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So, picture this. A man leaves his
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crying wife in the middle of a rainstorm
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for her best friend. Yeah, you heard
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right. Not a stranger, not a random
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Her ride or die bestie. But don't worry,
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Karma wasn't asleep. She was just
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sipping her hibiscus tea, warming up her
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And oh, when she clapped back, even
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Thunder said, "Dang, that's cold." This
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is not just a story. It's a cautionary
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African folktale laced with betrayal,
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spice, and the kind of justice that
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makes you want to shout, "Serve it
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hotter." Welcome back to Whisper Root
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Tales, the only place where African
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wisdom slaps harder than your auntie
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Sunday stew. Today we're diving deep
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into a story so spicy even Jalof Rice
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would sweat. Grab your chin because here
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comes ready buckle up and hold on to
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your goats. Let's rewind the drum beat
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and get to the root of the rot. Eken and
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his wife Adora were the kind of couple
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that made elders nod in approval and
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jealous aunties whisper, "Nawwa, this
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one's sweet like honey." They had the
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type of love you only read about in
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folktales and palm wine soaked fireside
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stories. Adora was loyal to a fault,
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cooking his meals before the
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crowed, bathing his feet when he
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returned from the farm, and praying
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every night that the gods would protect
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her husband from evil. And they did
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until he became the evil point. One day,
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Adorin noticed a change. Ekken stopped
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calling her my moonlight and started
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calling her madam. He'd eat her food
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like it was poisoned, grunt at her
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affection like a wild boar, and vanish
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at night like he was auditioning for
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village of shadows. Now, Adora,
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she wasn't stupid. Her instincts were
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sharper than a butcher's knife. But
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guess what? The betrayal didn't come
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from the corner of the village or from a
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stranger with shiny anklets. It came
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from her best friend, Nosy. Yes, her
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The one she used to split roasted
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plantins with. The one she defended when
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others mocked her for being unmarried.
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The one she invited to her home, fed,
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and treated like a sister. Turns out
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while Adora was singing her husband's
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praises, Goi was humming him lullabies
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in secret. Andy Keen. Oh, he was all too
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happy to fall for the flattery. And Goi
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told him things Adora wouldn't. Like,
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you're too fine to be working the farm.
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A man like you should own the market.
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She gassed him up so high he forgot he
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was just an okra seller with one pair of
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sandals and before we could say chinidu
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eqin dropped the bombshell no
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just packed his rapper took his sandals
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and left Adora standing at the doorway
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crying like the skies had fallen rain
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poured that day not just from the
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heavens but from Adora's soul. She wept
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so hard even the village stream
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overflowed like it felt her pain. The
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betrayal was biblical. People in the
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village were stunned. He left Adora
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for Gozi. It was like trading a golden
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drum for a broken flute. And the worst
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still loved him. She begged him to stay.
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Not because she was weak, but because
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her heart still believed in their
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promise. But he keen. He was blind. not
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from dust, but from pride and lust. He
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turned his back on the woman who built
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him, and walked into the arms of someone
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who was only there to burn what Adora
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had built. When you spit on the hands
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that fed you, don't be shocked when
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hunger finds you again. Now, buckle your
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wrappers, because if you thought was
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messy is where the pot of a gussy soup
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truly begins to boil over. So I left his
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crying wife Adora in a puddle of
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heartbreak and walked straight into the
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arms of Nosi, the so-called best friend.
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He thought he was trading old rice for
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fresh galaf. But spoiler alert, it was
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just leftover heartbreak with a spicy
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side of sabotage. At first, life with
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nosy felt like paradise. Well, the fake
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Instagram filter kind of paradise.
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him, whispered sweet nothings like,
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"You're a king. My lion Adora never saw
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your greatness. She fed his ego like it
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was a sacred goat, massaging his feet,
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calling him my crown, and wearing tight
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rappers with dangerous intentions.
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Andy Keen, he was eating it up faster
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than a hungry boy during New Yam
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Festival. But here's where the drum beat
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changes. Slowly things started to shift.
