It’s Halloween, and you decided to make the mistake of visiting the haunted house you read about last week. Big mistake, but here’s what happens. 

In your best Buhari costume, you get there, and the first person you meet at the door is this woman: 

You assume she’s an usher but just as you’re about to pass, she says, “Can’t you greet? Or do I look like your mate? Oloshi oloriburuku! Disrespectful child”.

You quickly utter a “Sorry ma. Good morning ma”, and walk inside. The haunted house tour hasn’t even started, and you’re already afraid. 

You walk further in and enter a shrine, where a babalawo is making incantations to wooden statues on the ground. He gestures for you to come. 

You look back as if he’s not talking to you.

Babalawo: Come, my son, let me show you your future.

In your mind, you’re like, “Ehn. Which future? God abeg o, abeg”. But it’s all part of the haunted house act (obviously, it can’t be a real babalawo now), so you enter the shrine. He points to a small brown stool for you to sit on.  

Once you sit, he brings a live chicken and moves it around your head while reciting incantations. You fret but remind yourself that this is just an act. You don’t expect anything to happen until you see the mirror beside you start to blink. A video appears in it, of you ten years into the future. You realise you’re about to see what lies ahead for you and begin to shout, “Blood of Jesus! What is this?” You stand and run out before the video shows whether you’ll make it in life or not. 

You run into a dim hallway, looking for the exit to this hell hole. What were you even thinking, coming here? In a room to your left, you see Patience Ozokwor about to swear for a family member she doesn’t like.

You take a few steps to your left, and almost stumble into Clem Ohameze sacrificing his grandfather for a few billions.

Before he notices you and decides to offer you instead, you tiptoe away from there as fast and quiet as possible. “How the hell do I get out of this place?” is all you’re thinking about.   

A Nigerian aunty with white powder on all over her face (because that’s how Nigerian ghosts look) pops out from the corner. She says, “Daniel, when will you marry? Look at your age mates, where is your own?!” How does she know your name? 

“Ah. I’ve entered it today! Who sent me message?” You do the sign of the cross and utter a small prayer as you move further into this Nollywood horror movie you’ve entered. Before you even take five steps, a middle-aged Nigerian uncle in white trad and a cap pops out from another corner. He stretches his hand to you and says, “Daniel, send me your CV. Let me see what I can do.” 

The haunted house is going above and beyond to traumatise you, and you’re not even sure what to expect anymore.  

The next rooms waiting for you:

In one room, your boss is seated, ready to discuss extra work hours for the same pay.

In another, your landlord asks you for his service charge.

In the third one, there’s a visa office where the officer denies your Canadian visa request.

This is you after passing these rooms: 

Then for several minutes, nothing happens; no scary rooms or people popping out of nowhere. As you move further, you see a bright light ahead. Yes, you’ve gotten to the exit. 

You walk faster just in case these people’s brains decide to touch, and they choose to lock you in here forever. As you get there, you realise you’ve just entered the worst place a Nigerian could ever find themself. A place of stress, tears and suffering.  

Of all the scary places this damn haunted house could choose from, they chose… Lagos traffic!

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