Clay Changeling: African Fairy Tale

The doll was made of mud, with two betel nuts for its eyes and shiny cowry shells for its teeth. It blinked mud-covered lids like the tops of clay pots over the bright shining betel nuts, and she knew it had worked. She squatted beside the doll that was nearly as large as her, and she hoped it had worked well enough. Her feet dug into the clay of the riverbed. Beyond her, she heard the slow grumble of the hippopotami as they moved to their favored sleeping grounds. She took out the knife that she had stolen and cut a slash across her palm. She held her hand above the clay dolls' face. Blood ran down her wrist and dripped onto the dolls mud skin, where it was instantly absorbed. Dark rivulets ran over the white cowry shells.

Inspiration: Listening to some Wyclef, thinking of sorta-similar setting but not really...wound up in Africa.
Story Potential: High!
Finished Length: Short story.
Notes: There's lots of fairytales about changelings. I don't know of any African ones (and why is it that Europeans get fairy tales, but Africans get folk tales?), but that's the tone I want here. And instead of being stolen, the girl makes her own replacement. There could be all kinds of reasons why, but eventually she wants to reclaim herself from the clay doll, and it requires some significant work.