A Name Like a Curse
A Name Like a Curse
I did not run.
I could not.
The woman’s grip on my arm was too strong, her fingers pressing into my skin like iron. I stared up at her, my small body shaking.
"You have no shame!" she spat, her voice thick with disgust. "Stealing from your elders? You think because you're small, we won’t punish you?"
The crowd had grown. Faces—so many faces—watching me. Some with scorn, some with pity. But none with mercy.
No one spoke for me.
I was alone.
Tears burned my eyes, but I bit my lip, forcing them back. I had learned that crying only made them mock me more. Crying meant weakness. And weakness meant more pain.
But when the woman raised her hand again, something inside me shattered.
I wailed.
Not a soft, whimpering cry. No. A raw, gasping sob tore from my throat, shaking my whole body. My knees buckled, and I dropped to the ground, my chest rising and falling with each desperate breath.
"I didn’t mean to!" I choked. "I was just—just hungry!"
I covered my face with my hands, trying to block out the voices, the whispers, the eyes that saw me as nothing but filth.
"The mad woman’s daughter."
"She’s just like her mother."
"No shame. No future."
Their words clung to me like a curse.
I curled into myself, trembling, wishing—praying—that the earth would open and swallow me whole.
But then—
"Leave her."
A deep voice cut through the noise, steady and firm.
The woman’s grip loosened slightly, but she did not let go.
I lifted my tear-streaked face. Through my blurry vision, I saw him.
The meat seller.
Not just any meat seller—the suya man.
I had seen him before, his stall always alive with the crackling of fire, the rich scent of roasted meat thick in the air. His suya was famous in the market, coated in smoky pepper and sizzling on iron skewers. I had smelled it a hundred times, watched others eat it with greasy fingers and satisfied sighs.
But never me.
Never me.
The woman scoffed. "You want to defend a thief?"
"She is a child," he said simply. "And what did she take? A few grains of rice?"
The woman sucked her teeth. "That’s how it starts! First rice, then meat, then money!"
The meat seller sighed, stepping forward. "Let her go."
A tense silence. Then, with a muttered curse, the woman shoved me away.
I collapsed onto the dusty ground, my sobs still shaking me.
The crowd lost interest. One by one, they turned away, their lives more important than the fate of a nameless, dirty girl.
I wiped my face with trembling hands, my breath still jagged. I should have run. Should have disappeared before anything else happened.
But I was too weak.
Too tired.
The meat seller stood over me, arms crossed, face unreadable. His eyes, sharp and knowing, studied me for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he reached into his stall, tore a small piece of suya from the wooden board, and placed it on an old newspaper in front of me.
"Eat," he said.
I froze.
Suya.
Spiced. Roasted. The scent of pepper and smoke filled my nose, making my empty stomach clench.
I should have grabbed it—stuffed it into my mouth before he could change his mind.
But I hesitated.
Was this a trick?
Would he take it away and laugh?
Would he wait for me to eat, then call me an animal?
"Eat," he said again, his voice firm but not unkind.
My fingers trembled as I picked up the suya.
And as I took the first bite, my tears fell again.
But this time, they were silent.
The pepper burned my tongue, hot and sharp, but I did not stop chewing. The meat was soft, smoky, rich with flavors I had only dreamed of tasting.
And for the first time in my small, lonely life, I ate something given to me.
Not stolen.
Not fought for.
Given.
It was warm.
Salty.
The taste of kindness—something I had no name for.
I did not thank him.
I did not know how.
But I never forgot.
Because on that day, for the first time, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I was more than the mad woman’s daughter.
Comments