River Mumma

Growing up, the rivers were never empty. Even when no one was there, we were told they were watched. The elders called them river mumas—beautiful women who lived beneath the water, guarding what did not belong to us. Men were warned to stay away from the rivers at night, because nighttime was theirs. It was said they sat on the rocks then, combing their hair, singing soft, mellow songs that could draw a man in without him realizing he was being called.

As children, we believed that when people died, they returned to the water—not as ghosts, but as mermaids, living in quiet castles beneath the sea. It was a child’s imagining, passed between us without question. No one we knew had ever seen a river mumma, and even now, no one speaks of knowing someone who has. Still, the rivers were respected. Some stories were never proven, only carried, and that was enough.