I was only eight years old when my world crumbled. One moment, I was the beloved daughter of a wealthy family in Uganda; the next, I was an orphan, tossed aside like I never mattered.
My parents died in a tragic accident, leaving behind businesses, land, and a fortune that should have secured my future. But instead of protecting me, my relatives saw an opportunity, an opportunity to take eveything for themselves.
At first, I thought they would care for me. My uncles and aunts, people I had once called family, promised to look after me. But their words were as empty as their hearts. They looted my parents’ wealth, forged documents, and bribed officials to erase my claim. While they moved into our grand home, I was forced into a life of servitude.
I was beaten for the smallest mistakes, starved while they feasted, and reminded every day that I was nothing more than a burden. Then, as if my suffering wasn’t enough, they threw me out onto the streets. I wandered, begging for food, sleeping wherever I could find shelter. The injustice burned deep within me, but I was powerless.
Despite everything, I survived. A kind nun took me into an orphanage, giving me a chance at an education and a place to sleep. I worked tirelessly, taking any odd jobs that came my way, determined to never be helpless again. Years passed, and though I had managed to build a life for myself, one thing never left my heart, the anger, the pain, the thirst for justice.
Then, one evening, I overheard an old woman speaking in hushed tones about a Kiwanga doctor, a powerful traditional healer known for helping those who had been wronged. She spoke of justice, of unseen forces that could restore balance to a world tainted by greed and cruelty.
It was then that I knew what I had to do.
I traveled deep into the village where the Kiwanga doctor lived. His shrine was unlike anything I had ever seen,dimly lit, filled with the scent of burning herbs and decorated with ancient charms and bones. He sat before me, his eyes piercing into my soul as I told my story.
When I finished, he remained silent for a long time before finally speaking. “Revenge comes with a price,” he said. “What do you seek?”
“I want them to suffer as I did,” I whispered. “I want them to lose everything, just as they took everything from me.”
He nodded, then guided me through a process I will never fully understand. It was not about harming them directly but about shifting the forces of justice. What followed was something beyond words, a connection to energies that existed long before I was born.
Days later, the downfall of my betrayers began.
My uncle, the mastermind behind my suffering, fell mysteriously ill. No doctor could explain his sudden, unshakable sickness. The businesses they had stolen from my parents began to collapse, deals fell apart, partners abandoned them, and legal troubles arose from places they never expected. Money vanished as quickly as they had stolen it.
Panic set in. They began to fear that something unseen was haunting them. Some sought priests, others turned to their own traditional healers, but nothing could undo what had already been set in motion. One by one, they lost everything, just as they had left me with nothing.
As I watched them crumble, I felt something I had never felt before,peace. Justice had been served, not by my hands, but by the forces that governed balance in this world.
But revenge was never meant to be my final destination. I took what little success I had built for myself and used it to help other orphans like me, children who had been robbed of love and security, just as I had been.
The Kiwanga doctor had shown me that justice always finds a way. And in the end, my true power came not just from reclaiming what was stolen from me, but from ensuring that no other child would suffer as I once did.
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