Those days our village had no electricity. In each home were lanterns we bought kerosene to power.

For big events in the village such as political rallies, funerals or mega religious activities organized at nights, generators were used to light the settings.

One night, we ran out of kerosene in our house. Usually, it was no big deal if this was noticed around 6 or 7pm. But we only realized this around 9pm.

In those days, 9pm was the equivalent of 1am. The silence of midnight everywhere, so silent you could hear an old lady’s cough in some distant house.

There was usually a certain hour of the night all dogs in the neighborhood seemed to howl in unison, although each dog’s bark, if listened to carefully, stood out in the chorus. People said it was an hour of the night witches were out hunting, and dogs can see them, though they cannot tell us which relative of ours was seen in the night sky, broom between her thighs.

Normally, my cousin is asked to accompany me. But on this day, they let me go alone. Partly because where we usually bought our kerosene was some few houses away.

What they did not know was that there was shortage of kerosene in town. And so, when I got to Koninjo’s house and learnt that there was no kerosene, the ideal thing to do was to come back home. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I decided to ask where I could find some. They directed to one trader’s house, around the market square, a long journey from where our house stood.

I set off, through a lean path to the Kuyuli Primary School. My only companions, a torch and an empty gallon, and perhaps the sound of my footsteps echoing in the dark.

After Kuyuli Primary School was another school : RC Basic, where there were lots of neem trees sheltering thousands of bats.

Here, the night grew chilly and eerie.

Our village was still in its primitive stage. All around the RC Basic were forests. I heard the hooting of an owl and stopped, unsure whether to continue or return home. It seemed I had come too far to give up.

Unfortunately for me, scary stories grandma and others recounted to us at night under moonlight when we had nothing doing in the evenings all came rushing into my head. When I turn around, I saw some of those characters lurking in the thick darkness in which I was engulfed. Or was it my imagination?

There was this story of a long leg that crossed the path of children returning late from partying, and another story about ghosts who went shopping in the local market at night when we were all asleep.

When I was a child, we buried our dead with gifts of money. They were usually decorations of real coins on  graves. It wasn’t hard to believe then that ghosts went shopping in the invisible shopping malls of the local witches.

I stood still for a long time before moving slowly forward, all along keeping a certain name ready at my lips : Jesus. It was what my Sunday school teacher said. And it was what we saw in nollywood movies. They used that name to drive away witches and evil spirits.

Step by step I went, finally reaching the trader’s house. Her name was Maame Hawa. Thank God she had kerosene!

Buying I did buy. Joyfully. But there was the return journey to make. Alone. Through the dark.

I devised a plan. Why not walk briskly, and try not to think about witches and ghost stories, at least until I get home?

The trick worked for me. I walked very quickly on my return trip, scary stories took a lot of efforts to not think about.

But there was another problem : snakes. Seemed those creatures are unable to distinguish daytime from night. And in my village, many have died from their poisonous bites. Those fortunate to be rushed to the local clinic or a good herbalist on time survived. I was taking no risks. I trained my torch directly on my path, never forgetting to stop and take a good look at any thing long lying in my path : sticks, roots of trees and some abandoned rug hurled by the wind onto my path.

My stars were never asleep. For somewhere along the road I bumped into an uncle. Uncle Abu. He was surprised to see me. I didn’t know where he was going or returning from that night.

I narrated my story to him and he offered to escorts me home, chatting about things I can’t remember now.

After that day, I promised never to go anywhere alone at night again.