Mama Jumo

My son was one year old when he first fell sick. He kept vomiting and having seizures, and we weren't sure what was going on.

The doctors couldn't tell what was wrong with him, saying the problem wasn't something physical, biological, or something they could see.

His scans kept coming back clean and healthy, despite his deteriorating physical condition.

Those were the hardest parts for me—to see my baby suffering silently and not being able to do anything about it.

Eventually, however, we found a way.

...

A medicine man, who is like a priest in most villages, approached my husband and me one day with a solution. What my son was experiencing was spiritual, not physical. It was a curse operating behind the scenes, trying to take his life, and it was going to be successful unless we were ready to act without hesitation.

My son was going to have tattoos and symbols like hieroglyphics drawn on his body while still a baby. The tattoos, in particular, were going to be depictions of powerful gods and spirits from our culture and history. This was already normal practice for most of our people; however, my son's tattoos were going to be a little different.

Instead of simply being representations of his culture and heritage, the tattoos and symbols that were going to be drawn on my son's body were going to serve as conduits for channeling spiritual energy from the land, his beliefs, and his faith.

It was... unpopular.

It was... frowned upon and desperate.

But most of all, it was risky.

Embodying such tattoos basically made you a target for the supernatural—hauntings, nightmares, possessions by the same gods and spirits that you had as tattoos on your body. Channeling their energy without permission overtime, became a death sentence. I didn't want this for my son, but I also wanted him to live long and strong.

And so I accepted.

***

"So, my dear," Jumo's mother, Mama Jumo, said to Sakuya over the phone while she was seated under a mango tree, picking out tiny rocks from a tray of rice, "Don't worry. He will be fine. I know my son," she added. "He is strong." She fetched a small handful of the grains and tossed them for the chickens in front of her.

"Okay, Mama," Sakuya said, with that funny accent of hers that always made Mama Jumo smile. "He is still sleeping, but I will go make sure my sisters are not disturbing him. Especially Shiun. That girl is very stubborn."

Mama Jumo laughed and chuckled uncontrollably.

"That your sister, she is very funny ooo," she said, still laughing.

Sakuya laughed too.

"Okay, my dear, let me let you go. Just stay strong, you hear? Don't let it disturb you. As long as the ring is on his finger and he takes his medicine when he wakes up, it is not going to happen again anytime soon. Mm? Just relax."

"Okay, Mama," Sakuya responded. "I will call you later and keep you posted."

"No problem, my dear, thank you, mm?"

"Yes, Mama."

As soon as Mama Jumo ended the call, she took in a deep breath and exhaled.

Her son. The only remaining family she had left. He was all the way on the other side of the world, where she couldn't reach him. She was not against him going abroad; in fact, she encouraged it. She wanted him to see other places, an opportunity she never had when she was young. And Sakuya—she was a nice girl. So eager to learn about African culture, so eager to learn about African foods, clothing, and hairstyles. If Jumo didn't marry her, then she was going to force him to.

Her main concerns were with the gods within him. If they had started to wake, then she could only hope that the medicinal herbs she told Sakuya to get for him would be enough. Because the amount of blood her son was found in—that was no joke.

For now, she could only pray for his safety. If the incident was to repeat itself, whatever it was that might have happened, then he was coming back home.