The Blue Train To Heaven

Dive into the fascinating world of Ghanaian coffin makers, renowned for their intricate burial boxes, in these captivating short stories.

In "Blue Train to Heaven," a tale of sibling rivalry transcends even death itself. Join Elijah as he narrates his brother Ashong's remarkable journey to the afterlife to a curious reporter, who is documenting the world of these remarkable coffins. Humor veils the complex emotions of envy, jealousy, and mockery, all woven into the poignant narrative of how Ashong finds his final resting place within an extraordinary train-shaped coffin.

"The Gewgaws" offers a unique perspective from the rival coffin makers, Paa Joe and Dede Nu Nu. Witness their frantic race to craft the most exquisite coffin that money can buy for the enigmatic Mr. Ashong. As these talented artisans strive to outdo each other, the story unfolds with a mix of humor, craftsmanship, and a touch of competition that brings the world of Ghanaian coffin-making vividly to life.

Excerpt From the Blue Train to Heaven

Ha! Yes, my friend, you want to know what I thought of the train carrying Ashong to heaven.

Oh, I don't know, he may be in heaven in the sky. I heard he said his prayers before he died. As his only brother, it was my duty to inspect whatever he was to be buried in whether pine box or big train. So Dede Nunu comes to me—him and his crafty men dress like train conductors and pull what looks like big chunks of blue sky to my house here. The whole village clucked and fluttered like guinea hens with their necks outstretched trying to get a good look. Ha! Then I heard a howl of laughter. Here comes the train with the caboose in front. In front! I said, "Dede, I know Ashong loved the caboose on a train and a woman, but what is this? And you've painted everything the color of the sky."

Excerpt from The Gewgaws

Mr. Ashong is not a stupid man. Near death, he thought of ways to line his pockets for the hereafter. Most of us carry to our graves a few shells and trinkets. Mr. Ashong was thinking of French Francs. He knew people would be coming from miles and miles away to see what could top Chief Okwonko's Skyline of Accra. Ashong quickly constructed several leaning Motel complexes and a large concession stand. He knew his Islam would not let him sell beer, so he sent a donation to Minister Oral Roberts and received a Certificate of Christianity by Fed-Ex. He renounced Islam that afternoon. Who would waste a fatwah on a dying man, he reasoned. He had the Council to pass a law that said the only food or drink to be consumed had to come from the Ashong concessions. Hah! That was a foolish law. Three days before March 15 (Ashong picked that day because his daughter had read to him on his sick bed the story of Julius Caesar), People began to assemble a few at a time. Before you could bat your eyes it was multitudes. Women in head wraps carried large pots of warm banana and coconut stew, pea soup, and lamb. Some brought their own goats to sell milk. The Christians roasted pigs over low-burning coals. Ashong's men with sapling switches tried to enforce his law about what to eat.

"What law is that that says you can only eat food from Ashong's boxes?" people yelled. They threw hot peanut oil at Ashong's men, burning one on the nose. The goons retreated.