancing over the latest grave. Uncle’s grave. She continued to move in silence and if we strained our ears, heard a few chants. Suddenly, her bare feet were stomping on the dewy mound and she sputtered as she spoke what seemed to be curses. Inaudible, we strained our ears further, careful to stay behind the bushes that concealed our presence. We prayed silently and a little under our breaths.
It was the girl from the back of the Chapel. Who knew that little Miss Neutral was into this kind of thing?Her actions and sounds in clear contrast to her demure self at the Chapel. She gyrated some more. Stomped the grave a few more times, with a shrill shriek, her movement stopped in a strange pose as her murderous eyes stared into the ground. Then she stopped, stood stock still. Then wiped the sweat off her brow, picked a shawl off the ground and darted off in the opposite direction. Perplexed, we looked at one another, listened out for her and then slowly made our way back to the house.
Once we had the door bolsted behind us, we moved into the kitchen and I asked the two sisters, ‘What the hell did I just see?’ They shrugged and then we began to giggle. We had never prescribed to this stuff. Finally, Mwara answered my question, ‘I did say they are witches and I meant every word. Everyone in the family and around her, has had some sort of awkward or mysterious encounter with them. Every single story ends in loss and those two only seem to win. They steal money, land and anything they want off you. Now we have seen one of their rituals. They are said to believe in taking up a dead person’s powers. Very disturbing. Dances like the one you just witnessed don’t happen for fun. They are into some s bizarre stuff.’ That made us all uneasy and we prayed together for God’s protection over us.
As we drove back to the city, Mwara and her sister told me of the bizarre court case that ended with their disappearance. A few days prior to this funeral, the Judge had contacted the Police to seek out the two ladies out and arrest them and bring them before the court.
I had heard of grave dancers but this was my first witness. They say the girl’s powers have since weakened after the Judge brought them back to court. The old lady is in hiding, usually locked up in her own house, pretending she is not home. The young girl, who turned out to be her own youngest daughter, fled with a man to another distant town and has not been seen since. She is probably the last grave dancer I will ever see and I am thankful no more wickedness will prevail.
Short Stories & Poems by WarmBreezeBliss 