Whispers from Yesteryears

Chuma Zeluwa did not believe in ghosts. 
He was a spiritual man. He believed in God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. He believed in life hereafter. But he did not believe in ghosts, as in, once dead, now physically alive type of ghosts - especially when the person had been dead for over a decade. 
That was why the sight of the lady on the podium, playing the keyboard with the worship team sent shivers down his spine. He shut his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, she was still there. She hadn’t disappeared. 
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Could two people be so alike? It was the same profile, the same smile, the same fair complexion. I wonder if she has a gap between her two front teeth too. He angled his head slightly but couldn’t quite check this out as the lady bent over the keyboard again. A thud pounded in his heart and he closed his eyes. Surely, dead people do not suddenly rise up from their graves. Besides, the girl he had known had no musical ability that he could remember. 
But she had a younger sister. 
Yes! Relief surged through him, releasing pent up emotions. That must be it. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He recalled his shock at the resemblance between the two sisters when he had visited their house that October afternoon many years ago. The lady on the podium had to be Urenna’s sister. He took a deep breath and whistled in relief. He would try and meet her before the end of the service, find out how she was doing. Did their family still live in Calabar? Were her parents okay? Would she even recognize him? Maybe not. By his calculations, that girl had been about thirteen or fourteen years old when he had called at their house to offer his condolences at the untimely death of her big sister eleven years ago. 
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What an experience, Chuma marvelled, when a thirty-minute break was announced. He dabbed at the perspiration trickling down his face and looked towards the front of the auditorium. …. He needed a cold drink. 
He and this great army. 
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As he waited, his eyes roved through the crowd. He was not bothered that he did not know anybody at the conference. It had been Amos and Amaka’s idea for the three of them to attend the conference but Amaka had fallen sick at the last minute and Amos had stayed back to be with her. He had thought about cancelling, but in the end had been persuaded by the prospect of visiting Nigeria’s federal capital for the first time ever. A sight-seeing tour of Abuja on Saturday was part of the programme and he planned to be part of it. 
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The queue wasn’t moving. Chuma looked to the front and his heart almost stopped as he spied the keyboard lady again. She had her back to him and was listening to another girl chattering animatedly but it was her all right—same dress, same stature, and the same sinking feeling in the depths of his stomach. Was this indeed Urenna’s sister? The resemblance was uncanny. 
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The girls were next in line for the drinks. Chuma braced himself, waiting for them to turn around. They would pass by him on their way back to the auditorium. This time he would take a good look, just to see how far the resemblance to Urenna went. A part of him hoped he would find that he was making much ado about nothing, that the girl would not even be Urenna’s sister. Still another part of him rose in the excited anticipation that he was on the precipice of a monumental discovery. 
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She paid for the drinks and waited while the vendor gave her change. Her friend opened the bottles with a bottle opener dangling from a rope nailed to the kiosk. The two ladies then turned and headed straight towards him, still engrossed in conversation. Chuma stood there waiting for the moment she would look up. He wanted to look into her eyes and confirm once and for all that apart from Jesus Christ, no other mortal had ever died and come back to life. 
He knew the exact moment her eyes met his. There was a flash of recognition and she stopped dead in her tracks. Chuma remained standing, paralyzed, every muscle frozen, as the reality of the moment exploded through him. This woman was no stranger. She was Urenna and there could be no doubt about it. Pulse racing dangerously, hands clammy with sweat, he suddenly felt disorientated. Blood drummed in his ears like a crashing tide. The sun felt hotter and cooler at the same time. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. His legs suddenly sagged and his entire body felt weak. “Ure!” he whispered in disbelief, reaching out a hand to steady his spinning head. Then he watched as slowly, like in a slow motion movie, the bottle of coke slid from her hands and she collapsed in a heap on the ground.