GHOSTS OF THE CASHEW PLANTATION by: Jude Ifeme

It was an early March afternoon; the sun scowled at the earth from a cloudless sky, and all the cashew ghosts were on the prowl.
Down the valley, where the plantation adjoins the cemetery, Cletus, Manga and Ibru crept through the hedge into the plantation, on the no-man’s-land beyond the town. They have been friends from birth, all born in the same week, live in the same compound, of three competing couples. Except they were of different parents, they would pass for a triplet. At fifteen they should be in school but weren’t.

“I am scared,” Cletus muttered, his eyes darting nervously. They weren’t supposed to talk loud or they’d provoke the ghosts.
“Me too,” concurred Ibru who cowered in-between his friends for his own protection.
Manga held a rather resolute face while he kept his trembling fists from his friends’ view. It was his idea that they come to the haunted plantation, he should, at least, show a semblance of courage.

As far as the eye could see, red and yellow juicy fruits littered green branches, haunted and sweet, but only disturbed by wind, birds and other games – and, of course, the ghosts. The cashew season was here, and once in a while, the brave or foolish would dare the ghosts to glaze their tongue with the succulent picks.

Up the hill was monkey territory, the primates cackled and shrieked as they picked through tree branches, the boys shuddered at their every cacophonous burst.
“Are the ghosts out?” Cletus whispered, referring to the noise, tears filling his eyes.
Manga nodded positive.
“Are we going to die?” Ibru suddenly demanded.
That elicited a chilling scowl from Manga, who remained their rock of ages.
The boys waited in silence. Suddenly the noise stopped, and Manga motioned them to the first cashew plant, and then led the way up the tree. Moments later, he began shaking off ripe fruits for his friends to gather, while helping himself with the juiciest.

At the other end of the plantation, a group of four school boys were on the same mission. It was their first time too. They have had enough watching the plantation from a distance. The notoriety of the plantation was a song in the burgeoning town, but the temptation remained irresistible to its teenagers, mostly. Everyone knew the story of Buma, who once guarded the plantation for the council. How he never returned, one fateful day, from the plantation. People avoided the plantation until the cemetery grew into it, and all the ghosts now run around the place.

An old woman was returning from her farm with a bunch of fire woods on her head. She had never liked cashew fruit and wouldn’t have any from the plantation if her life depended on it. But each day, as she passed by the plantation, she would do what she had to do to wade off the spirits of the dead before she passed by. As she approached the plantation, she dropped down her fire woods, untied a plastic water bottle from the bundle of woods and began to chant and wash her face with the content. Doing that no ghost would follow her home, she believed.

“The bag is full, Manga,” Cletus called out, mouth full of cashew fruit, his voice just above whisper.
“Ibru, remove your shirt and gather these, I want to shake the other branch,” he called down to Ibru who hadn’t overcome his fear and was yet to taste the fruit, ignoring Cletus’s announcement.
“Did you hear that sound?” Ibru said all of a sudden. They all stood still and listened.

The school boys, just less than five hundred meters away plucked their way through joyously. Occasionally they too would hear sounds from the opposite direction and stop, wait for a while and then resume again. So far there was peace; they were initially scared out of their wits by the monkeys. However, and intense eeriness subdued the air, but the sweetness of the fruits couldn’t be overcome.

“Ghosts,” Ibru began to sob, “they are coming here,” and his body jerked like a convulsive.
“Be quiet.” Cletus cautioned. Manga went still as he listened; the noise from the other side seemed to have moved closer.
Suddenly, Ibru stepped on a ripe fruit and jumped away in fear, screaming his heart out. The monkeys showed their disapproval with a frenzied resumption shrieks.
Manga who had come to the end of his courage, jumped down from the cashew tree in deep apprehension. Cletus, suddenly wishing they were already home, shot out like a routed deer and headed the way they have came, but Ibru was already ahead. Manga, seeing he was left behind, began to cry for help. No one remembered the bag of cashew fruits, and still none dared to shout anymore as they ran for dear lives.

The old woman heard the running ghosts but wouldn’t open her eyes while she performed the ritual of protection, or she’d be struck dead. She suddenly felt the first ghost ram into her body, the second trampled on her stomach as she hit the ground, when the third hit her chest seconds later, she passed out.
The school boys, already on their heels upon sensing a commotion, rushed out of the plantation. And on sighting the old female ghost lying across the road, they scattered into the cemetery in fright and confusion, throwing off anything not held to their bodies by tissues and muscles. Their screams could be heard miles away.
Later that evening, a new chapter was added to the legend of ghosts of the cashew plantation by a dazed, recuperating old woman and two groups of very frightened young boys in different parts of the town.



Subscribe to POETICALLY SPOKEN by Email