Should frequent nightmares in children be a concern to parents?
Source: Ghanaija
In a quiet village nestled between the rolling hills of Uganda, where the sun dipped behind mountains each evening and painted the skies in shades of orange and pink, lived a little girl named Amina. Her home was a modest mud hut with a thatched roof, surrounded by banana trees and the chirping of crickets. Every night, as the stars began to twinkle, Amina’s peaceful world was often disrupted by a series of vivid nightmares that left her sweating and trembling.
Amina’s mother, Aisha, a wise woman with deep, compassionate eyes, noticed her daughter’s restless nights. She would often find Amina awake, clutching her doll tightly, her eyes wide with fear. The nightmares were relentless – dark figures lurking in the shadows, terrifying voices whispering secrets, and strange, unrecognizable places where Amina would wander alone. Each night, Aisha would sit by her bed, soothing her with stories of the olden days, tales of brave warriors and kind spirits, hoping to chase away the shadows.
One evening, after the village had settled into its nightly silence, Aisha decided it was time to seek help. She knew that in their small community, understanding and guidance were sometimes hard to find, but she believed that every problem had a solution. Aisha decided to visit the village elder, Mzee Kato, a man known for his wisdom and his connection to the spirits of the land.
Mzee Kato’s hut was at the edge of the village, surrounded by a small garden of medicinal herbs and flowers. As Aisha approached, she could see the flicker of a fire inside, casting a warm glow through the doorway. Mzee Kato welcomed her with a nod and a gentle smile, inviting her to sit by the fire. The air was filled with the scent of burning herbs, and the crackle of the fire seemed to whisper ancient secrets.
“Aisha, my daughter,” Mzee Kato began, his voice like the rustling of leaves. “Tell me what troubles you.”
Aisha explained Amina’s nightmares, her fears, and her sleepless nights. Mzee Kato listened intently, nodding slowly. When she finished, he remained silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.
“Nightmares are not just dreams, Aisha. They are echoes of the soul’s fears and anxieties,” Mzee Kato said softly. “In our culture, we believe that children’s dreams are closely linked to their spirits. Amina’s nightmares may be a sign that something in her life is out of balance or that her spirit is troubled.”
Aisha’s heart sank. She had hoped for a quick fix, but Mzee Kato’s words suggested something deeper. “What should I do, Mzee?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Mzee Kato reached for a small, clay pot on the table, filled with a fragrant mixture of herbs. “This is a potion made from the leaves of the wanja tree, known for its calming properties. Give it to Amina before bedtime. And take her to the river in the morning. The river’s water is pure and can cleanse her spirit. Let her play by its banks and listen to the soothing sounds of the water. It will help her find peace.”
Aisha thanked Mzee Kato and returned home with the potion and a renewed sense of purpose. She prepared the drink for Amina that night, and as her daughter sipped it, she told her a story about the peaceful river and the gentle spirits that lived there. Amina’s eyes, though tired, seemed to relax a little.
The next morning, Aisha took Amina to the river. The water was clear and cool, and the sound of its gentle flow was like a lullaby. Amina played with the pebbles and watched the fish darting through the reeds. As she dipped her fingers into the water, she felt a strange sense of calm, as if the river was washing away her fears. Aisha watched her daughter with a mix of hope and sadness, knowing that some things took time to heal.
Days turned into weeks, and with each passing night, Amina’s nightmares began to fade. The potion, the river’s soothing embrace, and the love and attention of her mother seemed to work wonders. Amina started sleeping more soundly, and her laughter once again filled their home. The shadows in her dreams were replaced by the light of the moon, and the whispers turned into the sweet songs of night birds.
But Aisha knew that the battle was not entirely won. She understood that while the nightmares had diminished, the root of Amina’s fears might still linger. One afternoon, as they sat under the shade of a large mango tree, Aisha decided to talk to her daughter.
“Amina, my dear,” she began softly, “I want to ask you something. Do you still have dreams that make you afraid?”
Amina looked at her mother, her eyes bright with the innocence of childhood. “No, Mama. The river made the bad dreams go away. Now I dream of flying with the birds and dancing with the stars.”
Aisha’s heart swelled with relief and joy. She hugged Amina tightly, knowing that their journey had brought them closer, not just to peace, but to understanding. She realized that while the nightmares were a concern, they were also a part of Amina’s growth – a sign that her daughter’s spirit was strong enough to confront and overcome her fears.
In the days that followed, Aisha continued to watch over Amina, always ready with stories, with comfort, and with the wisdom of the land. And as the years went by, the nightmares became a distant memory, a testament to the love and care that had guided them through the darkness.
In a nearby village, across the savannah of Kenya, lived a boy named Kwame. Kwame was a lively child, always exploring the vast plains and learning about the world around him. But like Amina, Kwame too was plagued by nightmares. His mother, Fatima, a gentle woman with a heart as wide as the plains, noticed his restless nights.
One evening, Fatima decided to take Kwame to the wise woman of their village, Mama Wanjiku. Mama Wanjiku’s hut was surrounded by the scent of lavender and the soft hum of bees. Inside, the walls were adorned with shells, feathers, and beads, each a symbol of protection and wisdom.
Mama Wanjiku listened to Fatima’s concerns, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of many generations. She told them, “Kwame’s nightmares are not just dreams. They are messages from his soul, and we must listen to them carefully. Sometimes, the spirits of our ancestors reach out to us through our dreams.”
She prepared a mixture of herbs and spoke a prayer to the spirits of the land, asking for their guidance and protection. She advised Fatima to light a small fire in Kwame’s room, to burn the herbs and let their smoke fill the space, creating a barrier against the nightmares.
As Kwame inhaled the soothing scent of the herbs, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known before. The next night, for the first time in weeks, Kwame slept soundly, free from the shadows of his dreams. Fatima watched him, grateful for the wisdom of Mama Wanjiku and the serenity that had returned to her son’s nights.
In both villages, in their different ways, Amina and Kwame found peace, their nightmares a fading echo in the background of their growing lives. And though the shadows sometimes returned, they knew that with love, wisdom, and the support of their families, they could face anything that came their way.
The journey of the nightmares had taught them and their parents that while fear is a part of growing up, so is courage, love, and the unyielding belief that every night brings the promise of a new dawn.
