GhettoDances: Walking with shadows in the dark

By Onie Ndoro | Dec. 31, 2023

Onie Ndoro is a an IELTS tutor, ghostwriter and storyteller

I had planned the journey many days before. I had to be meticulous in planning for the journey. There was a family gathering and everyone in the clan was expected to be there. This happened yearly. Family members would come from all over the country and beyond our borders. Were it not for the gatherings, the other times we only got to meet were during funerals. The weddings presented an occasion to meet but they didn’t happen quite often enough.

I must say that I had not even attended one of these gatherings in the last five years.

As I did not have a car of my own, it was necessary that I travelled early to avoid arriving after sunset. Forty three years after independence, the transport arrangements were quite bizarre. In order to get to Chokodza, my rural home, I had to board a bus to Wedza Business Centre. With luck, I could hike to Rutanhira Shops, from there, it was a good 9km distance to reach home. From Rutanhira, it was a foregone conclusion that I could never get transport. From that point I was always pyschologically prepared for the long walk home.

As long as I arrived at Rutanhira Shops during daytime, walking the final 9km was nothing to write home about. The challenge was arriving late after dusk, and all the ghost stories we heard when growing up would flood my mind.

On this particular day, after boarding the early bus at Mbare Musika, I was sure I would be home before sunset. Things don’t normally go according to plan, and so when the bus broke down before Wedza Business Centre, I had no reason to panic. There was still plenty of time. They tried to fix the AVM bus to no avail. A mechanic had to come all the way from their Harare garage.

By the time, the bus was fixed, I was quite anxious. It was already late and as I disembarked at Rutanhira Shops, it was already dark, eerie and foreboding. Rutanhira Shops were made up of a general dealer, a grinding mill and a bottle store that also sold groceries. There was little difference with a deserted place.

I could see candlelight in the bottle store.

My backpack was light on my back as I walked briskly. Someone whistled at me but I prodded on and soon the shops were behind me and were just dark shadows in the night. To make matters worse, the trees cast dark elongated shadows on the road that gave me quite a fright. My biggest worry was crossing Mbowo River so that I could get onto the other side.

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Most of the ghost stories we heard when we were growing up revolved around Mbowo River at the bridge.

There was no moon to cheer me up and light the way. I had my phone in my other hand just in case I needed a light urgently. The time was around 1am. As I approached the bridge, my hair suddenly stood on end. The temperatures seemed to drop as I felt a sudden draught of cold air hit my body. All of a sudden my backpack began to feel heavy. As I tried to walk forward, my feet felt terribly heavy as if they were not mine. They became wobbly and I began to drag them.

I tried to turn back but it was like all my willpower was gone. It was like a surreal force dragging me towards the bridge against my will.

I felt rather than saw the dark forces that were swirling around me. I have never felt so helpless. I tried to open my mouth and pray, but nothing came out of my mouth. It was like I was trapped in a big drum full of water and someone was trying to drown me and keep the lid shut above my head.

In a moment I thought I saw an apparition standing under a gum tree. I saw a tall white man, a typical bhunu man with huge biceps, hairy and well muscled from chest to waist, but the funny thing is he was wearing baby diapers.

There was an orange glow of light around the apparition. I felt too weak to do anything as the tall white man stooped down to touch my face and suddenly I found my voice, “The blood of Jesus!” And as soon as I uttered those words the apparition just vanished.

I fell to the ground as once more there was absolute darkness. Then a few metres away from me, I heard a powerful engine start, the beams of the car shone around and suddenly disappeared in the forest. After that there was dead silence.

Everything seemed to return to normal...

Now it all came back. This was the ghost of Pretorious, a boer who had perished together with all his family members during the war of independence when his car had exploded to smithereens after running over a landmine. His restless spirit was a menace in the surrounding villages for as long as I can remember. It was never safe to walk across the bridge after dark.

We grew up hearing about the ghost of Pretorious. Maybe one day it will find peace and stay with the dead.