The River that knew my name (fiction)

I stood at the river banks, watching as the waves violently smashed against rocks. It always felt like the river was fighting with itself.

“Vivian,” the river called out.

I shuddered.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

But I was answered by the chirps of birds and the whooshing sounds of the turbulent wind.

Just as I was about leaving, with my back turned against it, it spoke again.

“She’s waiting for you,”

I paused with the calabash of water on my head. It wasn’t the first time the river called my name or spoke to me. Its voice was no stranger to my ears. Only this time, I was fed up.

Image generated by Grok AI

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

I heard another voice say. It wasn’t the river’s—but whose was it then?

“Vivian.”

I heard the same voice again. This time, it struck a chord. It was my mum.

I narrowed my eyes, only to see her standing a few centimetres in front of me.

“Mama, good—”

“Why did you spend so much time?” she immediately cut in. “I had to leave the house to see what’s going on.”

Then she went silent, as though she was trying to remember something.

“Or have you been talking to yourself again?” she broke the quietness.

“Mtcheww,” I hissed, though only in my mind. She was old, but her palms were still fresh from all that childhood spanking.

“No, Mama,” I replied in a flat tone.

She had never believed my story about how the river spoke to me, no matter how I poured out my heart to her.
“You need to stop that habit of talking to yourself,” she would always say nonchalantly each time I told my story.

“But Dad would have listen to—” I quickly stopped myself realizing what I had just done.

Her countenance changed. Her face dropped. She didn’t like the mention of that name as it only brought sad memories.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” I softly apologized, bowing my head in regret.

She raised her head to the sky so that the brimming tears in her eyes wouldn’t slide down her wrinkled cheeks.

“It’s okay. Jus ... Just bring the water home.” Her voice was frail and broken as she struggled to keep her composure.

She turned around without uttering a word, while I followed in shame at a slower pace as I tried to balance the calabash on my head with each step I took.

“I told you she was waiting.”

The river spoke to me yet again. But no—I wouldn’t give it my attention, not now, not today—so I refused to look back.

We arrived home and began cooking with the firewood just outside the house. And just as I was waiting for Mama to bring down the pot of soup from the fire—

A hand violently grabbed mine.

I turned, and it was Chika, a boy from our village who lived near our house.

“You’ve heard it, haven’t you?”

My eyes widened in fear. “Heard what?” I asked.

“The river,” he said. “It calls your name, doesn’t it?”

His eyes were like that of a madman who had been tormented by horror.

“I—I…” I stuttered.

“Vivian, what’s happening?” Mama asked, having noticed the strange interaction.

I quickly broke free as he got distracted by Mama’s voice. Before I could even speak, he had turned around and taken off into the surrounding bushes.

“Who was that?” she asked. I could read the confusion in her eyes.

“I don’t know, Mama,” I replied, in an attempt to bury the incident.

Not like telling her what happened would have changed a thing or made her listen to my story as Dad did.

“Come here. Let’s finish this cooking and go inside,” Mama raised her voice, and I rushed over.

“Let’s be fast; it’s about to rain,” she added as I joined her.

It had been raining for days, and rumours had it that the river was rapidly rising. But we could do nothing about it.

At night, just as we were having our meal after its preparation, a thick darkness loomed over the air. The candle flames doused. The wind became heavier, thrusting debris into the air, and one broke through the window, sending us crouching to the floor.

I scrambled towards the door when suddenly a large wave of water rushed in, plummeting us into the walls. I struggled to stay afloat, but the waves were too strong.

“Mama!” I reached out and held her hands as she slowly drowned. More waves kept flooding in, eventually separating us.

I was eventually submerged in its depths. My lungs filled with water, and one thing was imminent—death.

My breathing seized. Every effort to move was futile. But my subconscious was alive. I felt no pain, almost as though a higher force was with me.

I suddenly had a vision of my past and the future. I saw my younger self on my Dad’s back while we were wading at the shallow part of the river, when his legs suddenly slipped and the river dragged him into its deep layers. I saw his struggles and my mum’s traumatizing scream from the river banks.

I then saw myself as an older woman, standing at the river bank, talking to the river.

“Vivian,” a voice called out as the vision disappeared.

I recognized the voice—it was the river.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“Do not fear. I’ll spare you,” it replied.

I could somewhat feel its presence in my subconscious, more like a connection, and an ease settled within me.

“Please spare my mum,” I pleaded. “I can’t bear you taking her as you did with my Dad.”

“I’ll spare her,” he replied.

And yes, I felt an even greater ease.

I then felt a warm, bright light slowly rest on my face, and I woke up, coughing out bouts of water with my clothes fully soaked. It was morning already. And the sun floated in its majesty.

“Vivian.”

I looked across, and it was my mum. My face instantly widened into a smile. We came out, and the whole village was riddled with debris from the river. Men, women, and children shared their experiences. And for the first time, I knew I no longer had to hide my story.

Time passed, and days turned into months, and months into years…

I walked to that same place where my story began—the river bank.

“Vivian,” it called out to me.

“All these years and you’ve never answered my question,” I asked, patiently waiting for an answer, but all I heard was its subtle rumble.

“Mmghh, mmghh,” I cleared my throat before rephrasing my question.

“Why did you spare me and my mum in the flood twenty years ago?”

The rumbles got louder and louder, and immediately I knew it had heard me.

“I wanted to give you both a chance,” it finally spoke.

“No,” I abruptly disagreed. “It’s because you were lonely.”

The river rumbled again, softer this time, and there was no denial.

My daughter held my hand. “Mama, who are you talking to?” she asked.

“Just an old friend of mine,” I said, patting her hair. “Let’s go cook a meal. Grandma must be hungry.”

And as we were walking, a missing piece of memory flashed through my mind. It was from the vision I had of the future years ago.

And in that vision, I wasn’t alone at the river bank. Amara, my daughter, was with me, and she had been holding my hand as I spoke to the river.

I turned to my daughter, smiled, tightened my grip on her hands, and we kept walking. But this time around, the wind was calm, its waves peaceful.

It was almost like the river held a part of me—an inexplicable connection…

a bond, one stronger than nature itself.

---