I STOOD SO CLOSE TO THE DEVIL

Growing up as a kid in a typical African home could be a very entertaining and hilarious encounter. Apart from being told about your ancestors under the glaring moon, you also get to hear folklores and stories about how the tortoise got its shell and how the dog got its black nose. Funny right? That’s not all. You also hear about ghosts and spirits.
story telling to children

Some of these ghosts’ stories are told to kids to keep them away from participating in evil practices like theft and to help kids grow into good and responsible folks. For example, my granddad once told us never to sweep at night. According to him,

• ”Sweeping at night calls the attention of an evil spirit named ‘azongu.’ The swooshing sound of the broom on the floor wakes and distracts ‘azongu’ from sleep. As a result, he angrily plucked out the eyes of anyone who woke him from sleep.” *

This story of ‘azongu’ made us morally upright. We loved our senses of sight and did not want our eyes plucked out. As a result;

1. We always cleaned the house and its surroundings in the day time.
2. We tried our bests never to allow dirt in or around the house so we did not have a cause to sweep at night.
3. We were always very careful while operating at night so we did not spill any water on the floor and raise dust from any angle.
   Children sweeping the house

The house was always clean.

Not all of us really believed the stories about ghosts and spirits. We simply kept the house clean either because others were doing so too or because we could be beaten. I for one, was a “doubting Thomas.” I hardly believed ghosts or spirits existed. Even if they did, they had their separate world.

I kept on doubting until my doubts were cleared one day.

It happened when I was in the major seminary and on apostolic work in parish that was situated in a very rural area.

I was sent to work in a village name Gbajimba. Gbajimba was known for having a lot of old men and women who flew at night in the form of birds and even turned their neighbours into horses into to ride on and attend occultist meetings at night. I did not believe the stories I was told. I thought they were made up in order to prevent children to going about the village at night. I worked and walked around the village freely with no iota of fear.

One fateful Saturday, the Priest I was working with called me to his room and asked me to prepare my things and go bury a man who had died in some part of the village. I was excited. Since I entered the seminary, I had never had the privilege of burying a soul. I saw this as an epic moment.
Fast forward to 2 hours later, I was in the village for the burial. The euphoria made me leave the parish so early that I got to the venue before some of the family members. On reaching the compound, I was made to understand that “baba was refusing to be buried.” I almost laughed when I heard the late man’s first son say so. I did not understand what he really meant. I asked a lot of questions and got the shock of my life.
People at the burial

Before his death, baba was a traditional worshipper. He followed the ways of the ancestors and worshipped their gods. He was believed to have been a wizard and was involved in a good number of deaths of some youths in the community. He used men as horses to attend meetings at night, turned women into slaves who worked on his farms at night and killed youths and used spilled their bloods on his farms in order to appease the gods and get a good harvest. His victims did not know they were labored at night and were the factors behind baba’s bountiful harvests each year. They only woke up every morning feeling pains on their waists and backs. Baba lived in “peace” until 2 years before his death.
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The wizard woke up one day and said he needed to be repentant and baptized. After so much counseling and indoctrination, baba was baptized and wedded in the church with his wife. The other village wizards and witches felt betrayed but they did not utter a word. They all waited patiently for the day they would get a revenge on him.
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The day they were waiting for was the day of his burial. They refused that he was not going to “rest in peace.” They made his legs so swollen and his head so big that his corpse could not fit into the casket that had been beautifully made for that purpose.

When the catechist finished telling me this story, shivers ran down my spine. Since I represented the Parish Priest, I went to where the corpse was laid in order to see things for myself and report appropriately on my return. What I saw is the coldest thing till date. I was feeling both cold and hot at the same time. I felt like I wanted to vomit but nothing came out my mouth. To an extent, I could no longer feel my feet. The head was bigger than the way the catechist had described it. The feet were like a tree’s branch. I thought I was watching an animation movie.
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Baba’s family being aware of this ordeal went to see the other elderly men and women in the community. They spoke at length. After so much deliberation, the family was made to provide a white pig, without spot, a cock, some gallons of palm wine, some cowries and some old coins. It took the family no time in providing these items. They acted like they were already aware they would have to provide them.
voodoo

When all the items had been brought, the eldest of the “wizards” asked that the corpse be brought out. He uttered some words of incantation, poured palm wine into his mouth, spilt it out on his right palm and used the palm to touch the corpse. While the women wailed and wept, the men looked with keen attention. Few minutes after the man touched the corpse, something happened. The corpse returned to normal. The head came back to its actual size and the feet followed suit. People screamed in fright. These people actually possessed powers no one knew where they came from. I had never seen anything like this in my life.
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I buried the corpse in the catholic manner and returned to the parish dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe I had stood so close to devils and on earth. Till date, I dread the attending burials for fear that I might meet a similar escapade.

The devil actually exists. God exists too and is greater. Voodoo is real.
——————————————————————- I’m sure some other African brothers and sisters have also experienced voodoo in some way. If you have, share your experience in the comment’s section.
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