The Ghosts & Jamal

by Bridget Blankley

  He had to turn right when he got to the market and then left when a policeman stopped him so that three black cars could drive by, then he turned right again when he came to a fence covered in spikes. And then he got caught in a crowd and there were so many people that he had to go with them – and then he was lost!

  Being lost was bad; being lost and hungry was worse. Jamal was beginning to wish that he’d waited until after breakfast before he ran away from the compound. He hoisted his bag onto his head. It wobbled – he was really bad at carrying things this way – but the bag was too heavy to carry in his arms. I need to lose some of this weight, he thought. Then he remembered: the bag was full of food. He decided to find somewhere to stop before trying to find the railway. He was, in fact, very near the railway – the market had been set up next to the tracks – but as Jamal had forgotten to ask what a railway looked like he didn’t realise how close he was to his route south.

  Jamal didn’t want to stop where he was – there were too many people and he was sure that someone would tread on him if he sat down. He walked to where there were fewer people but it turned out that there were fewer people because he’d walked in a circle. He was back at the road where there were hundreds of cars. He decided that there was nowhere quiet to sit, only the seats by the tea stalls, and when he couldn’t buy any tea the stallholders chased him away. He would just have to eat while he walked.

  He opened his bag, and then he opened the backpack that Afiba had given him before he left. At the top, wrapped in newspaper, were six moin-moin, each one soft and round and nestled in its own paper case. Six cakes were too many to eat at once, even for Jamal, who liked cake very much. So he took out two and tucked them in his pockets. Then, just before he tied up the bag again he took out another; after all, it was important to eat a good breakfast. It didn’t make the bag much lighter, but as he balanced the bag on his head, he was sure that he would be able to manage the weight better once he had eaten the cakes.

  The cakes were good, and when he’d eaten them he remembered that the nurse had said he must take the medicine after his breakfast. He thought about it, but as he looked around he realised that the market wasn’t a safe place to fall asleep. It can’t matter if I miss one dose, he thought. After all, he hadn’t taken medicine when he lived at home and he hadn’t been sick there. He decided to wait until lunchtime to take his medicine.

  He wandered through the market, eventually reaching the edge of the stalls where small stones were piled up to make a long mound. There were concrete blocks arranged on top and long metal bars on the concrete. Lines of people were walking between the metal rods, all going in the same direction, like migrating animals. Jamal stopped still, looking at the people. As he did, an old woman carrying a basket of vegetables bumped into him.

  ‘You going up to the railway or not?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s safe. It’s another government mess-up. They built the line, then ran out of money, so they couldn’t buy the trains. No trains, no risk. Not like the old railway. You can follow this line all day and never see a train.’ She started laughing, a deep chuckle, like the way the nurse laughed when she was talking to her cousin. She pushed Jamal up the slope in front of her, and he joined the people walking down the track.

  So, Jamal thought, I’ve found the railway, but am I going south? If the railway goes south it must go north as well. He looked up to find the sun, but the clouds had rolled in – the rains would come tomorrow, or the next day. He tried to turn round but there were too many people heading the same way; he had to walk with them and hope they were all going south.

  Jamal walked for about half an hour before he needed to stop. I’ve grown soft in that hospital, he thought. I used to walk all morning when I lived at home. But he was thirsty, so he stepped off the concrete path and sat on the stones to drink the soda that the soldier had given him.

  The railway went over a river – wider than the river near Jamal’s home, wider than three or even four rivers put together. There were boys walking along the wall that ran by the edge of the railway but Jamal stayed right in the centre of the bridge. He felt sick when he thought of falling so far into the water. He was sure the boys would die if they fell, but they didn’t seem worried at all. It was as if different things mattered in the city; no one was afraid of cars or fires or falling into the river. If I ever find the ghosts, Jamal thought, they will be very fat, because so many people must die in the city every day.

  Leaving the Railway

  There were places where markets were set up next to the railway, and others where the railway was closed in by steep walls, but all the time the track was full of people walking and chatting and looking busy. When Jamal had first got to the railway everyone was walking the same way but by the time the sun was overhead people were coming and going all the time, heading in different directions, sometimes not even keeping to the track itself but crossing over and heading to the buildings on the other side.

  Jamal wanted to find somewhere to have lunch, somewhere with a little shade and fewer people than on the railway, so when he saw the next market he decided to try his luck in the city. He dodged between the stalls, the smell of fried peppers and hot soup making his stomach grumble. He realised now that he had become used to living at the hospital where Afiba was always around to give him something sweet from the kitchen.

  As he worked his way through the market he saw a blue building rising high above the crowds of people. He didn’t know where else to go so he headed for that. It turned out to be a very good plan. When he reached the blue building he saw it was standing next to a field with grass and trees and flowers. He hurried towards it. He was worried about being lost now that he’d left the railway, but he knew he’d feel better if he was sitting under the trees. Trees were good for making you feel calm and this field must have been planted so that all these people could stop rushing and get calm again.

