I don’t even know how to say this. But something happened to me last month and I haven’t been the same since.. When I sleep, I try to wake up every hour to be sure that I am still alive and that every part of me still works.

Last month, I went to a funeral in a small town in the Volta Region. It was my auntie’s husband’s brother. I never met the man, but family is family, so I left Accra as early as I could and got there in time for the funeral.

I was walking through the town, following my aunt’s directions, and I passed a compound and saw a lady sitting outside. Fair, beautiful. I turned to greet her, and that’s when the world offered me something it had no business offering. She was sitting the way only the careless or the fearless sit, as if modesty had simply forgotten to show up that morning. When I said my greeting, she didn’t even glance up to look at me. She was too locked into her phone, probably watching TikTok like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I saw some things. It was very wrong of me to look, but I saw them and I liked what I saw, so I went back to be sure I had seen right. She was still in the same position. I walked away again, came back a third time, and by then the thought was planted deep in my head. After circling her house what felt like a thousand times, I went to the funeral I had come for.

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My intention was to come back and talk to her. “Since I am moved by what I see, I can at least enjoy it,” I said to myself. Unfortunately, she wasn’t there anymore. I circled the house and knocked and knocked, as if no one had been sitting there just minutes ago.

Because I was still interested, I confided in my aunty and asked her to help me find the girl. It was hard to explain, but after a while my aunty caught on to what I was saying and started screaming. She rushed and brought water, poured salt into it, and dragged me behind the house. “Wash your face with it,” she said. I did. She made me repeat after her, “My eyes didn’t see anything,” three times.

“The girl you saw is dead. She died two weeks ago. She was thrown into the river by men who were believed to have raped her.” According to my aunt, the girl’s spirit roams the town showing herself to people, especially strangers passing through.

It feels like a lie. It should feel like a superstition, but when I left that town and returned to Accra that same day, I felt something follow me home. Something I had not borrowed, something given to me simply because I liked what I saw.

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Two nights after that, I haven’t been able to sleep properly. On Saturday I dreamt about her. On Sunday the same dream came back. I prayed before bed. I anointed the whole room. I said words of meditation. I know there is a heavy spirit lurking somewhere in here, somewhere in my room.

My aunt wants me to come back down so we can see a spiritualist. She thinks the girl is trying to say something.

I have not been able to concentrate at work at all. My mind is far away somewhere. How at all did I manage to let the lust of my flesh get me into trouble with the dead? Ei.

—Mintah

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