I
knelt down and mumbled two prayers; one to the Heavenly Father and one to the ancestors. This thing had engulfed my sister once more, leaving her in a motionless state.
Every time it took over her, she returned unrecognizable and it seemed as if two people were trapped inside trying to get out. The first thing this thing took from her, from us, was her speech then our memories She began to speak a different language as if she was trying to convey a message from the gods.
I remember vividly when she was screaming and running away from home. She abducted all the villagers from their sleep, including my mother and I. Men and boys emerged from their abodes as if out to hunt an animal. Women and children stayed behind, frightened children clutching at their mother's nightgowns.
Those with torches lit them and pushed back the darkness in search of my sister. But it was all in vain. They had looked all around, at least as they claimed. Groups of boys were sent to search for her. All the groups came back chanting;
She didn't scream,
She didn't cry,
She didn't respond to our calls.
That chant continued until morning. Mother, a woman of tall build and wide hips, only returned when the sun was way up in the sky the next day, carrying my sister on her back.
I quickly took her to her bedroom upstairs. I was trying to comfort her, and then suddenly I had some noise downstairs. I quickly descended to take a glance at what was happening, only to find out that it was Omondi, the "ajuoga" from Rwanda. He told my mother that we needed to "bake" the demons inside her. Striking while the iron is hot, because a stitch in time saves nine. I brewed a plan upstairs to take my sister to an unknown location.
The next morning, an irate crowd of people thronged our compound. I woke up my sister and we left through the back door. I walked for a long distance, thinking, “How could my mother do this? She knows very well that Omondi is a cheat. We will only return home when my mother is dead or if something happens to her.”
I couldn't gather up the courage to tell my sister that she had a mental disorder and was not welcome in society. Night was close, I thought, and told my sister who nodded and smiled. I could see some grass-thatched houses. Villa village. I sighed and tightened my grip on my sister's hand and she did it too. Could this be our epitome of home?
We can all stop difference in the society. We should help those with disabilities, not part away from them. Credence to the old saying, a friend in need is a friend indeed.