Adaeze’s Hunger
Adaeze was a kind woman known for her gentle nature and radiant smile. But today, her face was shadowed with worry. Heavily pregnant and burdened by hunger, she sat outside her small hut one morning, clutching her growling stomach. Desperation etched lines on her face as she spoke softly to herself.
“Hunger is a cruel companion. My child, you kick so much… you too are hungry. Let me go to the forest. Perhaps the gods will show me mercy and provide something to fill this aching void.”
With determination, she rose slowly, supporting her back, and set off toward the dense forest. The forest was alive with the songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. Adaeze wandered deeper, her eyes scanning every tree and bush, searching for something—anything—to ease her hunger.
The Discovery
Suddenly, her gaze fell on something white and round, glistening in a patch of sunlight. Her heart skipped a beat. She moved closer and gasped in amazement.
“What is this?” she whispered. “Yams? No… too smooth. Ah! Eggs! Big, white eggs! Oh, Chineke, you have heard my prayers.”
Carefully, she approached the objects. They were massive, warm to the touch, and nestled together in a shallow pit. She hesitated, then realization struck her—they were python eggs. Fear flickered in her eyes as she glanced around nervously.
“Surely the python is not near,” she muttered. Then a smile spread across her face. “The gods have gifted me these eggs. I must take them home.”
Gathering all four eggs, she hurried back to her hut, excitement mingling with her hunger.
The Warning
Back in her hut, Adaeze placed the eggs carefully on her kitchen counter. She lit a fire and prepared a pot of water to boil. Her stomach growled louder in anticipation.
“My child,” she murmured, “tonight we feast. These eggs will nourish us both.”
As she dropped the first egg into the pot, a strange, eerie voice echoed through the room.
“Do not cook me.”
Adaeze froze. Her eyes widened in terror as she looked around the room. It was empty.
“Who… who speaks?” she stammered.
“Do not boil me, Adaeze. Return me to my mother,” the voice warned again.
Shaking her head, Adaeze muttered, “No! Hunger has driven me mad. These are just eggs.”
Ignoring the warning, she removed the egg from the pot and decided to fry it instead. She heated oil in a pan, but as she placed the egg in the sizzling oil, the voice returned.
“Do not fry me. I warned you. Return me to my mother.”
Frustration overtook her fear.
“Nonsense! You will feed me today, whether you like it or not.”
Determined, she prepared a pot of okra soup and cracked the eggs into the bubbling mixture. She devoured the meal greedily, licking her fingers in satisfaction.
“Delicious,” she said, patting her stomach. “Thank you, gods.”
The Python’s Wrath
Deep in the forest, the python—a majestic creature with gleaming scales—returned to her nest. She paused, her tongue flicking out, sensing something was amiss. She slithered closer and froze. Her nest was empty.
A low, mournful hiss escaped her lips as fury consumed her. Raising her head, she began to sing a haunting melody that echoed through the forest.
“Akwaeke Olima… Akwaeke Olima… Doorimama Doorima…2x
Akwaeke Olima… Akwaeke Olima… Doorimama Doorima…2x
Akwaeke m debere mana afughizi m ya… Doorimama 2x”
The song carried on the wind, reaching Adaeze’s hut. Suddenly, she clutched her stomach in pain as a strange voice echoed from within her.
“Nwanyi ime, ndo ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo! 2x
Inu ka nne m na-akpọ m? Ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo!
Inu ka nna m na-akpọ m? Ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo!
esie m esie nju Ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo!
eghe m eghee nju – Ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo!
imalu tinyere na utara riee – Ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo!
I warned you not to cook me, ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo.
I warned you not to fry me, ndo ndoooo, ndo ndo.
But you swallowed me with your okra soup!”
Adaeze’s face twisted in terror.
“What is happening to me?” she screamed.
The python’s song grew louder as she slithered closer to the village, her massive body weaving through the underbrush.
The Reckoning
The python reached Adaeze’s hut under the cover of night. Her massive coils gleamed in the moonlight as she raised her head and hissed. Inside, Adaeze heard the sound and hid under a pile of mats, trembling.
“Akwaeke Olima… Akwaeke Olima… Doorimama Doorima…2x
Akwaeke Olima… Akwaeke Olima… Doorimama Doorima…2x
Akwaeke m debere mana afughizi m ya… Doorimama 2x”
The eggs in Adaeze’s stomach responded again.
“Nne m, anyị na be a… nne m, anyị na be a!”
The Python crashed through the door, her golden eyes blazing. Adaeze screamed as their eyes met.
“Woman,” the python hissed, “you have stolen from me. Return my children!”
Adaeze fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.
“Forgive me! I was hungry. I meant no harm.”
The python’s voice was cold.
“My children do not belong to you. Now, you shall pay for your greed.”
With one swift strike, the python silenced Adaeze’s cries. The eggs were returned, and the python slithered away, leaving the village in silence.
The Lesson
The next morning, the villagers gathered outside Adaeze’s hut, whispering among themselves. An elder stepped forward, his voice heavy with sorrow and wisdom.
“Let this be a warning to us all,” he said. “The forest is sacred. Greed and disrespect for nature bring only tragedy. May Adaeze’s fate remind us to honor the balance of life.”
The villagers nodded solemnly.
Far away, deep in the forest, the python slithered back to her nest, her eggs safe once more. Her mournful song echoed one last time, a chilling reminder of her wrath.
“Akwaeke Olima… Akwaeke Olima… Doorimama Doorima…2x