Noma’s life was picture-perfect. At seventeen, she had everything a teenager could want—a loving family, good grades, and a budding modeling career. Her friends admired her, teachers praised her, and she had her sights set on university and a bright future.
But one night, everything changed.
As she lay in her modern bedroom, surrounded by trophies and photos of her achievements, a dream overtook her. She stood on the banks of a river under a moonlit sky, the water shimmering like liquid silver. The air was heavy with the rhythmic sound of drums. Across the river, an old woman dressed in traditional sangoma attire appeared. Her voice was powerful and haunting as she chanted words in a language Noma didn’t understand. The drums grew louder, pounding in her ears until she screamed and woke up.
Noma sat up in her bed, gasping for breath, her heart racing. The dream felt so real, but she brushed it off as a nightmare. After all, she had a busy day ahead and didn’t have time to dwell on strange dreams.
—
The next morning at school, Noma told her best friend, Lerato, about the dream as they walked to assembly.
“I was standing by a river, and I heard drums. Then this old woman appeared and started chanting. It felt like she was talking to me,” Noma said, her voice trembling.
Lerato stopped walking and stared at her. “Noma, that’s not just a dream. It sounds like you have a calling.”
“A calling? What does that even mean?”
“It means the ancestors are reaching out to you. You’re being called to become a sangoma.”
Noma laughed nervously. “Stop it, Lerato. I’m not about to become some… some sangoma. I have a life to live.”
Lerato shook her head but didn’t push further.
—
Later, during history class, Noma sat at her desk, trying to focus on the teacher’s lecture. Suddenly, the drumming from her dream began again. It was faint at first, but it grew louder with each passing second. She clutched her head, her heart pounding.
“No, no, stop!” she cried out, startling her classmates.
The teacher, Mr. Dlamini, rushed to her side. “Noma, are you okay?”
But Noma couldn’t answer. Tears streamed down her face as she ran out of the classroom, leaving everyone bewildered.
She was later called to the principal’s office, but when Principal Maseko and Mr. Dlamini tried to get her to explain, she remained silent.
—
At home that evening, Noma’s parents noticed something was wrong. At dinner, she barely touched her food. Then, she suddenly froze, her eyes wide.
“What’s wrong, Noma?” her mother, Thando, asked.
Noma heard the voice of an old woman, soft but commanding. “It is time. Your granny needs you.”
“No!” Noma shouted, jumping up from the table and running to her room. She slammed the door shut, leaving her parents stunned.
“What’s going on with her?” Thando asked her husband, Bongani.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s stress,” Bongani replied.
They knocked on Noma’s door, but she refused to let them in.
—
That night, the dream came again. This time, the old woman stepped closer to Noma. Her face was lined with wisdom, and her eyes burned with intensity.
“Child, the time has come. You cannot run from who you are. Your ancestors are calling. You must answer.”
Noma woke up in tears. She couldn’t ignore it anymore.
—
The next day, she pulled Lerato aside. “You were right,” she whispered. “I need to see a sangoma.”
After school, Lerato took Noma to a small hut on the outskirts of the township. The air around it smelled of herbs and incense. Inside, an old sangoma sat cross-legged, surrounded by beads, bones, and calabashes.
Noma froze. It was the same woman from her dream.
“It’s you,” she whispered.
The sangoma raised her hand. “Hush, child. Sit down. We have much to discuss.”
The sangoma explained that Noma’s grandfather had been a powerful sangoma, but her mother had distanced herself from their traditions. The calling had now passed to Noma, and the ancestors were demanding she embrace her destiny.
Noma was overwhelmed. “I don’t want this,” she said, her voice breaking. “I have plans for my life.”
“The ancestors do not ask, child. They choose,” the sangoma replied.
—
That evening, Noma confronted her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me about Grandfather?”
Thando sighed. “Because I wanted you to have a different life. I didn’t want you caught up in that… world.”
“But I keep hearing voices. I keep seeing things. Mom, I think I have a calling.”
Thando shook her head. “No, Noma. We left that behind for a reason.”
Their argument escalated, and Noma retreated to her room, feeling more alone than ever.
—
Days turned into weeks, and Noma’s struggles intensified. She heard drums and voices everywhere. Her grades slipped, and her modeling gigs dried up. She isolated herself from her friends and family, consumed by confusion and fear.
One morning, unable to bear it anymore, Noma followed a voice that led her to the river from her dreams. The water shimmered as the sun rose, casting a golden glow. The sangoma was there, waiting for her.
“It’s time,” the sangoma said.
Noma knelt by the water. The sangoma began a ritual, chanting and sprinkling water over her. The drums in Noma’s head reached a crescendo, and she let out a scream, releasing all her fear and doubt.
When the ritual ended, Noma stood, transformed. She wore traditional sangoma attire, and her eyes glowed with a newfound confidence.
—
Noma returned home to find her mother waiting for her.
“Mom,” Noma said, her voice steady, “this is who I am.”
Thando looked at her daughter, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Noma. I was wrong. I’m proud of you.”
They embraced, the tension between them finally dissolving.
—
Months later, the community gathered to celebrate Noma’s initiation as a sangoma. Drums echoed through the air as Noma danced, her vibrant attire reflecting her heritage. She had found her place in the world—not as a model or a student, but as a healer and a bridge between the living and the ancestors.
The drums, once a source of fear, now symbolized her strength and purpose.
The End.