The Snake That Protects My Creche
I have carried this secret for years, and tonight I feel like writing it down. Maybe it will clear my chest, or maybe it will remind me that some doors should never be opened.
When I first started my creche, things were very slow. Parents would come, look around, and leave. Some days I had only two or three kids. I was drowning in debts, stressed, and scared that my dream would collapse. One of my neighbours told me about a sangoma who “helps businesses grow fast.” She promised me that he was powerful, that whatever he touched never failed. Out of desperation, I went.
The sangoma welcomed me with a strange smile. Before I even explained my problem, he said, “You want children to fill your creche.” I nodded. He told me he would give me something strong, something that would attract kids and protect the place from all evil. Then he brought out a small clay pot. Inside was a snake, curled and quiet. He said it was my “keeper.”
He said the snake would bring more children, and honestly… he was right.
Kids started flooding in. Parents who never even heard of my place suddenly wanted to enroll their little ones. My creche became so full that I had to hire extra hands. I thought the sangoma had saved my life.
Then the first death happened.
A little boy fell and died instantly. No warning, no sickness, nothing. The police came, the paramedics, parents crying… everything was chaos. But the moment everyone left, I went to clean the spot, and there it was — a huge snake lying exactly where the child had died. It disappeared before I could even breathe.
I told myself it was just shock. My mind playing tricks on me. Until the next year… when it happened again. Same spot. Same kind of sudden death. And again, after everyone left, the snake appeared.
Every year, one child. Same place. Same pattern.
I finally gathered strength to go back to the sangoma. I confronted him, shaking, crying. He looked at me without a single drop of guilt and said, “I never lied. I said it will bring children and protect the creche. I did not say how. It needs one life a year. Either theirs… or your own children.”
Those words have lived inside me like poison.
What haunts me the most is that even after the deaths, more kids keep coming every year. Parents fight for space. They beg me to take their children. They have no idea what is happening in that one corner of my creche.
I tried to close the place once. I even started removing things, telling parents I was done. That night the snake came into my bedroom. I didn’t see it — but I felt it. My whole body went through a pain I cannot explain. Like something inside me was being twisted. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I knew the message: I cannot leave.
So here I am. Running a creche protected by something I cannot control. Living with a secret heavier than my own name. Waiting for the year to end, scared of which little soul will be taken next.
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