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This podcast brings to you a collection of scary stories from all over Africa. Are they real or just myth? You'll have to ask the scared student, the passer-by or even the crying child who all swear by what they saw #reallifemeetsfiction
Ever since I was a child, the legends of Axum fascinated me. There was something about the stories—the towering stelae, the mystery of the Ark of the Covenant—that made me want to know more. But the one tale that stayed with me the most was about the Ghost of Axum, a guardian spirit said to protect the Ark.
People say the Ark rests in the Church of St. Mary of Zion, guarded by a single monk. But it’s also rumoured that a ghost protects it, too. The story goes that centuries ago, a man named Tarek, driven by greed, tried to get a glimpse of the Ark. But he was met by the ghost instead—a force that marked him for life, leaving him haunted by whispers wherever he went.
I’d always thought of myself as a rational person. Stories of spirits? Just ways to keep curious people out of places they didn’t belong. Or so I thought.
During a research trip to Ethiopia, I found myself in Axum. As an archaeologist, it was like stepping into a treasure trove of history. Axum had this ancient energy, almost like the air was charged with something old, something watching. The idea of sneaking a peek at the Ark started as a playful thought, but soon it became an obsession. "What if I could be the one to finally see it?" I thought.
I spent my days exploring the city's ruins and speaking with locals who were more than willing to share their legends. Each story added a layer to the mystique of Axum, but none fascinated me as much as the tale of the Ghost of Axum. Some said it was the spirit of an ancient king, others a protective deity, but all agreed on its power to guard the Ark.
One evening, my curiosity got the better of me. Equipped with nothing but a flashlight and an excited heart, I made my way to the Church of St. Mary of Zion. The streets were silent, and the church, with its stone walls and towering spires, looked almost like a figure from another time. My steps echoed as I moved forward, my mind racing between logic and fear.
I entered the church, each step taking me further into its stone corridors. The air was thick with the smell of incense and old stone, and an uneasy feeling grew with every turn. The shadows seemed to shift with each flicker of my flashlight, and the deeper I went, the colder it became. It felt like the walls themselves were watching me, pressing in, warning me.
Suddenly, my flashlight went out. Darkness closed in around me. Panic surged through me, and I tried to retrace my steps, but I couldn’t see a thing. My hands shook as I fumbled for a match, but I couldn’t steady myself enough to strike it.
Then, I felt it—a hand, cold as ice, gripping my wrist.
I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. A chill ran through me, and then a whisper brushed past my ear, close enough to make my skin crawl: “The secrets of Axum are not for the eyes of the greedy.”
I broke free, stumbling backward, and turned to run, guided only by faint traces of moonlight through small windows. The hallways twisted and turned, as though trying to trap me, but I pushed forward, my breath ragged and shallow, every step a desperate attempt to escape.
I burst out of the church, gasping for air, the night cold against my skin. I didn’t stop running until I was safe in my hotel room, door locked, hands still trembling.
The next morning, I left Axum, but that encounter stayed with me. Whenever the wind blew, I'd hear that whisper, just like Tarek did, reminding me of the price of my curiosity. The legend was real, and I had come face to face with the Ghost of Axum. To this day, when the nights are still and the air is cold, I feel that ghostly presence. I knew now that there were things in Axum meant to stay hidden, places where people like me shouldn’t go.
The experience changed me, not just because of the fear it instilled, but because it made me realise the fine line between curiosity and obsession. Axum had given me more than I bargained for, and its mysteries still call to me, but now, I know better than to answer.