A Strange Dream, Tunde The Orphan Part 2, African Nigerian Stories, Tales, ForkTales, Novels

That night, as Baba Mufu lay on his mat, the weight of the day pressed heavily on him. Tunde’s defiance had reached new heights, and Baba Mufu felt the helplessness gnaw at him. Despite his years of wisdom and resilience, he struggled to reach the boy. When he finally drifted into sleep, he entered a world as unsettling as his waking reality.

In his dream, he found himself standing at the edge of a vast, dark river. The water stretched endlessly, like a mirror under the pale glow of the moon, shimmering with an eerie, otherworldly light. Everything around him was silent—no whispers of the wind, no rustling of the trees, only the soft lapping of water against the shore.

A chill ran down his spine as he stared at the water, feeling a strange, unsettling familiarity with the place. Suddenly, a shadow appeared, barely visible at the water’s edge, cloaked in darkness that seemed to swallow the moonlight. It stood motionless, like an ancient spirit bound to the river.

Then, it spoke.

“Mufu… Mufu…” The voice was low and haunting, reverberating through the air as if it were a part of the river itself. The sound wasn’t distinctly male or female, yet it carried a haunting sense of knowing, like a voice from deep within the earth, ageless and wise.

Baba Mufu felt his body tense. “Who are you?” he called out, his voice sounding weak against the vast silence.

The figure said nothing more but began to stretch its hand toward the river, pointing to the water with long, skeletal fingers that seemed to flicker in the moonlight. The river shifted, the shimmering surface breaking apart to reveal images—faces and moments from the past, glimpses of people he knew, places he had been, and a vision of Tunde, his expression lost, drifting away.

A deep sense of dread filled Baba Mufu’s heart. The scene before him seemed to pulsate, as if urging him to understand, to heed a warning he could not yet grasp. He tried to move, to reach for the figure, but his feet were frozen in place. The voice echoed again, softer this time, fading as the shadow dissolved into the shimmering river.

“Mufu… Mufu…”

Then, suddenly, the river vanished, and he was left standing in an empty, endless darkness. He jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest, his skin damp with cold sweat.

The room was dark, but the faintest sliver of moonlight crept through the window, casting soft shadows across the walls. Baba Mufu sat up, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself. He didn’t believe in omens, or so he told himself, but something about this dream had struck a nerve. It had felt real, too real, as though the river and the figure were reaching out to him from another realm.

As dawn began to break, he lay back down, but his mind was restless, haunted by the images he had seen.

The next morning, he couldn’t shake the lingering unease from the dream. As he sat outside their mud-walled house, he recounted the strange vision to Mama Tinu. She listened carefully, her eyes narrowed with concern as he described the endless river, the cloaked figure, and the voice that called his name.

“Dreams carry messages,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps it was a warning, Mufu. The river… maybe it has something to do with Tunde.” She glanced toward the path that led to the river, her expression growing tense.

Before Baba Mufu could respond, the door burst open, and Tunde ran in, breathless, with a wild look in his eyes. “I’m late!” he shouted. “The boys are waiting by the river!”

Baba Mufu’s heart skipped a beat, and the hairs on his arms prickled. The word “river” echoed in his mind, and the memory of the dream swept over him like a cold wave. He felt an instinctual fear rise within him, a feeling he couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore.

“Tunde, wait,” he said, his voice firmer than usual.

But Tunde was already halfway out the door, his youthful energy propelling him forward, oblivious to his grandfather’s concern. Baba Mufu reached out, but his hand caught only air as Tunde raced down the path toward the river.

Mama Tinu placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let him go, Mufu. The river has called him, whether we like it or not.”

Baba Mufu looked at her, his gaze filled with worry. The river from his dream felt like more than just a body of water now—it felt like a place of reckoning, a realm that held something beyond his understanding. And though he didn’t know why, he felt that whatever awaited Tunde there was more than just a meeting with friends.

Silently, he rose from his seat, his mind churning with thoughts. The dream had opened a door to something he didn’t yet understand. And as he watched Tunde disappear down the path, he prayed quietly, hoping that whatever awaited his grandson by the river would bring answers rather than sorrow.