ABÍKÉ – ỌMỌ ÌYÁ ÀÌSÍ (ABIKE THE MOTHERLESS CHILD)  

A Yoruba village story written by Mr. Ezy (BRENY TV)

📘EPISODE 9📘

The morning after the raid was silent.

Not the gentle silence of peace, but the hollow quiet that follows ruin. The smoke had thinned, but its scent lingered, clinging to the trees, the broken walls, and the memories that refused to die.

Abíké stood before the ruins of Mama Abeke’s compound. The air was still heavy with soot. Her eyes traced the blackened mortar, the fallen pestle, the clay pots that once held soup and laughter. Now they were graves of memory.

Mama Abeke sat nearby, her leg wrapped in herbs, staring blankly into the distance. The children of Ilépa huddled together, their laughter gone, their innocence scorched by fire. Hunters patrolled the forest’s edge, wary of another ambush.

But amidst the despair, Adigun worked tirelessly, building, comforting, holding the community together with his quiet strength.

Abíké watched him from afar, torn between gratitude and guilt. Every time she saw him lift a burnt log, or guide a crying child, her chest ached. He had risked his life for her. And because of her, Ilépa had burned.

That night, when the moon rose, she walked down to the stream, the same place where she first met him. The water shimmered faintly, carrying reflections of a shattered sky.

She whispered,

 “Iyá mi… you said peace would come when I forgive. But how do I forgive myself?”

The wind answered with a soft rustle, carrying a faint scent of rain and wildflowers — her mother’s scent.

From behind her came a voice, calm, deep, familiar.

 “You should not be alone here.”

She turned. Adigun stood a few steps away, the moonlight tracing the lines of weariness on his face. He had a bandage on his arm, yet his presence felt like the one unbroken thing left in the world.

Abíké looked away. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He walked closer, his steps soft on the earth. “None of us can. Too many ghosts in the night.”

She swallowed. “Adigun… Ilépa burned because of me. Kazeem came for me. If I hadn’t”

He stopped her with a look, gentle but firm. “Do not finish that sentence. The fire was not yours to bear. Evil finds its own road; you only crossed its path.”

She turned to him, eyes glistening. “Then why do I still feel their pain inside me?”

Adigun sighed, lowering himself to sit beside her. “Because you have a heart that remembers. But hearts like that are also the ones that heal villages.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the croak of frogs and the sigh of the wind. The stream whispered secrets to the stones.

Then Adigun spoke again, his tone softer. “Before the raid, my mother said something strange. She said you were sent to Ilépa for a reason greater than we see. Maybe she was right.”

Abíké shook her head. “I don’t believe in destiny anymore. I believe in survival.”

Adigun smiled faintly. “Sometimes survival is destiny.”

Their eyes met. Something warm and unspoken passed between them, something fragile, something forbidden by grief but blessed by fate.

She looked away first. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said quietly.

His smile faded. “Leaving? To where?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I can’t stay. Everywhere I go, death follows. I don’t want to curse this village too.”

Adigun’s jaw tightened. “You are not a curse, Abíké. You are a wound the gods are trying to heal through fire.”

Her voice trembled. “And what if I fail them again?”

He reached out slowly and took her hand, rough, scarred, trembling. “Then I will help you stand again. As many times as it takes.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to pull away, but she didn’t. The warmth of his hand felt like sunlight after a long harmattan.

They sat like that two broken souls holding on to the faint thread of dawn.

By morning, the rebuilding began. Villagers cleared ashes, children fetched water, and life stubborn, beautiful life began to whisper again through Ilépa’s ruins.

Abíké joined them, carrying mud, rebuilding walls, weaving new mats. With every stone she laid, she felt a little lighter.

But her nights were not free. She dreamed of fire, of Kazeem’s twisted face, of her mother’s ghost whispering, “Forgive…”

Sometimes she woke screaming, and Adigun would rush in, holding her until the tremors passed. He never asked what she saw. He just stayed.

One evening, as the sun sank crimson behind the palm grove, Mama Abeke called her aside.

“Abíké,” the old woman said, her voice frail but steady. “I have lived long enough to know that suffering is a teacher. But even the strongest spirit must rest before it learns again. You must go to the hills of Òtítọ́. There, the priestess of Oṣun dwells. She will help you cleanse your spirit.”

Abíké’s heart pounded. “Leave Ilépa?”

“Yes,” Mama Abeke said softly. “But not to run to heal. You will return when you are ready.”

Adigun overheard from a distance, and his face darkened with quiet worry. That night, he found her packing a small bag, her old wrapper, a gourd of water, and a charm Mama Abeke had tied with white cowries.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Abíké nodded. “I have to. My heart is full of ghosts.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “Then I will walk with you.”

She blinked in surprise. “You’ve done enough, Adigun.”

He smiled sadly. “Maybe. But maybe the gods joined our paths for a reason. You don’t have to face the road alone.”

Her lips parted, but words failed her. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

And so, when dawn broke, soft and golden, Abíké and Adigun began their journey toward the hills of Òtítọ́. The road was long and winding, lined with whispering trees and memories.

Behind them, Ilépa smoked faintly in the horizon, a reminder of what had been lost.

Ahead, mist rose from the valley, a promise of what might still be found.

And as they walked, a soft breeze whispered through the palms, carrying a voice only Abíké could hear:

 “Ẹ jẹ́ kí ifẹ́ rẹ yí ọ ká bí òrùn… (Let love surround you like the morning sun).”

Abíké smiled faintly through her tears.

For the first time, her heart didn’t feel like a grave, It felt like a beginning.

TO BE CONTINUED…………………..

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Hey 👋 my wonderful people…….sorry for this episode late, we were busy making beautiful movies for YouTube.