The Silent Curse: How Witchcraft and Diabetes Shaped My Life
Life is filled with stories of hardship and survival. My own story is one of pain, struggle, and healing—though not in the traditional sense. I was born into a world where my existence was not just a blessing but a battle between life and death. My mother, who was supposed to have died the day she gave birth to me, is still alive today—but the journey has been anything but easy.
In my culture, we have something called "sefola"—a form of witchcraft believed to cause harm by inserting a deadly force or illness into a person’s body. My paternal grandmother hated my mother so much that when she found out my mom was pregnant with me, she used sefola to insert diabetes into her. It wasn’t a simple act—this “curse” was carried out by trapping my mother with a dark force, one that would grow and eat away at her over time.
According to the beliefs of my people, this force—this parasite—entered my mother’s body as soon as she stepped on a trap outside her gate. By then, I was already conceived, and I too became a victim of this evil force. As the pregnancy continued, this “parasite” grew, and when I was born, it burst within my mother, causing severe complications. My mother fell into a coma and didn’t wake up until I was eight months old.
When my mother woke up, she had no memory of me, no knowledge of the life she’d missed during those months. But when doctors discovered she had diabetes, everything changed. Since then, my mother has been on daily insulin and checks her sugar levels regularly. Her diabetes has become a constant struggle.
There are days when her blood sugar is properly managed, and she’s okay. But on other days, the effects of diabetes become unpredictable. She slips into a “mini coma” of sorts, which leaves her silent and motionless, unable to eat or respond. During these times, I’ve had to rub honey or jam on her gums to raise her blood sugar, something that feels both heartbreaking and necessary. On other days, when her sugar is low or high, her behavior changes drastically. She can become violent or delusional, tearing off her clothes and screaming in ways that no one can explain.
Despite all of this, there’s something I can’t understand: a deep, unexplainable anger I sometimes feel toward my mother. It’s as if there’s a part of me that resents her, even though she’s been nothing but loving. It’s hard to explain why, but sometimes I snap at her for no reason. The anger comes out of nowhere, and I feel it building up even when she’s done nothing wrong.
I hate myself for feeling this way, especially because my mom gave me such a beautiful childhood. She was there for me in every way possible, yet this anger seems to appear randomly, almost like a shadow I can’t shake. And this leads to moments when I say hurtful things to her, and I wonder if it’s a product of the trauma, the long-term stress of dealing with her illness, or something else entirely.
What causes this anger? Why do I feel like I sometimes can’t control my emotions toward my mother, even though I know she’s not to blame? Maybe it’s the years of watching her struggle, the frustration of dealing with someone who’s in pain every day, or maybe it’s the way my own life has been shaped by this curse of diabetes. I’ve realized that I need to understand myself better, because it hurts both of us.
There’s a heavy emotional toll when someone you love has a chronic illness. It’s not just their struggle; it becomes yours too. The resentment, the anger, the fear—these things don’t just disappear, no matter how much you try to push them down.
I don’t have all the answers. But I’ve started to learn more about diabetes, about how it affects the mind and body, and how it affects relationships. My hope is that by sharing my story, I can begin to heal—not just myself, but my relationship with my mother. Maybe this post will help others who are in a similar situation to recognize their own feelings and start to process them.
Diabetes isn’t just a physical illness; it’s a mental and emotional one too. The emotional toll it takes on families can be just as devastating as the disease itself. But maybe, by talking about it, we can start healing together.
In the end, we all carry our battles, whether visible or not. My battle with my mother’s diabetes, the anger I feel, and the curses that still linger from the past have shaped me into who I am today. And while the journey is far from over, I believe that by understanding and accepting the pain, we can find a way to move forward.
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