The Curse of Ogamba

The ringleader's curvy form was draped in bright cloth, her expression smug. "Good job, girls," she purred. "I see you've cornered our little curse."

Fanta's lips trembled. So they planned this. She scanned for any sympathetic face among the few passersby, but they hurried on, unwilling to interfere. The alley felt stifling, the sun overhead like a harsh spotlight on her humiliation.

Handuza sauntered closer, eyes flicking over Fanta's trembling form. "Still trying to roam about like you're normal?" She let out a humorless laugh. "After everything, you dare come out in daylight?"

Fanta swallowed, struggling against Nabunjo's grip. "Please," she rasped, "I—I just needed herbs for my mother. Let me go."

Handuza's lips curled. "Why should I? You're the cause of the village's woes. Mojono's said so. The elders are meeting soon, but we won't wait for their official verdict. We're giving you the welcome you deserve now." She raised her hand to Basima, who nodded. "Take her to the river."

Fanta's heart lurched. The river again? She recalled the humiliations that so often befell her there. Her mind screamed for a miracle. But she saw no help, no chance to break free from the group's clutches. "No— let me go!" she shouted, a last spurt of defiance.

Handuza smirked. "Hold her tight, girls." And with that, they forced Fanta forward, shoving her from the alley onto a broader path leading away from the village center. She stumbled, nearly toppling, but Nabunjo's vise grip on her arm kept her upright—painfully so.

Panic thundered in Fanta's veins. She recognized the route: the same path to the river, the place of so many humiliations. This time, a deep sense of doom clung to the muggy air. She tried to resist, but the girls had the advantage in numbers and determination.

They marched her down the road, ignoring any curious stares from villagers who glimpsed them. Some paused, muttered, but no one stepped in to rescue her. A few might have felt uneasy, but fear of crossing Handuza's clique—who commanded a certain social power—silenced them. Others likely found it amusing that the cursed girl was about to receive a "lesson."

Fanta's breath came in ragged gasps. She recognized that each step closer to the river was a step deeper into shame. If she tried to scream, they'd only clamp her mouth or twist her limbs harder. She felt the dryness in her throat, the burn of tears she refused to shed in front of them. Don't let them see you cry. She remembered that line from an English story about pride in dire circumstances. It was all she had left.

Still, her legs trembled. She worried they might physically harm her beyond humiliation. The rumors of banishment or even darker consequences weighed on her mind. This is happening, she told herself numbly. No one will stop it.

They reached the riverbank soon after, the midday sun glaring off the water's surface. A few villagers doing laundry caught sight of the group, recognized Handuza's triumphant posture, and discreetly retreated. In moments, the bank cleared, leaving the stretch of water to Fanta and her tormentors.

Handuza paused, scanning the surroundings with satisfaction. "Perfect," she said. She gestured to Basima and Chinwe, "Hold her."

Fanta tried to wrench free, but they seized her arms, forcing her to face the water. Her heart pounded so loudly it almost drowned the rush of the current. She glimpsed the swirling eddies near the bank, fear coiling in her belly. She hated how the once-calming sound of the river had become a symbol of torment.

Handuza stepped in front of Fanta, a mocking pout on her lips. "You know, if you had just quietly stayed away from us, maybe we wouldn't need to do this. But you keep appearing—fetching water, picking herbs, acting as though you belong. Enough illusions." She reached out, flicking a stray hair from Fanta's face, feigning distaste.

Nabunjo sneered, "Let's see how your perfect skin feels under river mud again." Her words snapped a horrifying memory into Fanta's mind. She recalled smaller scuffles, though never with all four at once. This was going to be worse.

With a swift motion, Basima and Chinwe shoved Fanta forward, ignoring her frantic attempt to brace herself. She stumbled into the shallows, water splashing around her calves. Handuza grinned coldly. "Take a good soak, demon girl."

Before Fanta could regain footing, they lunged, forcing her deeper. A cry tore from her lips. The water rose to her waist. The mud at the bottom sucked at her sandals. She gasped, struggling, but multiple hands pressed on her shoulders.

An instant later, her head went under. The river's murky swirl invaded her mouth and nose, panic exploding. She thrashed in terror, lungs burning for air, while the girls hooted overhead. A second felt like an eternity. Then they yanked her up, coughing and choking, water streaming from her hair. She sucked in a breath, tears and snot mingling, the humiliating reality of their laughter pounding in her ears.

"Not so pristine now, are you?" Handuza crowed, flinging a handful of water at Fanta's face.

Fanta sputtered, mind reeling. She tried to cling to a root at the bank, but Basima pried her fingers away. Another downward shove—gurgling darkness enveloped her. This time, she swallowed a mouthful of gritty water, her chest seizing as she inhaled water. She kicked wildly, desperate for air.

They let her surface again, though her vision blurred. Her muscles trembled with raw fear. She coughed violently, trying to drag in oxygen. The girls parted, letting her lurch a few steps toward the bank. "Stop… please," she croaked. "You'll kill me."

Nabunjo snorted. "We're doing Ogamba a favor if we do." But she hesitated, glancing at Handuza for direction.

Handuza's lips twitched, uncertain whether to push further. A flicker of caution flicked in her eyes—perhaps drowning Fanta might be too extreme, might draw actual condemnation. "We don't want to kill her," she said slowly, as if choosing her words. "Just make sure she knows she's unworthy to stay."

At that, she signaled the girls again. They heaved Fanta out of the water and thrust her onto the muddy bank. She collapsed face-first into the muck, arms barely breaking her fall. The wet earth clung to her dress, squelching around her knees. She tried to push up, but a foot pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her down.

"That's it," Basima hissed. "Grovel like the cursed creature you are."

Terror and anger roiled in Fanta's chest. She scrambled, trying to free herself from the weight. Mud squished under her palms, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Another swirl of water and filth dribbled down her scalp, courtesy of Chinwe or Nabunjo, she wasn't sure.

Handuza knelt, her voice dripping with glee. "Look how you kneel, covered in slime. Are you going to speak those demon words now, beg your evil spirits to save you?"

Fanta pressed her lips shut. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing a single phrase in her fluent English. She was sure they'd twist it into further condemnation. Besides, water clogged her throat, and she tasted mud, tears, bile. She coughed, half-choking on the thick stench.