I proudly wore the stunning necklace my sister gave me, a cherished souvenir from Suriname—our ancestral homeland. She brought it back years ago and passed it on because she rarely wore it. With its shiny red beans accented by tiny black spots, it perfectly matched my favorite red-and-black outfits. I wore it all day with my black tunic and red boots, feeling it was uniquely special.
"I gathered those seeds myself there," my sister shared proudly.
That evening, I removed the necklace and admired it hanging on a hook. What had she called those beans? A quick search for "Kriki" yielded nothing, but digging deeper, I found them: Kokriki seeds, or Abrus precatorius in Latin—meaning "softly praying." No wonder they're used in rosaries, sometimes called "Paternosterkransjes," a term that rang familiar.
Then the reading turned chilling. Beneath the glossy shell lurks abrin, a deadly toxin released if the seed is bruised or pierced. Stringing them into jewelry has caused fatalities—perilous work indeed. It's ironic: fingering a rosary brings you closer to the divine, yet risks death.
Suddenly, I pictured my brother-in-law drilling holes in the raw seeds and my sister threading the bracelet. They were incredibly fortunate.
Terrified, I sent the article to my sister. She was stunned but skeptical at first—"Locals wear them!"—until confirming it herself. Customs confiscates them at borders, she learned. "Throw it out now," she urged over the phone.
I chose to keep it stored away, unworn. The article mentioned seeds once contaminating tea, killing drinkers within days. As heartbreaking as it sounds, in our darkest moments grieving our parents, a swift end like that crossed our minds.
Read also: How long will my grief last?
I'll write to my sister soon.
