07/07/2025
An African Folktale of Sorrow, Redemption, and the Power of Kindness* ---In the heart of the Niger Delta, where the river whispered secrets to the mangroves and the wind carried the songs of ancestors, there lay the village of Ogidi. The people of Ogidi lived in harmony with the land, guided by the wisdom of their elders and the spirits of their forefathers. But one child walked among them like a shadow—Adesuwa, the girl born under the bleeding moon. # # # **The Mark of the Blood Moon** On the night of Adesuwa’s birth, the moon hung low and red in the sky, staining the earth with its eerie glow. The village diviner, Baba Ifá, shook his head gravely. *"This child walks with spirits,"* he murmured. *"Her path will be heavy with tears."* The villagers took his words as a warning, not a prophecy. For twelve years, Adesuwa grew like a wildflower—beautiful but untended. She had her mother’s gentle hands and her father’s laughter, but when the great sickness came, stealing breath from lungs and light from eyes, it was Adesuwa they blamed. *"She was born under the cursed moon!"* the women wailed. *"The spirits punish us through her!"* the men declared. And so, the girl who once played barefoot in the red earth became the village ghost. # # # **The Weight of the Curse** Adesuwa’s days were a tapestry of loneliness. Children crossed the road to avoid her shadow. Market women sprinkled salt behind her to cleanse her footsteps. Even the dogs, wise in the ways of men, slunk away when she passed. She lived in a hut at the edge of the village, where the forest crept close as if to comfort her. At night, she whispered to the fireflies: *"If I am truly cursed, why does my heart still love them?"* But the fireflies had no answers. # # # **The Dream of the Old Mother** One evening, as Adesuwa knelt by the river to wash her tears away, the water stilled. Not a ripple, not a sound. Then— *"Daughter."* An ancient woman stood before her, her skin like cracked pottery, her eyes deep as the roots of the iroko tree. *"You carry what does not belong to you,"* the old woman said. *"The curse was never yours—it was their fear that gave it power."* Adesuwa’s breath caught. *"How do I break it?"* The old woman pointed westward, where the sun drowned in the horizon. *"Find the Tree of Weeping Voices. Offer it your sorrow. But beware—the journey will test your spirit."
