OLD Vincent looked like a poorly dressed undertaker. He wore a soiled and crumpled white shirt. The old patchy black pants hung precariously on his ‘magga’ hips. On his gnarled calloused and bunion decorated feet, he wore battered leather shoes with no heels and enough holes to keep his toes well ventilated.

The old man lived and worked in the interior. He was a pork- knocker and only wore his Sunday best when he was going to church. Every Sunday he would walk three miles to reach the small church in the nearby village. After the service, he would trek slowly back to his camp. Most of his journey was through an open Savannah with large patches of thick bush. He went to church at midday and returned to camp in the dead of night.

Vincent had been through a lot. He had married three times. Divorced thrice and had 23 children. He worked as a sailor, watchman, driver, cook and pork-knocker. The latter was his best paying job, that is, whenever things went well in the backdam. No gold, no money and therefore, no child support. Eleven of his children qualified for this but very few received it.

Residents of the village began ‘su-suing’ about seeing spirit. This caused most of them to stay indoors after dark. Vincent took little interest in it when the issue was raised with him.
“Uncle Vincent, jumbie a wake people night time,” a village woman said to him.
The old man smiled tolerantly.

“Is true, de spirit does mek a funny noise when it de bout.”
“What noise?” he wanted to know.
“It does sing or whistle.”
“How?” he insisted.
“It does sound like Pling! Pling! Or Fing! Fing!”
Vincent nearly fell over laughing. It was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard.
“Dis is a bad jumbie, it does attack you.”

“Really?” he giggled helplessly.
“You could laugh all you want. It does follow people who does walk late in bush.”
This statement was meant as a direct warning to the old man.
“Anything else?” he murmured in amusement.
“If somebody call yo name out loud it does follow or go ahead of you and call yo name. If yo go it does bruk yo neck.”

“Just now dis jumbie gon turn a monster,” he said with deep sarcasm.
“De ting does even go to yo house and knock. If yo answer it does snatch yo way!”
“Jumbie knocking on door!” Vincent looked with disbelief at the woman.
“Uncle Vincent, I know you aint believe me. Me grandmother say Fing! Fing! Can only knock up to two times. Once is three or more knock is not a spirit.”

Vincent walked away laughing in amusement. The nonsense some people believed.
Two weeks later the old man was returning to his camp after a long day in church. It had rained so the place was muddy and wet. Every time he took a step more water seeped into his old shoes.

Squish!
Slosh!
Plop!
His feet were slightly submerged due to the rain. From across the savannah came a distinct sound.
“Pling! Pling!

Vincent kept walking, unperturbed.
Pling! Pling!
A shape or form was moving in his direction
He stopped, put on his spectacles and squinted into the darkness
Pling! Pling!
There was that strange sound again. He was sure it was coming from the moving shape about a hundred yards away.

Sure enough, the sound echoed shrilly across the flat grassland.
Pling! Pling!
Then the shape became clearer. It was a woman dressed in white. Even though this was a bit odd, he saw no reason to panic. That is until he noted a few crucial things. The moving person had a long white dress that completely covered her legs. Even though the ground was wet and very muddy, not a speck of mud was on the dress and worse, no sound of slushy walking could be heard.

This observation was quite bizarre. As it moved it seemed to float across the open plain. What was scary was the fact that the creature was not walking. It moved swiftly towards the old gentleman and made itself known in a strange fashion.
“Vincent! Vincent!”
The voice sounded like his friend but that was quite impossible. His friend had abandoned camp a month ago and returned to the city after a week of hard times with no rewards.
The last calling of his name evoked memories of his recent chat with friends from the village. He did not believe in this sort of nonsense so he looked straight ahead and walked faster.

“Vincent! Vincent!”
Something or someone cold touched him on his shoulder. He whirled around in shock. Noting was there. Now that was a bit too much. Dropping his bag with bible, hymn books and snacks, he ran nonstop to his small camp.
“Vincent! Vincent!”
The voice was ahead of him this time. He re-doubled his efforts. Even though he was over 60, Vincent could still muster a reasonable pace.
Pling! Pling!
More speed
“Vincent! Vincent!”
Higher gear.

His old feet were pumping smoothly. Vincent reached his dwelling looking like he was involved in a mud fight. As he entered his camp, he disturbed a number of rats searching for food. They scattered wildly and ran off in all directions. From outside a horrible shriek penetrated the peace of his camp and reached the ears of villagers.
Vincent peeped out and saw the spirit hopping as it retreated. It was trying to avoid the rats. Then it hit him. This jumbie was terrified of rats. It also hated noise. The old man started to sing in his loudest voice.

This sounded like a cross between an angry croaking toad and a young calf bawling for its mother. The spirit took off for safe grounds its face resembling members of the church congregation who were unfortunate enough to sit near to Vincent. As for the old man, he started feeding the rats. Strange, don’t you think?