• Events convince Sgt Makini everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die
If you are new to my life, you’ve found me at a funeral without mourners. Not that people did not attend Mrs Tembo’s burial, they scattered when her ghost appeared.
Well, it wasn’t her ghost. It was her unknown twin sister from the United States, who saw the death announcement in the paper and decided to attend on a hunch that the deceased was her twin sister.
Four of us sit inside the house: Inspector Tembo, Sgt Sophia, Sheniqua Brown (Mrs Tembo’s sister) and I.
The pastor, who had bolted with the rest, comes back. “Phew! I thought it was a bomb.”
“Everybody wants to go to heaven,” I say, “but nobody wants to die.”
“No, son. Even the good Lord doesn’t like to meet anyone out of turn. Today is Mrs Tembo’s turn.”
Tembo shakes his head. “Shanikiwa, you could’ve been shot! Half the people here are armed cops.”
“I’m sorry,” says Sheniqua. “I didn’t mean to disrupt the ceremony. Had I known better I’d have waited until it was over, but I also wanted to pay my last respects.”
Tembo looks around. “I can’t understand a word she is saying.”
“But you’re speaking American, too. Like me.”
“I’m speaking English. I thought that’s what you speak in America.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” I say, glancing at Sophia, “the cops were too busy running and fainting.”
She shoots me a look. “I didn’t faint. Someone bumped into me, knocked me out cold.”
“Yeah, right.”
The pastor taps his Bible. “We need to get the people back and conclude the burial.”
“They won’t come back,” I say. “No one believes our guest is not a ghost.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
Whatever the pastor tells the people brings some of them back, though they steer clear of the coffin area. Sheniqua stays in the house, the clergyman rushes through the ceremony, and only 10 people assist in shovelling the dirt into the grave.
“Ati watu wamecheki ghost wakaishia?” says one young latecomer. “Mimi siwezi ogopa ngoe. Bro yangu aliishi kunitembelea after mbang’a wamkulishe mbegu.”
“Your brother was shot by police?” I ask.
“Achana na huyu fala,” another man concludes. “Ghost gani? Hiyo ni bhangi inaongea. Angekuwa hapa angeishia faster kuliko nduthi imeibwa.”
Sophia joins me at the graveside. “How’s it going?”
“No one else has fainted, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She looks down. “It’s Phasmophobia.”
“It’s who-what now?”
“The fear of ghosts. Everyone has a phobia, you know.”
Now I’m remorseful. “I’m sorry. I could’ve run too, but I didn’t want you thinking I’m a weakling.”
“You? A weakling? Never. I found you running a police station all by yourself. No weakling can do that.”
“It’s only a Police Post, but go on. Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Oh my God!” She gives me her most suspicious look yet. “You were going to use this to get into my pants, weren’t you?”
“Not anymore. Would it help if I brought along an actual ghost?”
She storms away and disappears inside the main house. Two old women leaning on canes approach me.
“Nilijua tu hii boma iko na urogi,” one whispers. “Askari mgani anaweza jenga nyumba ya nguvu hivi na mshahara ya serikali?”
“Ukiona ghost,” says her companion, “huyu mama aliuliwa. Hii ni murder case na anajua mwenye alimtenda ako hapa.”
“It’s her twin sister from America,” I tell them.
“Hakuna kitu kama hiyo,” says the first woman. “Kwani watu wakikufa wanaendaga America?”
“You can meet her if you want. She’s still inside the house.”
And that’s how everyone takes off for the second time.