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Doz became transactional.
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Her voice, once syrupy sweet, started
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carrying daggers dipped in sarcasm. She
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no longer called him my king. Now it
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was, "So, are you not a man? Can't you
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even provide common firewood?" A sharp
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fall from royalty to ridicule. First,
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Iken tried to brush it off. "She's just
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stressed," he said. "But my brother Goi
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was not stressed. She was strategic."
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Because you see, didn't just stumble
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into Eken's arms by accident.
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No, no. This was chess, not checkers.
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This was revenge. Let's rewind for a hot
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second years ago. Eken humiliated Dozi
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in public. Back when she had nothing, he
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mocked her singleness in the market
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square, calling her a woman no man would
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ever marry. The whole village laughed.
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Gozi never forgot. Do when the chance
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came to destroy his peace and steal his
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comfort, she served it cold with pepper
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and garnished shame. Now with a keen in
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her grip, she began her operation
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mission cleanout. First she convinced
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him to sell Adora's farmland to
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start a new life. Then she pressured him
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into giving her control of his savings.
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"Let me help you invest," she said,
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flashing that crocodile smile. He handed
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over everything, bank account,
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livestock, even the land his grandfather
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left behind. Within months, it all
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vanished. Goi took the money, claimed he
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mismanaged it, then turned around and
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said, "A man who cannot provide is no
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man at all." Eken went from husband to
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handbag, carried around when convenient,
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dropped when useless.
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She even started disappearing at night,
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coming back smelling like another man's
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cologne and roasted fish from across the
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river. And keen, the once proud lion,
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reduced to begging her for bus fair, his
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dignity was being eaten slowly like
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feasting on a wooden stool. And what
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about Adora, the woman he betrayed? She
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was still picking up the pieces of her
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broken heart. But we'll get to her power
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move in a later fact. For now, just know
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this. I left his comfort for chaos,
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loyalty for lust, gold for glitter, and
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gozy. She didn't fall in love. She fell
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into position like a hunter who had
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waited patiently in the shadows. This
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wasn't a love story. It was a trap. And
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Eken walked right into it wearing a
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blindfold and pride. Moral of this
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twisted chapter. When you betray someone
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who prayed for your rise, don't cry when
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you fall and no one's left to catch you.
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Because the one you chose might be
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holding the knife, not your hand. Now in
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every African village, there are three
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things that spread faster than wildfire.
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Gossip, rain during planting season. The
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downfall of a man who thought he was too
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clever. I keen had become the talk of
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the village and not in a good way. Not
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long ago, he used to strut through the
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village square like a proud peacock.
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You know the type. Chest puffed out,
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rapper tied like a prince, chin up like
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he owned the moon. He was the man.
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married to the beautiful Adora,
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respected by elders, envied by his
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peers. But now, oh, how the mighty had
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tumbled and hit every branch on the
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Irakco tree of shame on the way down. It
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te started small. A few whispers at the
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palm wine joint. Is that not wearing the
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same rapper for the third market day in
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a row? Hm. I hear he's now fetching
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water for Goz's younger sister. Then
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And when the nicknames come in an
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African village, you know your
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reputation has been roasted. They called
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him Aken the ex- king okra legs. Because
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he'd slip into trouble like okra soup
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slips off a spoon. And the most brutal
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Even the village children, those tiny
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mouthy humans with no chill joined in.
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You'd hear things like, "Chike, eat your
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food." Or, "Eken will come and marry
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come and dance for one Cabo. At one
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point, a mischievous boy named Ienna
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named his goat Eken. And when the goat
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got into trouble, the whole compound
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would hear, "I keen, stop chewing the
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chief's shoe." Imagine the insult. A man
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once respected, now sharing names. with
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livestock and being the butt of every
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joke between the cassava pile and the
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yam barn. And the worst part, he
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couldn't fight back a why because he
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knew the shame was real. He knew deep
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down that the villagers weren't lying.
