Chapter 2 :Secrets revealed
738 Words
Ndeye slowly opened her eyes, as if pulled out of a nightmare.
The white ceiling of the hospital appeared first as a blur, then the harsh neon lights burned into her vision. The smell of disinfectant and alcohol filled her lungs cold, clinical, unforgiving. It took a few seconds before she understood where she was.
Her heart was racing. A cold sweat slid down her spine. She tried to sit up, but dizziness pinned her to the bed.
Then she saw a face above her.
Omar.
Her son. Her only son.
The tension in his features, the shame in his eyes, instantly brought everything back the image she had tried to bury.
That scene.
That unbearable sight.
Omar. Her sama xewel* her jewel, her pride, the son she had raised in Islam, in discipline and dignity. The child she had prayed for every night.
And yet…
She had seen him.
Not in a dream.
Not in a film.
She had caught him with another man.
A góor-jigéen* a word whispered with disgust in the streets. Something she had been taught to see as an abomination.
Her chest tightened with betrayal and humiliation.
Why would God do this to her?
Had she not prayed?
Had she not sacrificed?
Had she not lived as a good Muslim woman?
Beside the bed, Omar stood frozen, his eyes lowered. Like a child waiting for punishment. He knew that if his mother spoke to his father, everything would collapse — his name, his position, his future.
The door suddenly opened.
Babacar rushed in and took his wife’s hand.
“Sama chérie* the doctor said it was just low blood pressure. You’ve been working too hard.”
Ndeye said nothing. How could she tell him the truth?
She forced a weak smile.
“I just need to rest. Please… leave me alone for a moment.”
Babacar kissed her forehead and left, still worried. Omar remained.
Only then did Ndeye slowly turn toward him. Her eyes were no longer loving. They were cold.
“What I saw tonight will stay between us,” she said. “You have disappointed me. From now on, I do not want to see you.”
“Mom, please”
“Silence!”
Her voice cracked through the room.
Her hands shaking, she grabbed her phone and called a number.
“Hassane… come to st Marie hospital. Now.”
An hour later, the old marabout arrived, dressed in a white boubou, holding his prayer beads in his hands. Ndeye told him everything the door, the bodies, the shock.
He listened calmly.
“This is not natural,” he said. “This is witchcraft. Aziza has attacked you through your son. She wants her child to inherit everything.”
Ndeye clung to those words.
“What must I do?”
Hassane leaned closer.
“You must purify him. This is a heavy curse.
You will sacrifice a white ram without a single blemish. Its blood must be offered to break what has been done. Then he will bathe in the waters I prepare, drink the potions, and recite the verses I give you.
And above all your son must marry a woman. Only a lawful marriage will seal the protection.”
Two days later, Ndeye left the hospital changed. Her fear had turned into determination.
That night, while Babacar was away visiting his first wife Aziza, she called Omar.
She lit incense. The smell of thiouraye* filled the room.
“This is Aziza’s doing,” she said coldly. “But I will fix it. You will marry Mame-Diarra. You will use these baths. You will return to this house today.”
When Omar tried to speak, she slapped him.
Hard.
“Do you want me to die with this shame?”
She pushed a bag of cloudy bottles into his hands the marabout’s mixtures.
Omar stared at them. At her. At the prison his life had become.
He wanted to scream that he was not sick.
That he was not cursed.
That he was simply himself.
But he knew.
His mother’s gaze was closed, hard as stone.
He had no choice left.
So, slowly, he lowered his head.
⸻
Wolof Words – Small Glossary
• ★sama xewel★ = my jewel, my precious one
• ★góor-jigéen★ = a derogatory term for a gay man
• ★sama chérie★ = my dear, my love
• ★thiouraye★ = traditional Senegalese incense
- Writer
