"Ugh… My head hurts."
The young boy woke up, confused. The last thing he remembered was walking through the streets of Nairobi—then a blinding light rushing toward him.
Something felt… off.
"Where am I?"
The room around him looked shabby, a far cry from the fancy apartment he was used to. The roof could barely be considered a roof, animal skins littered the floor, and what he was lying on wasn't even a bed—just some straw strung together.
The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and something… earthy. The straw beneath him was itchy, poking through his thin clothing. He shifted uncomfortably.
Outside, he heard the distant pounding of drums—rhythmic and ancient—blending with the murmur of voices.
Then suddenly—
"Khisa!"
A young woman burst through the door—well, more like curtains. She was beautiful, dressed in animal skins covering her top and bottom, adorned with intricate beaded jewellery on her neck and hands.
"Oh, my dear boy! How are you feeling? You had a really bad fall."
Before he could react, she lunged forward and hugged him—almost choking him to death.
The young boy struggled against the strange woman's deathly grip, tapping her back urgently until she finally let go.
"Who are you?" he asked after gasping for air.
The woman froze. Her face contorted into sheer horror, and then—
She screamed.
'This woman will split my eardrums.'
A gigantic man rushed through the doorway, spear in hand. He was dressed in a loincloth, a red beaded necklace, and a feathered headdress. His sharp eyes scanned the room, assessing the situation. Seeing no immediate threat, he approached them.
"What's wrong, Nanjala?" he asked, his voice taking a softer tone.
"The ancestors have turned their backs on him!" she wailed, clutching her chest. Tears flowed down her face so easily; one would think someone had died.
The young boy stared at the hysterical woman, utterly shocked. Seriously?
"I am sure that is not true," the man said patiently as if used to this woman's antics. "He just fell. That is not enough to render this tough kid stupid."
Then, without warning, the man smacked him roughly on the head.
"Tell your mother you're fine, idiot."
Joseph clutched his aching skull and scowled.
"Ow! Are you trying to rattle my brains even more, old man?"
The man's face twisted in confusion. Without another word, he stood and rushed outside. A few moments later, he returned—this time with an old woman.
Joseph's stomach dropped.
She looked exactly like the type of old woman who knew things.
She hobbled hurriedly toward him, clutching a worn-out walking stick. Her small, beady eyes bored into him, her wrinkled face making her look nightmare-inducing.
She placed a withered hand on his forehead and began chanting words he couldn't comprehend.
"I knew it! His mind is gone. The ancestors have forsaken me!" Nanjala sobbed dramatically.
"Shut up, crazy woman! My mind is fine!" Joseph shouted, completely exasperated.
The man sighed and turned to the old woman.
"As you know, Khisa fell yesterday. He hit his head pretty hard, and today, he woke up speaking different words. It seems he cannot understand us."
The old woman frowned. "That is serious indeed. I know exactly what to do."
Joseph did not like the sound of that.
"He has been cursed. We must kill a black goat and have him drink its blood. Once he drinks the blood and some mixed herbs, he will be back to normal. We must also sacrifice a white bull to appease our ancestors. They must be very angry."
Joseph's entire body stiffened.
Wait—what?
His brain latched onto one horrifying phrase.
'He has been cursed. We must kill a black goat and have him drink its blood.'
His mouth went dry.
They're joking... right?
He looked at their faces.
Stone. Cold. Serious.
Oh, hell no.
"I will arrange it right away," the man said, leaving with the old woman.
Joseph sat there, flabbergasted. Too many things were happening at once.
One minute, he was enjoying a stroll through Nairobi. The next, he had shrunk and been dragged to some backwater village where people thought he was cursed.
And worse…
He understood them perfectly—but they couldn't understand him.
Breathe. Focus. Think.
Joseph forced himself to stay calm, taking deep breaths.
'My name is Joseph Situma. I am twenty-seven years old. I work at the Law Society of Kenya. I was walking through the streets, then… a light.'
His stomach dropped.
'Did I die?'
His pulse quickened.
'What about my friends? My family? Do they know what happened? Do I even exist in their world anymore?'
He clenched his fists. Why do I still have my memories?
If only…
If only he could speak their language—
A strange pulse ran through his head, almost like a ripple in his mind. The air itself seemed to hum. The edges of his thoughts blurred—like ripples spreading across a pond.
Then—
A whisper.
It was faint. Almost nonexistent. Then, clear as day—
A voice spoke directly into his mind.
'Would you like to learn the Luhya language?'
Joseph's eyes widened. His body froze.
Had he imagined that?
"God?" he whispered.
No response.
Then—
'Would you like to learn the Luhya language?'
The voice repeated.
He swallowed hard. "…Yes?"
Suddenly, an influx of words flooded his brain. His head throbbed violently as if someone had taken a hammer to his skull.
"What… the hell…" he gasped, clutching his temples.
'What's happening to me? I'm hearing voices. This is just too weird. Who… or what are you?'
'I am the guide assigned to your soul. My voice was woven into your fate the moment you arrived. Ask, and I shall reveal what I know.'
Joseph's breath hitched. A guide?
'Do you know where I am?'
'You are currently in the Abakhore clan in Eastern Africa.'
'What? Do you know what happened to me?'
'You were hit by a bus, and you were reborn here.'
His stomach twisted.
'Then why do I still have my memories?'
'I am not sure. I am simply here to aid you.'
Joseph took a shaky breath.
'Okay… What do I do now?'
'Anything you would like.'
He let out a weak chuckle. 'Well, first, I need to find civilization. Maybe check up on my parents. I'm sure they're worried since I practically disappeared.'
The guide was silent for a moment. Then, in a voice almost pitifully soft, it spoke—
'That will not be possible.'
Joseph's heart skipped a beat.
'What? What do you mean? Why can't I check up on them?'
'The year, according to the Gregorian calendar, is 1542. Your parents… don't exist here.'
His entire body went numb.
No…
His blood turned to ice. His breath caught in his throat.
The air felt thicker. His vision blurred.
'That's… impossible.'
No, no, no—
But the walls of denial collapsed like a sandcastle in a storm—
And the world faded to black.Â