The Fisherman’s Curse on Lake Victoria

Introduction

Lake Victoria—the vast, mysterious heart of East Africa—stretched endlessly under the glow of the moon, its waters whispering against the shores of Mfangano Island. It had fed generations, granted wealth, and swallowed secrets beneath its shimmering surface. The fishermen who lived by its edge knew to respect its moods, offering prayers and sacrifices to the spirits believed to dwell in the depths.

But there was one man who did not believe in spirits. He did not kneel before the lake, nor did he mutter prayers before setting sail. His name was Juma, and he was the best fisherman the island had ever known.

What Juma did not realize was that the lake had rules, and those who broke them did not escape the consequences.

This is his story—the story of a man who challenged the spirits of Lake Victoria… and paid the price.

The Drought of Fish

Juma had never struggled before. His nets were always heavy, his boat always full, and his home was the grandest in the village of Luanda Ndege. While other fishermen relied on rituals and superstitions, Juma relied only on his skill and experience.

But then, the fish began to disappear.

At first, it was gradual. Some days, his catch was smaller than usual. He dismissed it as bad luck. But as the weeks passed, it became clear that something was wrong. The other fishermen faced the same struggle—nets that once came up bursting with tilapia and Nile perch now surfaced empty.

At the village gathering, the elders murmured among themselves.

“The spirits are angry,” old Mzee Ochieng’ said, shaking his head. “The lake has been disrespected.”

Juma scoffed. “Spirits do not control the fish. If they did, I would have seen them by now.”

The elders sighed. They had seen this before—arrogance leading men into darkness.

The other fishermen grew desperate, making offerings of roasted fish, pouring libations into the water, pleading for the lake’s mercy. But Juma did none of these things. Instead, he made a plan.

“If the fish have left, I will go where no man has gone before,” he declared. “The deepest waters will provide what we need.”

The village grew silent. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Achieng’, his wife, clutched his arm. “Juma, no one sails into those waters.”

“Then I will be the first,” he said.

Into Forbidden Waters

Juma set out before dawn. The mist curled over the surface of the lake, wrapping around his boat like ghostly fingers. He rowed past the familiar fishing spots, past the hidden reefs, past the farthest point any fisherman had dared to go.

He entered the forbidden waters—Nyama ya Roho, the Flesh of the Spirit.

A strange silence settled over the lake. The usual songs of birds and the chirping of insects had vanished. Even the sound of water lapping against his boat seemed muffled, as if the lake was holding its breath.

Juma cast his net.

Almost immediately, he felt a pull so strong it nearly yanked him overboard. His heart pounded. This was it—the catch that would prove the elders wrong, that would restore his wealth, that would make him a legend.

With all his strength, he hauled the net up.

What he saw stole the breath from his lungs.

Entangled in his net was no ordinary fish. It was a monstrous creature, its scales gleaming like silver in the dim light, its eyes burning red like embers. Its gaping mouth was lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth.

And then, it spoke.

“You have taken what does not belong to you,” the creature’s voice rumbled, echoing across the water. “For your greed, you shall suffer. You and all who follow you.”

A great storm rose, faster than any Juma had ever seen. The wind howled like tortured souls, waves crashed violently, and his boat—his beloved boat—was tossed like a leaf.

Juma tried to row back. He tried to fight. But the water pulled him under.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

The Return of Juma

Three days later, the villagers found him.

His body washed ashore, cold and motionless. But as they gathered around, prepared to mourn, his eyes suddenly snapped open.

Juma was alive.

But something was wrong.

His skin had grown pale, almost translucent, as if the lake had drained the life from him. His hands, once strong and sure, now trembled. His voice, once loud and confident, had become a whisper.

Achieng’ cried out and held him, but he did not return her embrace. He only stared at the lake, unblinking, as if he could still hear the voice that had cursed him.

At night, the villagers heard him speaking in his sleep. His words were strange, his voice hollow, and his breath smelled of rotting fish.

The elders tried to cleanse him. They burned incense, chanted prayers, and called upon the spirits. But Juma only grew worse. His fingers became webbed, his hair fell away, and his pupils stretched, becoming wide and empty like the deep waters of the lake.

Then, one night, Achieng’ awoke to find his bed empty.

She ran to the shore.

There, standing knee-deep in the water, was Juma.

“Juma!” she called.

He turned, and in the moonlight, she saw his face.

It was no longer a man’s.

The Curse Spreads

Juma never returned from the lake. Some say he walked willingly into the water, never looking back. Others claim they saw something rise from the depths—something with glowing eyes—pull him under.

But the curse did not die with him.

The fish did not return. The lake refused to yield its bounty. Worse still, those who fished at night began to vanish. Some were found drowned, their bodies bloated and pale. Others were never found at all.

The villagers grew fearful. The elders said the lake would never forgive until a sacrifice was made.

And so they sought the one who had loved Juma most.

Achieng’.

The Sacrifice

The decision was made. It was cruel, but the lake had spoken.

Achieng’ did not fight. She stepped onto the boat, her wrists bound with woven reeds, her face calm.

“Tell my son I did this for him,” she whispered.

As the boat drifted into the forbidden waters, the lake grew eerily still.

Then the water churned.

Something—someone—rose from the depths.

Juma.

Or what was left of him.

With webbed hands, he reached for Achieng’, his eyes glowing in the darkness. The lake roared, waves crashing against the shore.

And then… silence.

Epilogue: The Lake Remembers

The fish returned. The village prospered once more. But no one dared forget what had been done.

Even now, when the night is quiet and the moon is full, the fishermen say they can hear whispers on the water.

Sometimes, they see something moving beneath the surface—watching.

Waiting.

The End.