Being judged and condemned with unrelenting false accusations was deeply painful, and I did not know what to do.
One morning, while addressing my fellow students, our deputy Principal arrived at school, looking confused, selected me and ten other strong young men and commanded us to run to a village home approximately 30 mins away. This directive was alarming and unusual, but we had to move.
We arrived at that home to find the young man who had just graduated from a prestigious university was seriously sick, something they related to witchcraft. He could not speak, walk or see. It was a miserable situation.
Due to the poor transportation network in our village, we had to carry him on our backs, moving down a mountain slope to get him to a hospital, which I realized later was not a real hospital but rather a sorcerer's house. Alarmingly, when it became my turn to carry this poor fellow, the family kin refused to let me do, and they harshly demanded I leave. They did not do this with my other classmates, and I found the experience traumatizing. I had not done anything wrong; why such angry treatment? I asked myself.
My mother was a cook at my school, but on that fateful day, she missed coming to school because of some health complications. Later that day, when we returned to school, that family's dismissal of my help became the topic of conversation with my classmates. I refused to discuss it with anyone.
The next morning I sneaked into the kitchen to look for my mother. Despite being a village school, I boarded at the school because the Principal said I would do better scholastically. When I saw my mother, she looked distraught and not her usual welcoming self. When I asked her what was happening, my mother told me the family that rejected my help the day before accused my father of bewitching their son, Peter, making him ill. They threatened retaliation. My father was traumatized by the accusations and became sick and bedridden overnight.
I felt very stressed by the news. I wanted, I must see my father. That evening, I pretended I was sick and skipped evening events at the school and went to see my father. I must find some way to stop this from developing further.
I visited my father, but it did not stop the madness. Word got out through the village that my family was involved in witchcraft. Several close friends disowned me because of the speculation. Several of my fellow students accused me of casting evil spirits on them. My best friend in high school, Nelson, accused me of stealing his books and the school Principal got involved. Everyone believed Nelson over me because of the false accusations of witchcraft my family faced.
My world came tumbling down. I was ostracized, and I became a pariah. I had no friends. Everyone pointed fingers at me. No one would listen to anything I said, and often, people would not allow me to speak. I felt so alone. I was a young teenage man, and the pain of not belonging with my peers was deep and cutting. I wanted to give up and quit school.
My parents were good people, and I hated to see them suffer from all of this. I did not believe my parents practiced witchcraft. Yet the pressure and ill will we experienced from the villagers was so intense that I felt doubt. Could everyone else be right? Was I missing something? Were we inherently bad people?
My parents had strong religious convictions. They taught us to believe in those teachings and to lead our lives from good principles. And everything I saw throughout my young life to that point said that my parents lived their lives that way. Yet the rumors and gossip were vicious. They said my parents were evil, unclean, and dangerous.
I was judged and condemned. I did not know what to do or which way to turn. It was agonizing.
Brian is a born chronicler and a social change activist who embraces learning and empowering innovative social development change worldwide. Brian hails from Kisumu, Kenya.
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