  He put his bag next to a tree with flat leaves and red bark that reminded him of the laterite roads in his village. It wasn’t like the trees at home, which were short and covered in spines. It was, Jamal thought, the sort of tree that belonged in the city. He sat on the bag and leant against the trunk. Things were not so bad after all. He pulled out an onion and bit into it, wondering why the cook always fried onions when they tasted so much better raw. When he’d finished, he thought about the hospital and wished he could have stayed there. Then he remembered the nurse who had taught him to take his medicine. He fished around in his bag until he found the bottle. Then he put the medicine on the ground while he looked for the measure.

  Just then a boy sped past him on a sort of rolling board. He leant over and took the medicine without even stopping.

  ‘Hey!’ said Jamal. ‘Bring it back! I need it.’

  But the boy didn’t stop; he just laughed as he drank the medicine straight from the bottle. Before he reached the next tree he threw the empty bottle into a patch of flowers before waving at Jamal in a very unfriendly way.

  Jamal left his bag and walked over to the flowers. The bottle wasn’t empty, but it nearly was. He carefully wiped the drips then licked his fingers. It’s not a whole dose, he guessed, but he understood he’d have to take smaller amounts now, as there was so little left. He found the lid and put it back on the bottle so he could save what was there. What now? he thought. Should I go back to the hospital or try to find my way home? But Jamal was too lost to know which way to go. He had no choice – he had to keep looking for the ghosts.

  Jamal put the bottle back into his bag and slouched over to the shade of another tree. That boy must have been sick too, he thought, but still, it was a lot of medicine to drink. He was worried about the boy and wondered if he ought to tell him about getting tired, but the boy had already left the field. Anyway, after drinking so much medicine Jamal guessed that he’d already be feeling tired. Instead, Jamal decided to rest under the tree and try to work out where he was. He knew that if he waited unti
l evening then he would know which direction was west, but he didn’t think that was a good idea. In fact, he thought it was a very bad idea.

  First, he would have wasted a whole day.

  Second, there were so many buildings that he might not see the sun set.

  And third, he didn’t know if he still ought to be heading south.

  He needed a better plan. He looked around, hunting for anything that might give him a clue. The field he was in was very strange. There were no crops, just trees and flowers. Jamal thought this was a waste of space. If someone planted the field they could save money at the market. The field was big enough for a good harvest; there would even be spare food to sell, if it was a good year. There weren’t any animals grazing either, although the animals might have all wandered off. There was no stockade around the field and therefore plenty of places for goats to get lost in. He wasn’t sorry that it was just a grassy space – it made a nice place to sit – but he didn’t understand why no one had dug up even a little part to plant food.

  There were a lot of stone carvings as well. Carvings of people that were bigger than real people. The workers who made them must have been very skilled, which was another odd thing. The carvings that Jamal had seen before were small and badly done, but these were beautiful. The statues of women looked like goddesses and the men like warriors.

  Jamal would have liked to spend longer looking at the carvings and working out how they were made but he saw a clue over the left shoulder of one of the giants. He saw ghosts. The thick yellowy-brown smoke that he’d seen snaking out from the red canister at home was rising high above all the buildings. Jamal knew that the smoke wasn’t actually a ghost but the ghosts seemed to travel in the smoke. And as there was an awful lot of smoke behind the buildings so there would be an awful lot of ghosts. This smoke didn’t hug the ground like the smoke at home. It rose straight up before gradually drifting away. What Jamal didn’t know was how long the ghosts would be there. He picked up his bag, ready to follow them, but the bag felt very heavy.

  Maybe if I had another drink, and maybe a small snack, the bag would be lighter, he thought. After all, he reasoned, I can watch the ghosts while I’m eating and leave the field quickly if they look like they’re going.

  Jamal was pleased with that idea, so he settled on the ground with his back to the giant carvings and ate the rest of the moin-moin and another onion and watched the ghosts rising behind the buildings.

  Following the Ghosts

  Jamal finished his drink and put the bottle back in his bag. He wasn’t sure where to leave it and he might need it later. Maybe he could trap one of the ghosts in it. He finished his onion and then a whole bag of plantain chips and then remembered his medicine. There wasn’t much left, so he took a sip. He shook the bottle – just one more dose left. Jamal wished he could remember what the nurse had said about getting more, but no matter how hard he tried the words seemed to hide from him. It was like that sometimes, after he’d taken the medicine. He knew he’d have to wait before he could remember things properly again so he put the bottle back in his bag and headed off towards the ghosts.

  The ghosts were further away than he’d expected. He walked straight towards them – or at least, nearly straight towards them, because in a city like this there was always a building in the way. He kept walking all afternoon even though he was desperate to go to sleep. By the time the sun went down he didn’t seem any closer to the spiral of yellow ghost smoke. He needed somewhere to rest, but he didn’t understand the town. He didn’t know which places were safe to sleep in and which places were not. He could still see where he was going – the town was full of light. It was full of people too. He wondered if the people who lived here didn’t have homes. Maybe they just stayed awake all night, and he saw he would have to do the same. But he was so tired and he didn’t know if he’d manage to keep awake, even if the music and the noise didn’t stop. He decided to look for somewhere out of the way so he could rest there. He was used to sleeping on the floor and he had a blanket in his bag so he thought he would be OK if only he could find a quiet spot. Jamal took another bottle of Sprite out of his bag and drank it while he was walking. It didn’t help: he still felt tired and his bag still felt heavy. He thought about throwing the bag away but it was full of things he might need.

