Legacy of the River, Tunde The Orphan Part 10, African Nigerian Stories, Novels, Tale, Folktale, History

Legacy of the River, Tunde The Orphan Part 10, African Nigerian Stories, Novels, Tale, Folktale, History

The river, timeless and serene, flowed gently under the silver light of the moon. Its surface shimmered like molten glass, reflecting the stars scattered across the velvet sky. Tunde sat on a smooth patch of grass near the water’s edge, his knees drawn up, his arms resting on them. His once boyish face now bore the wisdom of years and trials, his eyes steady and calm. Tonight, the river felt different—less like a force of mystery and more like an old friend.

It had been years since the river had first drawn him into its fold, since the shadowy figure had whispered its riddles and the spirits of his ancestors had revealed the truth of his purpose. Now, as a man with the weight of his journey behind him, Tunde could finally see the river for what it truly was: a mirror of life itself. Its surface was beautiful, but its depths held secrets, lessons, and the currents of history.

A Circle Completed

The village had grown quiet over the years. Baba Mufu and Mama Tinu had passed on, their spirits now among the ancestors Tunde honored every day. Their absence was felt, but their presence lingered in every corner of his life—their voices in the wind, their lessons in his heart. Tunde had kept his promise to them, ensuring their final years were filled with love and peace.

Tonight, as he sat by the river one last time, he felt their presence. It was as if they were sitting beside him, their hands resting gently on his shoulders, their voices mingling with the soft rustle of the trees. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

The Journey Remembered

Tunde’s mind wandered back to the boy he had been—a restless child, angry and confused, lashing out at the world. The river had terrified him, its depths seeming to hold a threat he couldn’t name. But it was here, at this very spot, that his life had changed forever.

He thought of the visions that had guided him: his parents, radiant and firm, urging him to honor their sacrifices; the ancestors, showing him the weight of his family’s legacy; the trials that had tested his strength, courage, and wisdom. The river had been both a teacher and a challenge, forcing him to confront his fears and grow into the man he was now.

“I didn’t understand then,” Tunde murmured, his voice low. “But I do now.”

A Man of Purpose

The village had not forgotten Tunde’s transformation. He had become more than a caretaker for his grandparents; he had become a pillar of the community. When disputes arose, it was Tunde who mediated. When crops failed, it was Tunde who organized the planting of new fields. When children ran through the village with the same mischief he had once carried, it was Tunde who gathered them to tell stories of their ancestors, teaching them the importance of respect and kindness.

“Tunde is the heart of this village,” Elder Oba had once said. “He is the thread that ties us to our past and guides us into the future.”

But Tunde had never sought praise or recognition. His actions were born from a deep sense of gratitude—for his grandparents, his parents, and the river that had shown him the path.

Whispers of the Ancestors

The breeze carried a faint whisper, soft and melodic. Tunde tilted his head, listening. It was the voice of his mother, gentle and soothing, followed by the steady cadence of his father’s wisdom. Then came the voices of Baba Mufu and Mama Tinu, their words woven with love and pride.

“You have done well, my son,” they seemed to say. “You have honored us.”

Tunde’s chest tightened, and tears welled in his eyes. He bowed his head and placed his hands on the cool grass. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered. “You were my guide, my strength.”

The whispers grew softer, blending into the sound of the river’s flow. Tunde felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The ancestors were with him, as they had always been, watching, guiding, and protecting him.

-The Final Prayer**

The moon reached its zenith, casting a silvery glow over the water. Tunde rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. He stood at the river’s edge, the gentle waves lapping at his feet. The night was still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Tunde clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. His voice, steady and clear, carried across the water.

“Spirits of the river, ancestors who watch over me, I thank you. For the lessons, the strength, and the love you have shown me. I promise to carry your wisdom forward, to honor your memory in all that I do. May the river flow peacefully, as life should, and may I walk its path with humility and grace.”

As he finished, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves and creating gentle ripples on the river’s surface. It was as though the spirits were answering, their approval felt rather than heard.

—

### **Turning Away**

With a final glance at the river, Tunde turned away. The path leading back to the village was bathed in moonlight, each step a reminder of the journey he had walked to reach this point. He felt no fear, no uncertainty—only the calm assurance of a man who had faced his trials and found his place in the world.

The village was quiet as he entered, the soft glow of lanterns spilling from windows. He walked past the mud-walled homes, the familiar paths that had shaped his childhood. He paused outside his own home, the same house where Baba Mufu and Mama Tinu had raised him, and where he had spent years learning to become the man he was now.

Inside, he sat by the fire, gazing at the wooden carvings he had made in honor of his family. Each figure represented a story, a lesson, a piece of his legacy. Tunde smiled, his heart full. He knew that his life was not his alone—it was a thread in a tapestry woven by those who had come before him and those who would come after.

—

### **A Legacy Renewed**

In the years that followed, Tunde’s story became a part of the village’s lore. Parents told their children about the boy who had been guided by the river and transformed by the love of his family. His name was spoken with reverence, his actions a model for generations to come.

Tunde himself remained humble, always mindful of the lessons he had learned. He continued to care for the village, to teach its children, and to honor the river that had shaped his life.

And on quiet nights, when the moon was full and the village lay still, Tunde would return to the river. He would sit by its edge, listening to its whispers, feeling the presence of his ancestors. He no longer feared its depths. Instead, he saw in its flow the endless cycle of life—a reminder that we are all part of something greater.

The river, timeless and unchanging, carried his prayers and his gratitude. And as it flowed on, so too did Tunde’s legacy—a legacy of strength, love, and the unbreakable bonds of family.