The Curse of Ogamba

She sank to her knees in the leaf litter, body trembling. Her mind reeled, re-living each push, each handful of mud. She spat out a lingering taste of grit, blinking away tears that threatened to blind her. She pictured Anayara back home, oblivious that her daughter now cowered in Okiya Forest. I can't go back, she realized with a hollow ache. They'll be waiting. Or even if they aren't, the entire village won't welcome me.

A deep sob tore from her throat, but she pressed it down, mindful that the forest might harbor predators. She needed to remain silent, careful. Oh, Mama… I'm sorry. But she saw no alternative. She recalled lines from her old novels about outcasts forced to survive in wilderness after betrayal. She never thought it'd mirror her own reality so closely.

Dark branches towered overhead, the canopy thick, letting in minimal sunlight. Leaves rustled with unseen creatures. Stories said the forest was haunted by restless spirits, but those superstitions seemed mild compared to the very real cruelty of Ogamba. Right now, Fanta found more solace among rumored ghosts than her fellow villagers who tried to kill her. That in itself was a tragic testament to how far they'd pushed her.

She rubbed her bruised arms, wincing at each painful spot. Her dress was torn, caked in drying mud, exposing glimpses of her battered skin. She let out a shaky laugh that was more sob than mirth: So this is how I leave Ogamba, not by choice, but chased out like an animal. She inhaled, the forest's damp earthy smell mixing with the fading sweet perfume lingering on her body, though overshadowed by filth.

Gradually, she mustered the will to stand. She peered behind her, half-expecting the girls to appear. No sign of them. Possibly they believed the forest would handle her. She snorted softly—Then let it be so. It's kinder than their hands.

But what next? She had no supplies, no water jug, no food. She hadn't planned this flight. The memory of Anayara's sad eyes tore at her heart. Mama, forgive me for leaving so abruptly. The ache rose with each breath. She might never see her mother again if she couldn't navigate safely out of the forest. But that's better than letting them drown me.

She knew night would fall eventually. The forest grew treacherous after dark. She'd read enough cautionary notes in old missionary journals about wild animals, hidden snares. But returning to the village was unthinkable. She might try finding a safe spot to hide until she figured out a plan—maybe some hollow logs or an abandoned hunter's shack. She swallowed, scanning the thick trunks. Where do I even begin?

She recalled a snippet from her battered dictionary describing forging new paths. It resonated ironically here. She let out a long breath, forcing her legs to move deeper into the forest. If she lingered by the edge, Handuza might regroup and come for her. She needed to vanish into the undergrowth.

She limped forward, ignoring the stinging scratches on her arms. Each step was a fresh reminder of the violence she'd fled. She fought tears, her mind swirling with English phrases that kept her from collapsing in despair. This is not the end, just a turning point. She repeated it silently, pushing branches aside.

As the sun climbed higher, weaving shifting patterns of light across the thick greenery, Fanta advanced into the unknown. The once-busy paths of Ogamba lay behind her, along with the torment of Handuza's cruel welcome. She was battered, muddy, half-drowned, and now stranded in the rumored domain of spirits. Yet, despite the fear, an odd sense of relief ghosted through her. She was free from their immediate violence. For the first time in her life, no prying eyes hissed behind her, no neighbors stared with contempt. Only the forest's hush accompanied her ragged breathing.

Some distant part of her realized she might not see Anayara again, might never gather enough courage or chance to return. She pressed a hand to her heart, tears threatening once more. But she refused to break down, not yet. She had to keep going, find water or shelter, ensure she survived the night. I'll think of Mama once I'm safe. She had no illusions that the forest was gentle, but it couldn't be harsher than Handuza's gang drowning her in the river.

Thus, as the last echoes of that morning's pursuit faded, Fanta trudged deeper among the towering trees, alone, with mud drying on her bruised limbs. Her eyes shimmered with a fierce mix of sorrow and determination. The events at the river—being thrown in the water, coated in mud, forced to run for her life—had shattered any final illusions that she might somehow coexist in Ogamba. They had driven her out, fulfilling Mojono's prophecy in a twisted way.

Fanta's footsteps fading into the forest gloom, her breath ragged, tears mingling with the mud caked on her cheeks. No mother by her side, no precious items salvaged—only the clothes torn by Handuza's cruelty, the bruises on her skin, and the echo of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She had left Ogamba behind, an outcast with no safe place among her own people, forced to flee by the merciless onslaught of Handuza and her clique.

The morning sun rose high, shining mercilessly upon the vacant riverbank. The muddy footprints remained, testament to the savage scuffle. But Fanta was gone, swallowed by the forest's looming shadows, her fate uncertain as she embarked on a path none in Ogamba dared to follow.