Breathe

The Silent Woman- 1

When I watch the water running, my bones shiver. It conjures up memories I've buried deep within, memories that have become like fossils in my mind. The river's relentless flow stirs something inside me, a feeling of petrification and that no one else can truly understand. To them, I'm just the old woman who lives on the outskirts of the village, hidden away in a crumbling shelter, rarely seen and scarcely spoken of.

Children whisper stories about me, painting me as some sort of sinister figure. They say I'm a witch or some kind of voodoo. Maybe I am, I am trapped in this personal hell, which I would not dare to bring someone in, so I stay in solitude. Their rumors circle decades after decades, I have even been intruded on at night by teenagers, doing dares, proving what not. At first I tried to chase them, silent grand arm waves would egg them on, some would film me, others would run away and those cries added to the screams of my nightmares which I did not want so instead I chose to hide, whenever I heard noises coming in at night, I would crawl under my heap of clothes buried in my closet and chant Our Heavenly Father in my head, like Ma told me. Maybe I should have gone to church more as a child. Maybe I should have. There are many maybes, they cause me a headache. They turn my mind into a chaotic mess of voices.

Despite how loud my mind is, I am silent. You see, I haven't uttered a single word in decades. The last time I spoke, it came out as a guttural, horrifying sound that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. It was a sound that echoed the very terror I had felt all those years ago. A sound that encapsulated the moment I was snatched away by the river's merciless currents.

And as the water flows before me, I am transported back to that day. I was just a child, barely six years old, when it happened. The memory floods my senses.

The feel of the sugar cane in my hands, the laughter shared with Kiberinka, the ominous glint of the Nyabarongo River in the distance. I remember the clouds that cast a gray pallor over the landscape, the air heavy with moisture. The river's waters agitated by some invisible force, a foreshadowing of the tragedy that would soon unfold.

Kiberinka and I were eager to fill our baskets with the succulent sugar cane grown close to the bank, oblivious to the gathering storm. The distant rumble of thunder served as a distant warning, but we paid it little heed. The river's roar grew louder, an undertone of its unpredictable temperament. Yet, we laughed, caught up in the simple joy of the moment.

And then, it happened. In the blink of an eye, the ground beneath me gave way. I slipped, my heart racing as I clawed at the wet earth. The current was swift, merciless, and it engulfed me like a vengeful spirit. My attempts to scream were futile, my voice lost in the chaos. The world around me transformed into a swirling abyss of water and darkness.

Fragments of reality clung to me – the echo of Kiberinka's voice, the image of the sugar cane fields vanishing from view. And as the water's grip tightened, the memory of my last word echoed in my mind – "Kiberinka!" It was a name that held a universe of meaning in that moment, a plea for help, a cry for rescue. But the river was unforgiving, and it swept me away, leaving me helpless and alone.

Tumbling through the muddy waters, terror coursing through my veins, my world turned into a wild whirl of water, noise, and darkness. Hours passed like a fever dream, and when the current finally relinquished its hold, I found myself on unfamiliar ground. My body ached; my clothes clung to me like a second skin. Shivering and bewildered, I awoke on the damp ground, a stranger in an unfamiliar world.

Panic seized me, I was not home.

In fact, I was far from home, far from everything I knew.

The river had stolen me from my world; the land was different; the people spoke a language I couldn't understand.

I was a stranger in a strange land, alone and abandoned.