At 12, my dreams became more varied. I dreamt of both joy and sorrow, life and death. Things took a turn for the worse when my dreams started coming true.
"Most of the people who died in real life were already deceased in my dreams," I confided in Christine, a friend from church. We were at my neighbor's funeral, who also happened to be a relative of my mom.
"Do you mean you saw Aunt Rita die in your dreams?" she whispered, and I nodded."
The church was packed with Aunt Rita's family members, friends, church members, and sympathizers. Everyone was dressed in black, except for the choir, who wore white long-sleeved shirts, purple skirts/trousers, purple bow ties, and purple berets. Their voices were sombre, enough to bring tears to people's eyes.
Christine and I were too young to cry, so we sat close to our moms and listened as the priest preached about the afterlife.
"We will all pass away. This life is not what matters; it's the afterlife. Where do you think you'll end up when you pass? Heaven or Hell?" He bellowed from the pulpit.
"Where do you think Aunt Rita will end up?" I asked Christine.
She hesitated, gazing at the coffin, and quietly murmured, "Hell."
"No, she won't go to Hell," I disagreed.
Christine turned to me, her expression filled with discontent. "She never attended church," she pointed out.
"Yes, but she was kind. Besides, I saw her in Heaven," I insisted.
"In your dreams?" Christine inquired.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Before she passed away."
A hush fell over the church, not just between Christine and me but throughout the entire congregation.
"It's the moment of silence," Christine whispered.
After the priest prayed and the choir sang, four men in black carried the coffin, and all the adults began to follow it.
On our way home, I shared the dreams I had the night before with my mum, dad, and Christine. In the dream, my English teacher got fired, and one of the female cooks at school used the student's toilet.
"It means she'll lose a loved one," Christine interpreted. She had a good understanding of dreams and their interpretations, even though she never dreamt herself.
"Don't put faith in such things; they're superstitious," Dad advised. I wanted to mention that I dreamt of Aunt Rita's passing, but then Mum squeezed my hand and whispered, "Don't argue with your dad."
I clenched my lips. He wouldn't believe me anyway, so why not keep to myself.
It's a blessing Christine and I went to the same school because a few weeks after we resumed, my English teacher had a disagreement with the Principal, and she got a sack letter. I got scared because the dreams were two. The second one might come true if I don't take action.
I called home and informed them that my English teacher was sacked. Instead of discussing that, Mum changed the subject as if she didn't hear me.
"How are your studies going?" she asked.
We chatted for a bit, but I noticed she was purposely avoiding the topic. Towards the end of the call, she asked me not to share my dreams with anyone except Christine.
"If you dream, pray about it, and let it go," she advised. "And please, don't think your cook will die; what happened to your English teacher might just be a coincidence," she added.
The call went as expected, no guidance on what to do next.
"What should I do?" I asked Christine.
"Let's talk to the Chaplain; he's the only one who might believe us," Christine suggested.
"But what if the Chaplain doesn't believe me after going against Mum's wishes? What if the school finds out? What will happen to me?" I questioned Christine, who, as always, is strong-willed and stubborn. I guess that's one of the things that draws me to her every day.
"Have you ever thought about how you'd feel if Akon passed away?"
"Terrible," I replied, and we moved to the Chaplain's office.
He greeted us warmly, offering us the chairs in front of him. With a friendly smile, he encouraged us to speak.
We narrated the story of the sacked English teacher and the possibility of Akon passing away soon. His smile faded, turning into a frown, and then into an amused expression.
"I understand your attachment to your English teacher and the importance of your cook to you. But trust me, there's no truth in someone dying before dying in real life. Dreams are superstitious; you're too young to hold on to such beliefs," he said before dismissing us.
We left the Chaplains and headed back to the hostel, not exchanging any words. I suppose we were too disheartened to talk. It was like the end of the tunnel for us.
After a while, Christine halted and prompted me to think.
"Do you recall what caused her death?" she inquired.
"Mist Alba," I responded.
Despite it being three weeks since the dream, every detail remained vivid in my memory.
Following Christine's ideas, we proceeded to the kitchen and found Akon with the other cooks. She already appeared pale and unwell.
"It's malaria," she disclosed when we inquired, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief.
"So sorry about your health. Please avoid Mist Alba if you want to cleanse your system," I advised, and Christine nodded.
"Why? I bought the Mist Alba already and I'm to take it first thing tomorrow morning," she stated.
I got goosebumps immediately, I felt like I was conversing with a living corpse. Akon gazed at me for a moment before turning to Christine.
"Christine, Is everything alright?" she inquired. Christine glanced at me.
"I dreamt of you" I said.
" In the dream, you passed away after taking Mist Alba..."
Before I could finish, Akon started praying, focusing on the witches in her village. Soon, the other cooks joined in the prayer.
"Before taking any medication, please visit the hospital for a proper check-up," advised the Chaplain. He had arrived to pray for Akon but found them already engaged in prayer.
He then addressed Christine and I.
"I didn't mean to frighten you. I had planned to pray with her later, but now I see I should have included you. I'm sorry," he expressed, to which we agreed in understanding.
A few days later, Akon took sick leave; we heard she was diagnosed with Chronic typhoid and needed immediate hospital admission.
Later that day, I called home. Mum answered, and I shared that I had saved a soul. My bad! God used us to save a soul.
"Do you now believe in dreams?" I asked her.
"Yes. And your dad too," she replied, apologetically.
After the phone call, I gazed at Christine, admiring her once again. "Thank you, Christine," I said when she caught me staring.
"Don't thank me, Baby," she pouted. "I mean, what are friends for?" she said, and we embraced each other, warmly.