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it. Every morning the confident, radiant
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man he used to be was gone. Now he
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looked like a sack of disappointment and
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regret. And let me tell you, in an
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African village, reputation is not just
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your name. It's your currency, your
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shield, your legacy. Once it's gone,
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you're poorer than a farmer in dry
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season. Even the elders who once praised
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him began to cross the road. When they
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saw him, one old man was overheard
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muttering, "This is what happens when
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you chase hips and abandon heart. The
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drums of shame were louder than the
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drums of the New Yam Festival." And as
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the ridicule spread from huts to hills,
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one truth rang louder than any talking
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drum. Iken wasn't just mocked. He became
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a walking proverb. Dot, a living,
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breathing lesson. People used his story
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to warn their children. If you lie like
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Eken, your future will sit on a broken
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stool. Marry with your head, not your
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eyes, or you'll end up like the man who
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traded a home for hot trouble. His
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downfall became a folktale in the
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making. The griats and storytellers
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songs. Even the masquerades danced with
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extra mockery during festivals as if
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their moves said, "Look what pride can
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do." When you climb a tree of betrayal,
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don't be surprised when the branches
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break one by one and the audience below
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is clapping after marrying Dozy. Every
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business een touched turned to ash. He
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bought a cassava farm. Locusts came
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dancing like it was Afrobeat's night. He
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tried trading cola nuts. They fermented
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mid-market. Even the chickens stopped
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laying eggs. Local elders whispered,
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"This is what happens when you feed
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betrayal and starve loyalty." Iken began
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having strange dreams. "His late
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grandfather showed up wearing a red cap
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and holding a cane." Like, "So, you
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dishonor your wife for her best friend?"
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E. He'd wake up sweating, sometimes
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Drums would beat outside his hut at
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night, but no one was there. Even his
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shadow left him. While Aken was busy
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collapsing like Jenga in a windstorm,
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his ex-wife was quietly planting seeds,
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literally and metaphorically. She
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started a groundnut oil business. Then a
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catering company. Next thing you know,
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the village chief's son proposed.
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Tall, dark with cows.
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rich cows. She went from Akin's
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ex to her royal highness of boss moves.
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Turns out Gozi had side chicks, too.
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Plot twist. She married a keen for
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Why? Because years ago he mocked her at
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the village. Well, she confessed it all
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during a heated argument, then left him
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for a traveling herbalist with six-pack
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abs and spiritual powers. And he keen.
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He was left crying under a mango tree,
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whispering, "What have I done?" During
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the yam festival, Ikin tried to sneak in
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wearing a torn wrapper. But the village
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MC spotted him and shouted, "Ah, even
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karma day celebrate today. Everyone clap
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for Aken the betrayer." The crowd
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cheered. He left in shame again. And
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this time, even the drummers refused to
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play. I tried to reconnect with his
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But guess what? They called his
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ex-wife's new husband, Papa. They said,
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"You may be our father, but you're not
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our dad." Cold? Nah, that's deep frozen
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betrayal served with palm wine and
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closure. I in the end, Eken grew old
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alone. No wife, no friends, no goats,
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just echoes of his mistakes and a wooden
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stool under a sad tree. The same woman
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he discarded is now a respected village
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queen. And karma. Oh, karma. She sat
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beside him every day laughing. So here's
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the moral straight from the heart of
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African wisdom. Betrayal might bring
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pleasure today, but karma always brings
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receipts tomorrow. Don't trade loyalty
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for lust. Don't chase butterflies and
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lose your garden. If you loved this tale
13:58
and want more fiery folk tales that hit
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like thunder and dance like fire, smash
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that like button, subscribe for your
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weekly dose of African storytelling.
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Gold and drop in the comments if karma's
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ever visited someone you know. We won't
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tell. This is Whisper Root Tales where
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we don't just tell stories, we serve
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justice with Jalof. Until next time,
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stay wise and stay spicy.
