This morning, I woke up from a dream that shook me to my core – a vivid, unsettling nightmare that felt as if it reached into the depths of my family’s history and the very heart of the AmaJwarha homestead. It wasn’t just a random dream; it carried with it the weight of ancestral lore, the presence of unresolved trauma, and a confrontation with the stories that have shaped my life in the last year and a half.
In the dream, I was back home in the village, standing within the walls of our family house. A commotion outside drew my attention, and when I went to investigate, I found a group of young men who looked like construction workers. They were calling for my mother, insisting she come see something. They claimed there was a snake, but despite their pointing and shouting, I couldn’t see it myself – though I could sense their fear and certainty.
Dreams are strange like that; they don’t always follow the rules of reality. Unable to make sense of what they were seeing, I went back into the house to find my mother. I found her outside, seated with someone who had just arrived, carrying a bucket of biscuits and asking for tea. As I was about to accommodate this guest, my attention was drawn to movement near the large hole at the back of our house. This hole exists in real life – a place seers have warned us about, claiming it’s the dwelling of a powerful snake.
In the dream, I saw it. A massive figure slid into the hole, and as I got closer, I caught sight of its tail – resembling that of a fish. I needed to be sure of what I was seeing, so I moved closer. That’s when its head emerged, huge and menacing. The snake’s colors were striking: black and red. My heart raced as it locked eyes with me, and instinctively, I covered my eyes with my hands, screaming for my mother and calling out for my father’s younger brother, Tatomncinci.
I had always heard that locking eyes with this snake could blind you and lead to your death. It’s said that back in 2014 or 2015, one of the witch’s brothers saw the snake. The next day, he woke up blind, and months later, in a tragic turn of events, he stabbed his wife to death before hanging himself. These stories aren’t just folklore; they’re the lived experiences of people in my village. As my mother often says, “The things we experience emaJwarheni, you’d swear we are in a movie.”
Back to the dream: As I stood there, still covering my eyes, I could feel the snake moving. When I dared to look again, I saw it climbing the roof of the house, massive and terrifying. I called out for Tatomncinci once more, and this time, he appeared, walking with Mkhulu – the very same elder I write about in my book, the one who came to investigate my father’s stolen T-shirt. Alongside them was the witch himself.
It looked like they were herding goats, a surreal and eerie juxtaposition to the chaos I was experiencing. I told Tatomncinci what I had seen, and he replied, “Did you see how big it is?” I nodded, still shaken. I then turned to my mother and Tatomncinci, announcing that I was going to pack immediately and leave for AmaNxasana, my mother’s family homestead. My mother pleaded with me not to go, saying, “No, Zee, you can’t leave us. How will we manage without you?” But I was resolute. I needed to get my child and myself away from that place.
As all this unfolded, the witch stood there, silently observing, his presence as unnerving as the snake itself.
When I woke up, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this dream was trying to tell me something significant. The snake itself felt like a powerful symbol, representing looming fear and danger tied to unresolved issues within my family and the community. Its massive size and striking colors seemed to emphasize its dominance and the weight of its presence in both the dream and my waking life.
In the context of my dream, the snake could represent unresolved issues or spiritual matters that require attention. Its colors – black and red – might symbolize danger and mystery, indicating that something hidden in my family’s history or spiritual journey needs to be confronted. The hole, a place that is believed to house a powerful snake in our village, could symbolize a vulnerable or dangerous point that I must address. The snake’s growing presence in the dream, from its tail to its head emerging, reflects how these unresolved issues are becoming more apparent and threatening.
The appearance of Tatomncinci and Mkhulu, figures of ancestral wisdom, suggests that they may be guiding me through this process of confronting the past. Their presence in the dream could be an invitation to lean into the wisdom and strength of my ancestors as I navigate the challenges of healing and transformation. The witch’s silent observation adds an eerie layer of spiritual menace, indicating that dark or unresolved forces are still active in my life, possibly contributing to the fear and trauma I am experiencing.
Ultimately, my decision to leave for AmaNxasana represents a strong desire to escape the dangers and negativity surrounding me, to protect myself and my child from the destructive forces at play. The tension between my mother’s plea for me to stay and my need to leave speaks to the struggle between familial duty and personal safety, a reminder that healing sometimes requires distance from harmful situations.
The dream serves as a powerful symbol of the danger and transformation I must confront, encouraging me to shed old fears and traumas in order to heal and protect those I love. The snake’s presence cannot be ignored; it must be faced in order to move forward into a new chapter of growth and spiritual renewal.
The combination of fear, familial ties, and spiritual symbolism in the dream has left me with much to reflect on. It’s a reminder of the complex, layered history of my family and village and the courage needed to face these stories head-on.
Whatever the snake represents – danger, transformation, or both – its message is clear: it cannot be ignored.
