01/10/2025
The Keepers of Heritage – Part Two
Years passed, and the world around the village began to change. Radios brought foreign songs, markets filled with factory-made fabrics, and stories once told under the moon were replaced with the bright lights of televisions in nearby towns. Some of the younger ones laughed at old customs, calling them “outdated,” forgetting that roots feed the tree.
Mama Efe and Mama Adaeze did not scold them; instead, they taught with patience. Mama Efe invited the village girls to sit with her by the loom. She placed their hands on the wooden frame, guiding them thread by thread, until their clumsy fingers found rhythm. Each cloth they wove became more than fabric—it was a reminder that beauty made by hand carries the breath of the ancestors.
Mama Adaeze, too, gathered children in the evenings. She no longer spoke only of tortoise and hare, but of their own forefathers who had tilled the soil, defended the land, and kept the customs alive. She would pause in her stories, looking into their eyes, and say: “When you forget where you come from, you lose where you are going.”
Slowly, the children began to understand. At weddings, brides wrapped themselves in Mama Efe’s woven cloth. At naming ceremonies, parents recited Mama Adaeze’s proverbs to bless their newborns. Even those who had left for the city returned during festivals, proud to wear the cloth of their village and to listen once more to the voice of heritage.
By the time both women grew frail, their names had become songs of honor. They were no longer just Mama Efe and Mama Adaeze—they were the Keepers of Heritage, pillars who showed their people that tradition is not a burden but a lamp, lighting the path of generations.
