Am I Cursed or Just Unlucky?

 When I lost my first husband to a short illness, my world fell apart. One day he was there, laughing and making plans, and the next he was gone. I became a widow with wounds no one could see. Grief became my daily bread.

Years passed. I slowly gathered the broken pieces of my heart and allowed myself to love again. My second marriage was beautiful. We were happy. We were building a life. I thought maybe God had finally remembered me.

Then death struck again.

Just like that, I was a widow for the second time.

But this time, the pain of losing my husband was not the only burden I had to carry. People started whispering. Some said I was killing my husbands for money. Others said I was using them for rituals. The same people who ate at my table and smiled in my face were the same ones pointing fingers behind my back.

Their words hurt more than grief itself.

I began questioning myself. Was I cursed? Was there something following me? In our African communities, when tragedy repeats itself, it is rarely seen as “just life.” There is always a spiritual explanation. The whispers about umfelo grew louder in my ears.

Unable to find peace, I went to see a traditional healer. I needed answers. I needed someone to tell me why death kept knocking at my door. After consultations and rituals, he told me it was umfelo — a spiritual condition believed to bring misfortune in relationships and marriage.

I left with more questions than answers.

Was it really umfelo? Or was I simply a woman who had suffered the cruel hand of fate twice?

What I know is this: losing one husband is devastating. Losing two is unbearable. But being accused of murder while you are still mourning is inhuman.

I did not kill my husbands. I loved them. I buried them. I cried for them. I still dream about them.

Sometimes tragedy is not witchcraft. Sometimes it is not rituals. Sometimes it is not a curse.

Sometimes life is just painfully unfair.

Today, I am learning to live with the scars. I am learning that people will always create stories to make sense of what they do not understand. And I am learning that I do not owe anyone an explanation for surviving what almost broke me.