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“Her lips are getting bigger.”
But she still laughed.
One day, while everyone was watching, a woman approached her.
“Sira, what happened to your mouth?”
Sira touched her lips. They were big and heavy. Her heart raced, but she pretended not to care.
She laughed and walked away. Yet the whispers continued.
“Is she sick?”
“Look at her mouth.”
Sira became frightened. She covered her mouth with a scarf and ran home. Once in her room, she locked the door, slowly removed the cloth, and looked in the mirror.
Her eyes widened. She screamed and broke into tears.
Her lips had swollen in a frightening way. When she touched them, she felt their heaviness, their strangeness.
“What is happening to me?” she whispered, shaken and terrified.
Papa Sira entered the room, looked at her carefully, and asked, “Sira, what happened to your mouth?”
Sira began to cry.
“I don’t know, Papa!”
He held her very tightly in his arms, and they cried together.
Baba Jimo had heard the sobbing from his veranda. He murmured, “Words are seeds. You are harvesting what you planted.”
That night, the whispers returned, even louder. Sira could hear them clearly, repeating her gossip. Shadows outside her window whispered her own words back to her.
The next morning, people in the village began saying that Mama Lina was the cause of Sira’s swollen lips, that she had cursed her because of her lies. Mama Lina’s business suffered. People stopped buying her food, thinking she was a witch.
But Papa Sira stayed by her side.
“My wife is not a witch. If she truly did something to Sira, let the gods judge her.”
Sira refused to believe she had been cursed. She kept gossiping as if nothing had happened, ignoring the murmurs around her.
Then the chief of the village summoned her.
Her lips were now enormous, and the villagers nearly cried when they saw her walking toward the palace. The chief asked her calmly:
“Sira, why is your mouth like this?”
She lied. “I ate something bad.”
But right there, in front of everyone, her lips swelled even more.
The crowd gasped. Some laughed, others pointed at her.
“Find out who did this to you, or you will be exiled,” the chief declared firmly.
At the back of the crowd, Baba Jimo murmured to himself, his eyes shining with a strange certainty.
That night, the murmurs became even stronger. They shook the windows and called her name again and again.
Sira could no longer bear it. Her mouth was growing day by day, and the nighttime voices haunted her. She no longer slept, no longer ate. She was afraid and often cried.
One evening, her father sat beside her and spoke gently.
“My daughter, we need to find help. This is not normal.”
Sira slowly nodded. She was tired of hiding her mouth with scarves. Tired of hearing the whispers.
“Where will we go?” she asked.
Papa Sira’s eyes grew serious.
“There is a very powerful seer in the neighboring village. They say she sees what no one else can see.”
Early the next morning, they left.
The journey was long. They walked along dusty paths, crossed small streams, and climbed hills. Sira kept her face covered with a large scarf so she would not be recognized by those they passed.
After several hours of walking, they arrived in front of a small house covered with green leaves. Smoke rose from the chimney, and strange objects hung from the windows.
An old woman was sitting outside. Her eyes were piercing, full of wisdom.
“I was expecting you,” she said before either of them spoke.
Her voice was deep and rough, like wind slipping between trees.
Papa Sira bowed respectfully.
“Great seer, please, help my daughter.”
The woman did not move. She smiled without ever taking her eyes off Sira.
“Remove the scarf,” she said gently.
Sira hesitated. Her hands trembled. Slowly, she removed the cloth. Her huge mouth appeared.
The seer’s eyes shone with strange interest.
“Hmm!” she said, stepping closer. She circled Sira slowly, touched her chin, and examined her lips.
“This is not ordinary,” she murmured.
Papa Sira’s voice trembled.
“Tell me, great seer, what happened to my daughter?”
The seer stepped back and looked into Sira’s eyes.
“Your mouth is not swelling because of an illness,” she said. “It is because of your words.”
Sira’s heart began to beat hard.
“My words?”
The seer touched her head.
“Words are powerful. When you speak badly, it grows. When you spread lies, it multiplies. But there is something else.”
Sira and her father looked at each other, lost.
“What do you mean?” Papa Sira asked.
The seer smiled mysteriously.
“Your words touched a heart—a heart filled with pain.”
Sira’s eyes widened.
“Who? Who did I hurt?”
The seer let out a small laugh, but it was not a joyful laugh. It was a deep, sad sound.
“That,” she said, “you must discover for yourself. But I can tell you this.”
She leaned very close to Sira’s face, her eyes shining like stars.
“When words mix with pain and sorrow, the spirits hear.”
Sira felt her heart tighten.
“The spirits?” she whispered.
The seer slowly nodded.
Papa Sira grabbed her hand.
“Please, tell us who it is. Help us break this curse.”
But the old woman only smiled and stepped back.
“No. You must find the answer yourselves. And when you do, forgiveness will free you.”
Sira’s eyes filled with tears.
“How will I know? Who did I hurt?”
The seer’s voice became softer, like a breath as she disappeared into the shadows.
“Look into your heart. The truth is always there.”
That night, Sira could not sleep. The whispers were stronger than ever. They called her name again and again. She covered her ears, but it did not stop them. The voices repeated what she had said, the words she thought she had forgotten.
Her father came into her room. He looked tired and sad.
“Sira,” he said gently, “we do not have much time. The day after tomorrow, the chief will demand answers. We have to solve this.”
“The seer said I hurt someone deeply,” Sira replied. “We need to find them. I need to ask forgiveness from everyone.”
Papa Sira nodded.
Sira was tired of hiding. She wanted the voices to stop. She wanted her mouth to return to normal.
The next morning, she went to the village square. Her face was covered with a large scarf, but even so, people still whispered as she passed.
She ignored them and went to Mama Lina’s stall at the market.
“Mama Lina,” she said in a trembling voice, “I am sorry for what I said about you and your daughters. I lied, and I ruined your business.”
Mama Lina looked at her sadly.
“You did more than ruin my business, Sira. You shamed my name. You hurt my children.”
Sira’s eyes filled with tears.
“I am truly sorry. Please, forgive me.”
Mama Lina looked at her for a long time. Then finally, she nodded.
“I forgive you,” she whispered.
Sira touched her mouth, hoping for a change.
But nothing.
Her lips were still huge, still heavy. Her heart tightened.
Next, she went to Baba Jimo, the herbalist. He was sitting quietly in front of his shop, grinding plants.
When he saw her approaching, he did not smile.
“Baba Jimo,” she said softly, “I am sorry for what I said about your remedies. I lied. Your medicine is good. I only wanted people to listen to me.”
He lifted his eyes to her. They were tired.