Do you believe in ghosts?

David McMahon posed the question on his blog, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

I could reply with a typical South African colloquialism and say, “Ja, nee”, (Yes, no) and leave it at that. The skeptic in me could say, “No way”, or I could take the Biblical view that would reinforce the skeptic’s viewpoint, but then how would I account for an experience that said otherwise.

Draw your own conclusions. I have shared this story with very few people, but blogging has opened a new frontier, so here goes. Let me start at the beginning to put the story and the events in their context.

My parents bought a farm at Shabani (Zvishavane) in, what was then Rhodesia in 1969. It was envisaged that as the only son, I would become a farmer when I left school and eventually take over when they were too old to carry on. That was my passion so during my first year out of school I gave it my best shot, but one year of trying to farm with my step dad was enough. I eventually left to make my own way in life.

During my year on the farm our three dogs were poisoned. My boerbull, Buster, my sister’s spaniel Rossi, which were our constant companions from our childhood and then there was Fifi, a real little firebrand and very far from being a “Fifi”. I buried them in a clearing on the side of the road about a kilometer or so from the farm house.

The following year, in 1972, I started my career as a cadet district officer in a little town called Selukwe (Shurugwi). The bush war had started to escalate that year and I was conscripted into the army for a year’s national service. A few days before I was due to go into the army, I borrowed my dad’s Peugeot 403 van to bring my belongings home. I got to the farm just as the sun was going down, opened the gate and drove through, closed it and then proceeded to set off on the last leg.

At that point the accelerator cable snapped and I was stranded about 3 kilometers from the house – but it was a comfortable walk along the road over ground that I was familiar with.

When I got to the clearing, where I had buried the dogs, it was in that peculiar half light that is common in central Africa, just after the sun goes down that I saw something moving in the road ahead of me. I assumed it was the hare that I often saw in the area. Just one problem, it was bigger than a hare and was coming in my direction.

I stopped and peered into the semi darkness. At first I could not see what it was, and then as it came closer I could make out what looked like my sister’s spaniel, Rossi, walking towards me. It was not an ordinary looking spaniel, but had a silvery, translucent shimmer to it. At this point my feet grew roots and I went icy cold. It was the strangest sight I had ever seen.

“This can’t be real”, I thought and closed my eyes tightly and opened them again, hoping to clear the vision. It was still there. Rossi had a particular way of walking into a room on a hot day, with his head down and his tail wagging in slow motion, as if to say, “I am hot and uncomfortable, but I will reluctantly grace you with my presence”. That was what I was seeing.

My first thought was to run, but it was between me and the farm house about kilometer up the road. My feet were also firmly rooted to the ground. So I stood and watched as it came closer and closer, until it stopped next to me, on my right hand side. I slowly shifted my gaze downwards and wondered, “What happens next?”

It just stood there slowly wagging its tail. At this point I decided to touch it and extended my right hand and slowly reached down towards it. When I reached it, it faded away and was gone.

The roots in my feet suddenly released their hold and my feet now grew wings. I made it home in record time.

What was it? I do not know. What I do know was that it was very real and try as I might to reason that it was my imagination, it was not.
I have also asked myself many questions over the years; Was it because my sister was visiting my parents on the farm for the first time since Rossi had died (she lived in Durban in South Africa)? Or was it a message? My step father was murdered by terrorists on that exact spot in March 1977. I guess I will never know the answer.

Do I believe in ghosts? I am not sure – the skeptic is still giving me a hard time on this one.