They built protection for their children—without knowing what their children would become.
In the village there lived a generation of pioneers whose faith was as rigid as the village itself. These pioneers were religious people, staunch believers in the existence of a supreme God. They had embraced Christianity with enthusiasm, finding solace in its teachings and community. But, like King Saul of old, their patience wore thin when the God of the church seemed to tarry in answering their prayers. In their moments of doubt, they returned to the Mugumo God, Mwene Nyaga, the ancient deity of their ancestors, seeking the connection to their roots that the new faith could not always provide.
This generation of Gitithia pioneers was unlike any other. They possessed a vision, a clear picture of how they wanted their families to be, not just for their time but for the generations to come. It was as if they were seers, peering into the future and organizing their lives in readiness for what lay ahead. They prepared their families precisely, aware of the dangers that could arise from urogi, dark magic, that might be directed at them by envious outsiders.
With rituals passed down through the ages, they 'treated' their families. These treatments were designed to protect their descendants from any urogi, present or future, ensuring that any dark force sent their way would rebound to its sender. The pioneers believed they had fortified their bloodlines, creating an invisible shield that would protect their kin for generations.
Time, however, is a relentless force. As the years rolled on, the pioneers of Gitithia disappeared from the scene, leaving behind their carefully laid plans and treatments. New generations emerged, generations that did not know or understand their roots. They were drawn to the allure of modernity and the promises it held, often neglecting the old ways. And in their ignorance, some among them began to experiment ûrogi themselves, bringing it into their own families, families that had been treated by the village pioneers.
The results were devastating. The treatments, once a protective force, now turned against those it was meant to protect. It was as if the shield had become a sword, striking down the very people it was supposed to defend. Marriages crumbled, children fell ill, businesses collapsed, and misfortune plagued the descendants of the pioneers. The once strong and united families of Gitithia were now torn apart by the very protections their ancestors had put in place. Who was to blame? Was it the old generation, for underestimating the potential of ûrogi coming from within their own bloodline? Or was it the new generations, who, in their ignorance and arrogance, brought dark forces into their families, unaware to the consequences?
The remaining village elders whispered of ûrogi that had been invoked by the pioneers. What was meant to grind external dark forces had become the dog that barks and eats its owner. The old generation had intended to protect their lineage from external threats, but they had not foreseen that the danger could come from within, from their own children and grandchildren. And so, the once prosperous and blessed families of Gitithia found themselves entangled in a web of their own making. The visions of the pioneers had come to pass, but not in the way they had hoped. The shield they had crafted out of faith, ritual, and foresight had become a blade, cutting deep into the heart of their legacy.
The ûrogi story of Gitithia stands as a cautionary tale, a reminder that the greatest threats often come not from without, but from within. The happening still vivid in the villager’s mind is a silent witness to the rise and fall of generations.
