Shadows and Secrets, Tunde The Orphan Part 6, African Nigerian Stories, Tales, Folktales

Shadows and Secrets, Tunde The Orphan Part 6, African Nigerian Stories, Tales, Folktales

The evening air was thick with the scent of earth and the faint hum of crickets as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village in hues of deep orange and purple. Baba Mufu sat on the wooden bench outside his mud-walled home, staring out at the quiet paths. Mama Tinu, her fingers busy weaving a small basket, occasionally glanced at her husband. Their days had become quieter, heavier, with Tunde’s strange behavior shadowing their once lively home.

The soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence. They both looked up to see Tunde approaching, his figure framed by the dim glow of the setting sun. There was something different about him tonight. His usual haunted expression was gone, replaced by an intense light in his eyes that seemed to flicker with an otherworldly energy.

“Grandfather, Grandmother,” Tunde began, his voice steady but low. “I need to tell you something.”

Baba Mufu exchanged a glance with Mama Tinu, who set her basket aside and leaned forward, her eyes full of hope and concern. Tunde sat cross-legged on the ground before them, his head bowed for a moment as though gathering the strength to speak.

“The river… it showed me things,” Tunde said finally, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and sorrow. “When I was gone, I met someone. A shadowy figure… not of this world.”

Mama Tinu gasped softly, her hands instinctively clutching her wrapper. Baba Mufu leaned forward, his brows furrowed deeply. “A shadowy figure?” he repeated. “What do you mean, Tunde?”

Tunde nodded slowly. “I don’t know if it was a man or a woman, but it felt… old, older than anything I’ve ever known. It called my name, whispered it like the wind through the trees. And then it showed me… visions.”

Baba Mufu’s heart thudded in his chest. “What kind of visions?”

Tunde’s gaze lifted to meet his grandfather’s, his dark eyes brimming with emotion. “Of you. Of Grandmother. Of everything you’ve done for me, all the sacrifices you’ve made. The figure said my ancestors are watching me. They are not pleased.”

Mama Tinu’s breath caught, tears welling in her eyes. “Your ancestors?” she whispered. “What did they show you, my son?”

“They showed me your struggles,” Tunde said, his voice trembling now. “How you raised me when you were already tired, how you worked in the fields when your bodies ached, how you gave up so much just to make sure I had enough to eat and a place to sleep.”

He paused, his hands curling into fists. “And they showed me myself. My behavior. My defiance. The trouble I caused you, the times I ran away or refused to help. I saw it all, and… and I felt it. I felt your pain.”

Mama Tinu began to cry softly, her tears falling onto her lap. Baba Mufu’s hands gripped the edge of the bench tightly, his knuckles white. He wanted to speak, to say something to comfort his grandson, but no words came.

“The figure said I had been blind,” Tunde continued, his voice breaking. “Blind to your love, blind to your sacrifices. It said that if I didn’t change, I would lose more than I could ever understand.”

Baba Mufu finally found his voice, though it was rough with emotion. “And have you changed, Tunde? Have you taken these warnings to heart?”

Tunde nodded, his face resolute. “Yes, Grandfather. I know I have been selfish. I know I have caused you both so much pain. I am sorry.” His voice cracked, and he bowed his head again, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Mama Tinu reached out, pulling Tunde into her arms. “Oh, my boy,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “We love you. We always have.”

For a moment, the three of them sat in silence, the weight of Tunde’s confession hanging in the air. The crickets’ song filled the space between their words, a gentle reminder of the world beyond their small, intimate circle.

But Tunde was not finished. He pulled away slightly, looking up at his grandparents. “There’s more,” he said, his voice steadier now. “The figure… it told me something else.”

“What is it, my son?” Baba Mufu asked, his tone cautious.

Tunde’s eyes darkened, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “It said that the river has claimed me. That I will always be connected to it. It warned me that I must honor the river, or it will take everything.”

Mama Tinu gasped again, her hand flying to her mouth. Baba Mufu’s jaw tightened, and he leaned closer to Tunde. “What does that mean, Tunde? How has the river claimed you?”

“I don’t fully understand,” Tunde admitted. “But I feel it, Grandfather. I feel her presence even now. She watches me, listens to me. I can’t explain it, but I know that if I ignore her, if I forget what I’ve seen, something terrible will happen.”

Baba Mufu sat back, his mind racing. He had heard stories of people being claimed by spirits, of pacts made with forces beyond their understanding. But he had never thought it could happen to someone in his family, to his grandson.

“You are ours, Tunde,” he said firmly, his voice filled with resolve. “Not the river’s, not anyone else’s. Whatever this spirit has told you, we will face it together.”

Tunde nodded, his expression a mix of relief and fear. “Thank you, Grandfather. But I feel that this is something I must carry alone. I will honor the river, but I will also honor you and Grandmother. I will not let her take me away from you.”

Mama Tinu wiped her tears, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. “We will protect you, my boy. No spirit, no river, can take you from us.”

The days that followed were strange yet hopeful. Tunde seemed lighter, as though the weight of his confession had lifted part of the burden he carried. He began helping around the house again, fetching water, tending to the fields, and even sharing small smiles with his grandparents. Though he was still quiet, there was a warmth to his silence that had been missing before.

But the river never left him. Tunde continued to visit it daily, sitting by its edge, his lips moving in silent prayer or conversation. Baba Mufu and Mama Tinu watched from afar, their hearts torn between pride in his growth and fear of the unseen force that still held him.

The villagers, too, began to notice the change in Tunde. Though they were still wary of him, they saw him working with his grandparents, his face calm and determined. Some began to whisper that perhaps the boy had been blessed by the river, not cursed, that he had been chosen for something greater.

One evening, as the three of them sat together outside their home, Tunde looked at his grandparents with a small, genuine smile. “I will honor you both, just as the figure told me to. I will be the grandson you deserve.”

Mama Tinu reached for his hand, her eyes shining with tears. “You have always been that grandson, Tunde. We love you, no matter what.”

Baba Mufu nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “You are our family, Tunde. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”

As the stars appeared in the night sky, the three of them sat in peaceful silence, their bond stronger than ever. Though shadows lingered in the corners of their lives, the love they shared was a light that no spirit, no river, could extinguish.