  Jamal kept walking. He tripped over his own feet and bumped into the rubbish that was left on the pavement. He thought he would walk better without his shoes, but when he tried to take them off the buckles seemed to wriggle away from his fingers. Eventually he saw a corner where he fancied he could sleep. It was the doorway of a closed-down shop, dry and dark and hidden looking. The problem was that other people were already there.

  ‘Clear off, little boy.’

  ‘Go back to your mummy.’

  ‘Find your own place.’

  He would have to find somewhere else, so he kept walking, trying to find what he needed. He remembered that the cook had said the biscuits were special energy biscuits. Jamal thought that maybe if he ate them he would have enough energy to keep walking. He ate one packet and put the other in his pocket. He wondered if the cook had given him the wrong biscuits because he didn’t have any more energy. He knew he had to find somewhere to sleep soon before he fell down and slept in the middle of the road.

  Finally he saw six or seven boys, about his age, sitting round a fire. The fire was in an old oil drum and the boys had pulled boxes and drums and even an old car seat around it.

  ‘Can I sleep here? I can’t walk any more.’

  ‘If you want to stay, you gotta pay,’ chorused the boys. ‘What you got to share?’

  Jamal dropped his bag on the ground.

  ‘I need my blanket, and my book,’ Jamal said. ‘And I need my medicine, but you can share the rest. I don’t care.’

  ‘What sort of medicine is that?’ The tallest boy was laughing. ‘Palm wine sort of medicine, or maybe beer sort of medicine?’

  ‘No,’ said Jamal. ‘Real medicine. I have to take it ’cause I’m sick.’

  Jamal started to take the things he needed out of the bag. He looked at the medicine bottle. Just one drink left. He tipped up the bottle and drank the last of the green liquid. Then he wrapped his blanket around him and lay down on the pavement.

  ‘That boy is tired,’ the tallest boy said. ‘Here!’ The boy threw the empty kitbag at Jamal. ‘Better sleep on that. While we help you out by eating this stuff.’

  Jamal rolled onto the bag and put his book under his head, like a pillow. He had fallen asleep before the boys had finished sharing out their loot.

  Jamal was alone when he woke up. Alone except for a scabby-looking dog that was sniffing his face. He got up quickly, shooing the dog away. He knew wild dogs had rabies and he was afraid of being bitten. The boys had all disappeared, and so had the fire and their seats. The rest of Jamal’s food and all his spare clothes had disappeared with them.

  ‘Go away, dog,’ said Jamal. ‘It’s going to be a hungry morning for both of us and I’ve got some ghosts to find. Go away, and don’t follow me. Go away.’

  The dog sniffed the ground where Jamal had been lying but lost interest when he couldn’t find any food. Jamal rolled up his blanket and put it, with his book, in the kitbag. The bag was nearly empty so Jamal carried it like a parcel under his arm. It was easier to manage now but he wondered what he would do as the food was all gone.

  ‘Maybe I’ll reach the ghosts today,’ he said, but the dog had gone off to find breakfast and no one else noticed him. He was just another street boy talking to himself.

  Jamal looked around until he saw the yellow smoke, then he headed that way. He seemed to be moving away from the main part of town. The buildings were shorter here, not much higher than normal houses and much less shiny. They were more like the storerooms at the hospital, but not as well built. The roofs were made of tin and the walls were patched. The roads were narrower too, and they weren’t as smooth as the ones near the hospital or the field. He
wondered how far he had walked last night before he found the boys.

  He kept heading for the smoke, walking round black greasy puddles and avoiding piles of rotting vegetables until he could smell the yellow smoke and he knew he must be getting close.

  He remembered he had an energy biscuit in his pocket but he left it there. The smell in this part of town made his stomach roll and he didn’t want to waste the last of his food if he was going to be sick.

  He turned left, and left again when his way was blocked by a lorry full of squawking chickens. Right in front of him was a wire fence, higher than a man and topped with wire that was twisted like a thorn bush. Behind the fence was a hut where a fat watchman sat listening to a radio. Behind that – and behind the three brown dogs with sharp-looking teeth – was a high tower. The yellow smoke was pouring out of the tower and climbing towards the clouds. Jamal realised that this wasn’t where the ghosts came from – it was just an old, dirty factory.

  No Ghosts, Only Witches

  Jamal looked at the factory. As he got closer he could see that the dogs weren’t loose but trapped in a sort of cage between two fences, keeping them away from the men working in the yard yet still stopping anyone getting through the wire and into the factory. Jamal decided that the dogs must be as vicious as wild dogs if they had to be kept locked away from everyone, even the watchman. Out in the yard men were moving crates with little tractors and rolling oil drums. They all wore thick gloves and hard blue hats and dirty yellow jackets. The smoke from the factory smelt as if a whole tray of eggs had been lying in the sun. This was not the smell that the ghosts had left in the compound at home. The smell didn’t make Jamal’s eyes sting or his throat tighten, it just made him gag.