The Humming Woman of Ugbede River

The Humming Woman of Ugbede River

Eighteen year old Ovie felt his stomach rumble after eating a heavy meal of pounded yam and bean soup. His mother’s food always sat deep. Grabbing a torn piece of newspaper, he slipped out quietly and headed toward the bush near the river to ease himself.

As he squatted, he heard it.

A soft humming.

At first, he dismissed it as a bird maybe one of those evening birds that sang before sunset. But the sound was too smooth, too sweet, like a song meant only for the heart. Ovie paused, his body frozen in an awkward position, and slowly turned toward the river.

That was when his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

From the water, a figure rose.

She was a woman but not like any woman Ovie had ever seen. Her skin glowed like polished bronze under the dying sunlight. Her long black hair flowed down her back like a dark river of its own. She was tall, unnaturally tall, and beads circled her neck, waist, and wrists, sparkling as if they held light inside them. Her face was sharp and beautiful, calm yet powerful, like a goddess who knew she was worshipped even without trying.

Ovie quickly ducked behind tall grass, clutching his newspaper, his heart pounding so loudly he feared she would hear it.

The woman stepped out of the river and looked around, her eyes sweeping the bush slowly, carefully, as if she felt a presence. Ovie held his breath.

After a moment, she turned and walked toward a narrow path leading to the village.

Ovie forgot everything his hunger, his fear, even why he had come there. He pulled up his trousers and followed her, careful to stay hidden. His legs trembled, but curiosity pushed him forward.

As she walked, her beads jingled softly. Her hips swayed gently, and the humming never stopped. Whenever she glanced back, Ovie froze behind trees or bushes. He didn’t want her to see him but he couldn’t stop following her.

When she reached the village, heads turned instantly.

Women sitting outside their huts stopped weaving and stared.

“Who is that?” one whispered.

“She’s too fine to be from here,” another murmured.

Men drinking palm wine froze, cups suspended mid-air. Children dropped their games and ran closer. Even the village drunk, whose eyes were always cloudy, sat up straight and rubbed his face as if to be sure he was awake.

“She must be from the city,” someone said.

“No,” another replied slowly, “she looks like royalty.”

The woman didn’t acknowledge anyone. She walked through the market square as traders packed their goods.

The butcher dropped his knife.

The plantain seller forgot to collect money.

Silence followed her footsteps.

She reached the edge of the market and turned toward a small path that led back to the river.

Ovie hesitated.

Everything inside him screamed danger. Stories flooded his mind stories elders told at night about river women who took men and never returned them. But his feet moved anyway.

The sun had almost set. The air felt heavy, sweet, and strange.

The path ended at a clearing by the river. The woman stopped and raised her arms. Her humming grew louder, deeper. The river began to glow a soft blue light rippling across the water like stars dancing beneath the surface.

Ovie stared in awe.

The woman spoke, but not in any language he knew. Her words sounded like a song, and the river answered her, glowing brighter.

Ovie leaned forward, forgetting himself.

CRACK.

A dry branch snapped beneath his foot.

The sound echoed.

The woman stopped singing.

Slowly, she turned.

Her eyes locked onto the bush.

Ovie crouched low, shaking, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew he was finished.

Then she smiled.

Not a cruel smile. Not an angry one.

A knowing smile.

She stepped closer, her beads jingling. The blue light followed her, wrapping the clearing in a soft glow.

“Ovie,” she said.

He gasped. “H-how do you know my name?”

“I know many things,” she replied calmly. “You followed me from the bush… even when you should have run.”

Ovie fell to his knees. “Please,” he begged. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “You have a clean heart. Curiosity, yes but no evil.”

She turned toward the river. “I am the guardian of this water. Humans forget respect. They pollute, they steal, they mock what they don’t understand.”

She faced him again. “You will carry a message.”

“What message?” Ovie whispered.

“Tell your people this river is not ordinary. If they respect it, it will bless them. If they don’t, it will take back what it has given.”

She stepped into the water. The blue light faded. The river returned to normal.

Before she disappeared, she added softly, “Speak of me, and I will deny you. Keep the warning, and you will live long.”

Then she was gone.

Ovie ran home that night, shaking and silent. He told no one about the woman.

But from that day on, the villagers noticed something strange.

The river never dried, even in the harshest dry season. Fish became plenty. Crops near the water grew stronger.

And Ovie?

He grew into a respected man. He never drank from the river carelessly. He never allowed children to play in it at night.

And sometimes, just before sunset, when the wind was right, Ovie would pause, smile faintly, and listen.

Because from deep within the water, he could still hear the humming.

The End.