12/10/2025
😭 life 🤔 In the quiet village of Ibadan in South West Nigeria, nestled among lush yam farms and dusty paths, lived a woman named Adunni. She was in her late forties, with no husband or children, living alone in a modest mud house with a thatched roof. Her home was small but always open, filled with the laughter of village children she cared for with her meager earnings from selling vegetables at the local market. Adunni had a heart wider than the Ogun River, and though she had little, she shared it generously, feeding hungry children, mending their torn clothes, and telling them stories under the mango tree.
One sunny afternoon, a bitter quarrel erupted at the market. A couple, Femi and Ronke, accused Adunni of shortchanging them on a bunch of ugu leaves. The argument grew heated, drawing a small crowd. Despite Adunni’s calm explanations, Femi spat venomous words: “Barren woman! You have no children, no legacy, and now you cheat us?” Ronke joined in, mocking Adunni’s childlessness. The words cut deep, like a machete through yam. Humiliated, Adunni gathered her basket and fled home, tears streaming down her face. For three days, she stayed indoors, her heart heavy with grief, refusing to step outside.
The villagers, noticing her absence, grew worried. Mama Tunde, the village gossip, and Baba Alaba, the elder, led a group to her doorstep. Adunni, eyes swollen, recounted the couple’s cruel words. The villagers consoled her, reminding her of her kindness to their children. “You are a mother to us all,” Mama Tunde said, squeezing her hand. Adunni managed a weak smile but carried the pain quietly.
Years passed, and Adunni grew old. Her strength waned, her back bent from years of toil. The children she once cared for had grown, and many moved to cities, leaving the village quieter. Some villagers, swayed by superstition, began whispering that Adunni’s childlessness was a curse, calling her a witch behind her back. The same people who once ate her food now turned away when she shuffled by, her basket empty, her steps slow. Adunni, now in her seventies, struggled to fetch water or buy food, abandoned by those she had nurtured.
One scorching afternoon, as Adunni trudged along the dirt road to beg for scraps, her legs gave way. She collapsed, dust rising around her frail body. Passersby glanced but hurried on, unwilling to help the “witch.” But fate had other plans. A sleek silver Mercedes-Benz slowed to a stop. Out stepped Funke, a young woman in her thirties, dressed in a tailored suit, her face kind but determined. Funke, a successful lawyer from Lagos, was visiting Ibadan for a family errand. She knelt beside Adunni, pouring water from a bottle onto her lips and fanning her face. Villagers, seeing the fancy car, gathered, some pretending concern, calling out, “Mama Adunni, are you okay?” Funke ignored them, lifting Adunni into her car and speeding to the nearest hospital.
At the hospital, Funke ensured Adunni received proper care—IV fluids, nutritious meals, and rest. For a month, she visited daily, bringing clothes and books, learning Adunni’s story. Touched by her selflessness, Funke decided to do more. She returned to Ibadan and built Adunni a sturdy brick house with a zinc roof, complete with a small garden for her vegetables. Then, in a gesture that stunned the village, Funke arranged for Adunni to visit her in London for three months. Adunni, who had never left Oyo State, marveled at the airplane and the city’s lights, returning with stories that left the village children wide-eyed.
Back in Ibadan, the same villagers who had mocked Adunni now came with apologies, their faces painted with shame. Femi and Ronke, now older and humbled, begged forgiveness at her doorstep. Adunni, her spirit unbroken, forgave them but kept her distance. “Words cut, but my heart is for the children,” she said softly. Her new home became a haven again, filled with the laughter of village children. Adunni, with Funke’s support, continued her kindness, sharing food, stories, and love, proving that a mother’s heart needs no children of her own to shine.
And so, Adunni lived on, her name whispered with respect in Ibadan, a testament to resilience and the power of a single act of kindness rippling through a village forever.
Always do good 🤗
