I come from a village where witchcraft is not a story  it is a reality people fear every day.

In my village, success is dangerous.

If you build a better house, they ask how.

If your child passes at school, they whisper.

If you get a job, they don’t congratulate you but they investigate you.

Here, every small blessing is seen as a threat.

People don’t clap when you rise.

They plot when you rise.

I’ve seen strong people fall overnight.

Healthy men wake up unable to walk.

Women who were glowing suddenly grow thin and sick.

Businesses collapse for no reason.

Dreams die without warning.

And everyone knows the truth , but no one says it out loud.

Because in my village, jealousy wears the face of a neighbour.

Sometimes even family.

You learn early to hide your progress.

To pretend you’re struggling even when things improve.

To downplay your joy so you don’t attract attention.

Because here, success can cost you your life.

Or leave you crippled while others pretend they don’t know why.

I didn’t grow up fearing hard work.

I grew up fearing being seen doing well.

In my village, poverty is safer than prosperity.

Struggling is protection.

Shining is a risk.

And that is the saddest curse of all ,not witchcraft itself, but a place where people are punished for rising instead of supported.

Where dreams must be whispered.

Where progress must be hidden.

Where success becomes a danger instead of a blessing.