The Curse of the Stolen Pig: A Story of
Consequences
I want to share a deeply personal and troubling story from my life. It’s not something I talk about often, but perhaps writing about it will help me find some answers or at least a sense of peace. This story is about how a single act of dishonesty led to unimaginable suffering for my entire family, all because of a sangoma’s curse.
It all began with my father. One day, in a moment of greed or desperation—who knows—he stole a pig from a sangoma. For those who may not know, a sangoma is a traditional healer in African culture, someone deeply respected and feared for their spiritual powers. My dad probably thought he could get away with it. Maybe he believed in these powers, or maybe he didn’t care. Whatever his reasons, he took the pig home and cooked it for the family.
I wasn’t there. I was away at school at the time. But my siblings, my mom, and even my little brother, who was only five years old, all sat down to eat that stolen pig.
When the sangoma found out about the theft, he didn’t take it lightly. Instead of confronting my father directly or demanding restitution, he used his spiritual powers to curse our family. The curse was devastating: anyone who ate the pig would lose their sanity.
It didn’t take long for the effects to show. My family’s behavior started changing in strange and frightening ways. They’d have moments of clarity, but then, like the changing of seasons, their minds would become foggy, irrational, or disturbed. It was as if the curse took turns, affecting each family member in waves.
My mother, who was once the rock of our family, began talking to herself, arguing with invisible people, and locking herself in her room for days. My older sister would have sudden outbursts of anger and paranoia, accusing everyone around her of plotting against her. Even my little brother, just five years old, started showing signs of the curse. He’d laugh uncontrollably for hours, then cry like his world was falling apart.
Living in the middle of this chaos was unbearable for me. But I was the only one unaffected. Because I hadn’t eaten the cursed pig, my mind remained untouched.
I couldn’t sit back and watch my family suffer. I tried everything I could think of. I begged the sangoma to lift the curse. I offered to pay him, even though I didn’t have much money. But he refused. In fact, he went further. He threatened to curse me too, to make me “crazier than all of them combined.” I was terrified.
When the sangoma wouldn’t help, I turned to other options. I went to churches, traditional healers, and anyone who claimed to have the power to break curses. But nothing worked. It felt like my family was trapped in a nightmare with no way out.
The curse left my family acting in ways I never thought possible. I learned to recognize the behaviors that mental illness can cause:
- Mood Swings: One moment, my mom would be calm and gentle, and the next, she’d fly into a rage over nothing.
- Paranoia: My sister was convinced that people were spying on her through the walls.
- Hallucinations: My little brother would talk to imaginary friends, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying.
- Disorganized Thinking: My dad would start a sentence and then forget what he was saying halfway through.
Watching this day after day was heartbreaking. These weren’t just random people; this was my family.
Even though I wasn’t affected by the curse, I felt its weight every single day. I blamed my father for stealing the pig, but I couldn’t hate him. He was suffering too, just like everyone else. What haunted me the most was the sangoma’s cruelty. Yes, my father stole from him, but why punish innocent children? Why curse an entire family when only one person was guilty?
This story isn’t just about a curse; it’s about the consequences of our actions. My dad’s theft set off a chain of events that destroyed our family. And while I don’t justify what he did, I still believe the sangoma went too far. Some wrongs can’t be made right, and some wounds never heal.
To anyone reading this who might relate to my story, know that you’re not alone. Mental illness, whether caused by a curse or not, is real, and it affects millions of people worldwide. While I haven’t found a way to break the curse on my family, I continue to hope and pray that one day, there will be a solution.
For now, all I can do is share my story and hope it serves as a warning: think carefully about your actions, because the consequences can ripple out further than you ever imagined.
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