On a dark, starry night in 1848, strange knocks echoed through a quiet farmhouse in Hydesville, New York. Two young sisters, Maggie and Kate Fox, whispered into the darkness and claimed the sounds were answers from the dead. The story drew curious neighbours and, eventually, the attention of an entire nation. By the 1880s, this childhood prank had spun out of control, and the sisters had become famous mediums.
But there was a big problem. It was all a hoax. All the ghost stories and talking-to-the-dead stuff were just a well-calculated prank.
Human beings love such stories. That’s why they spread so easily.
We love stories of aliens because they fill the gaps in our understanding. From Roswell to Oumuamua, we have told countless tales of visitors from space, yet no one has proof. We even bend history to fit our alien narratives and satisfy our curiosity.
Then there are stories of juju. Yeah, I know. In Malawi, football teams sometimes refuse to go on the pitch or walk out of the dressing room backward because of juju. On bad days, fights break out if something suspicious is found on or around the field. But seriously, if juju worked as advertised, don’t you think The Flames would have won the World Cup by now?
We have so many witch doctors offering concoctions for laughable problems like bring back lost love, find forex, enlarge your thing, multiply your money and tens of other nonsensical things. They even boast about returning from Mozambique (Ndabwerako ku Mozambique) as if it were some holy pilgrimage that makes them Alhaji. Meanwhile, this ng’anga is so poor he can’t even afford a second-hand bicycle. Yet men and women leave their air-conditioned offices and homes to squat in dark, stinking shacks for potions. That’s commitment.
Come on. You really believe eating guava leaves and swallowing ten live beetles while looking at an eclipsed moon can make you a millionaire? If it were that easy, we’d all be rich by now.
Then there’s witch-hunting. Mobs have burned down homes and killed elderly people on suspicion of witchcraft. Every time an owl hoots at night, homes go quiet. Why? “Witches have come.” Absurd.
When I was a kid, village visits were full of such tales. We heard that so-and-so died and resurrected as a lion. Or that when planting sweet potatoes, you had to tie a vine around your head or waist to harvest giant ones. Really? Or that jumping over fire would give you bilharzia. Okay, I’m no doctor, but how exactly would fire spread a parasite?
There are countless ridiculous stories we’ve been told and still tell each other. And that’s kinda fine. How did The Delta Force theme song become Wadya Ntoliro and the whole country just went with it? Who even started that? How did we convince ourselves that Mac was screaming “Ndachiona!” when firing at the Predator?
You see, humans thrive on stories. They keep culture alive and grease the wheels of our societies. As social creatures, we need them.
But in the end, whether scary or stupid, these are just stories… like crop circles, aliens, and abductions. Fascinating, yes, but are they true?
