26/09/2024
Night with a Bush Baby
The day ended like it always will, but something felt off in the village of Umunne. The air was heavy, thick with an eerie stillness. That evening, the villagers heard a sound that sent shivers down their spines—a soft, mournful cry echoing through the forest. It was the cry of the Bush Baby.
Superstition held that when the Bush Baby cried endlessly, a great man was about to die. The wailing was so unsettling that no one dared venture out of their homes. But Adaora, curious and fearless, ignored the warnings. Her ailing grandmother needed herbs, and the best ones grew deep in the forest.
As Adaora made her way through the dark woods, the cries grew louder, almost as if the Bush Baby was following her. She quickened her pace, feeling as though unseen eyes were watching her every step. Then, out of the shadows, it appeared.
The Bush Baby was small but terrifying, with long, tangled hair that dragged across the forest floor. Its eyes glowed faintly, and its mouth opened to emit another mournful wail, the sound piercing the night air. Adaora froze, heart hammering in her chest.
The creature’s voice suddenly broke through the sobbing, “You… I’ve been waiting for you.”
Before Adaora could react, the Bush Baby spat a small flame from its mouth, and with a quick motion, it threw a large, magical leaf over her. The world around her vanished—she was now invisible to anyone in the real world, trapped in a secret realm with the creature.
But the Bush Baby did not harm her. Instead, it showed her the secrets of the forest. It taught her how to use leaves and herbs to cure the gravest of illnesses, how to heal wounds that no doctor could treat. Night after night, the Bush Baby would disappear, stealing food from nearby huts to keep her alive.
Yet every time it returned, it was crying, its sobs growing louder and more sorrowful. Adaora knew the legend: a great man was about to die. But who? Was it someone in her family? The thought gnawed at her.
As the weeks passed, the Bush Baby grew weaker. Its once-flowing hair became tangled with thorns, and its flames were barely more than a flicker. One evening, it came back from one of its mysterious trips and collapsed beside her. Between sobs, it whispered, “The secret to my power lies in my hair. But if you cut it, I will vanish, and you will return home. If you don’t, you will stay in this world forever.”
Torn, Adaora didn’t know what to do. She had learned so much from the Bush Baby—knowledge that could save lives. But she longed to return to her family, to warn them about the impending death.
With trembling hands, she waited until the creature fell asleep, its sobs quieter now but still present. Taking a sharp stone she had found earlier, she carefully cut a lock of the creature’s long, magical hair.
The Bush Baby let out a soft wail, its body fading slowly, and its hair disintegrating into smoke. The invisible world around Adaora began to dissolve. In the blink of an eye, she was back at the edge of her village, clutching the lock of hair tightly in her hand.
As she approached her home, she found the villagers gathered around a hut. Her heart sank. Her father, the village elder and a great man, had passed away that very night. The Bush Baby’s cries had foretold his death.
Though grief-stricken, Adaora shared the knowledge she had gained from the Bush Baby. She became the village’s healer, using the secret herbs and plants to cure illnesses and save lives. But she would never forget the creature’s wails, nor the price she had paid for the wisdom she now carried.
And on certain nights, when the wind howled through the trees and a soft cry echoed in the distance, Adaora would stop and listen. The Bush Baby’s sorrowful cry was never far away, reminding her that even the greatest gifts come with a shadow of loss.
Moral: There is power in knowledge, but often, wisdom comes at a price. The cost may be more than what we’re prepared to bear.