Uche's Diaries

Why Whistling at Night Calls Trouble

An African Folktale of Wisdom, Respect, and Consequences
Long ago, in a quiet village hidden between tall baobab trees and golden grasslands, there lived a cheerful young boy named Tunde.
Tunde was loved by almost everyone in the village. He was clever, playful, and had a gift that made people smile—he could whistle more beautifully than anyone anyone had ever heard.

His whistles sounded like dancing birds greeting the sunrise, like river winds moving through palm trees, and like joyful songs from unseen spirits. Whenever Tunde whistled during the day, children danced, women laughed while pounding yam, and even goats lifted their heads as if listening to music.
But Tunde had one flaw.
He did not listen.
The elders often warned the children:
“When the sun sleeps, the world belongs to other ears.”

At night, the village changed.
Cooking fires dimmed into glowing embers. Crickets sang softly. The moon spread silver light across mud huts and quiet footpaths. Families stayed indoors, speaking gently.
Night was sacred.
The elders believed darkness was not empty. It was a time when unseen beings wandered—the ancestors, forest spirits, and restless tricksters who disliked being disturbed.
So one rule was known by all:
Never whistle at night.

But Tunde laughed whenever he heard this.
“What danger can come from a little song?” he would say.
One evening, after a village celebration, Tunde walked home under a bright moon. The air was cool, and the stars sparkled like scattered salt across black cloth.
He felt happy.
Too happy.
Without thinking, he placed two fingers in his mouth and released a long, sharp whistle into the night.

Fweeeeeeeeeee!
The sound cut through the silence like a knife.
At once, the crickets stopped singing.
The wind died.
Even the trees seemed to freeze.
Tunde lowered his hand.
Something felt wrong.
But after a moment, nothing happened.
He laughed.
“You see? Nothing!”

And he whistled again.
Fweeeeeee! Fwee-fweeeeee!
This time, somewhere deep in the darkness, another whistle answered.
Tweeeee...
Tunde’s smile disappeared.
He looked around.
No one was there.
Only shadows.
He began walking faster.

Then came another whistle—closer.
Tweeeeeee...
Not as sweet as his.
Not human.
It sounded stretched and hollow, like wind trapped inside bones.
Tunde’s heartbeat quickened.
He hurried down the narrow path toward his hut.
Behind him came footsteps.
Slow.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
He turned sharply.
Nothing.

But the footsteps stopped too.
Now fear crawled into his chest.
He ran.
The footsteps ran.
He burst into his mother’s hut, slamming the wooden door shut behind him.
“What happened?” his mother asked.
But Tunde was too breathless to answer.
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.

Three slow knocks landed on the door.
Everyone inside froze.
No visitor came at such an hour.
And no good visitor knocked like that.
Again—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Tunde’s grandmother gasped softly.
“What have you done?”
Tunde trembled.
“I… I whistled.”

The old woman closed her eyes.
The entire hut went silent.
She whispered to the family:
“No one must answer. No one must open.”
Outside, something circled the hut.
They heard soft footsteps scraping the earth.
Then came a voice, thin as smoke:
“Open... I heard my name.”
Tunde buried his face in his hands.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
The family stayed still until dawn.
No one slept.
When the first rooster crowed, the air suddenly became warm again. Birds began singing.
Morning had come.
Tunde slowly opened the door.
Outside were strange footprints surrounding the hut.
Not human.
Not animal.

Long marks, as if something with narrow feet and dragging claws had walked all night around the house.
The elders were called.
After seeing the marks, the oldest elder sighed.
“You called what should never be invited.”
He turned to the gathered children and said:
“Night listens differently from day. Some sounds are harmless beneath the sun, but dangerous beneath the moon.”
From that day onward, Tunde never whistled at night again.
And neither did anyone else.

Whenever children forgot and tried to whistle after sunset, their parents would quickly stop them and tell the story of Tunde and the answer that came from darkness.
And so, across many villages, the warning remained:
Whistle in the day, and people may dance.
Whistle at night, and something else may answer.

Moral Lessons:
Respect the wisdom of elders, even when you do not fully understand it.
Not every rule is made to limit joy; some are made for protection.
Pride and stubbornness often invite unnecessary trouble.
There is value in respecting traditions and boundaries.

Thank you for reading ❤️

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Why Monkey Never Builds a House

Long ago, when the earth was still young and animals spoke like humans, Monkey was known as the cleverest creature in all the forest. He was quick with words, fast with his hands, and always had a smile that could make even the grumpiest tortoise laugh.
But Monkey had one great weakness: he hated hard work.

While other animals spent their days preparing for the seasons, Monkey spent his days swinging from tree to tree, eating ripe mangoes, cracking jokes, and teasing anyone carrying heavy loads.
“Why do you all work so much?” Monkey would laugh, hanging upside down from a branch. “The world is wide, the trees are many, and the sky is free. Why waste your time building walls?”

The rainy season was approaching, and every animal in the village began building homes.
Elephant used his great strength to pile huge logs into a strong hut.
Beaver shaped wood carefully near the river.
Weaver Bird made a beautiful nest that danced in the wind.

Even tiny Ant spent days digging tunnels underground.
But Monkey? Monkey did nothing.
Instead, he wandered from place to place, offering “advice” he had no intention of following.
“Elephant, your roof is too flat,” he said, munching on bananas.
“Beaver, your walls are too thick,” he added.
“Weaver Bird, your home is too small!”
The animals grew tired of Monkey’s mockery.
One day, wise old Tortoise looked up from laying stones and said,
“Monkey, wisdom is not in talking. It is in preparing.”

Monkey laughed so hard he nearly fell from his branch.
“Prepare for what? Rain? I have fur! The forest is my house!”
The animals shook their heads and continued working.
Soon, dark clouds gathered over the land. The wind began to howl like hungry spirits. Thunder rolled across the sky. Then came the rain.
Not ordinary rain—but the kind that falls without mercy.

The rivers swelled. Trees bent low. The ground turned to mud.
One by one, the animals disappeared into their warm, dry homes.
Elephant sat comfortably inside his sturdy hut.
Beaver rested beside a fire.
Ant slept safely underground.
But Monkey had nowhere to go.
At first, he tried to hide beneath large leaves, but the rain tore through them.
Then he squeezed under a fallen log, but water flooded it.

He climbed a tree, thinking height would save him, but the wind shook the branches violently.
Cold, wet, and miserable, Monkey ran from house to house.
“Elephant! Please let me in!”
But Elephant replied,
“My house is full, and you laughed while I built it.”

Monkey rushed to Beaver’s home.
“Beaver! Open the door!”
Beaver answered,
“I worked while you mocked me.”
He knocked on every door, but no one let him in.

Not because they were cruel, but because Monkey had spent all his time enjoying the fruits of others’ labor while refusing to do any work of his own.
At last, shivering and soaked, Monkey climbed to the highest tree and curled up between two branches for the night.
By morning, the storm had passed. The sun rose warmly, drying the forest.
Monkey climbed down, exhausted and ashamed.

He went to Tortoise and bowed his head.
“You were right. I thought cleverness was enough. But cleverness without effort is emptiness.”
Tortoise nodded.
“The one who refuses to prepare will eventually borrow discomfort.”
Monkey promised he would build a house immediately.
But Monkey was still Monkey.
The moment the sun came out, the trees filled with sweet fruits, and the breeze felt pleasant again. Monkey stretched lazily, smiled, and said,

“Well… perhaps I will start tomorrow.”
Tomorrow became next week.
Next week became next season.
And so, Monkey never built a house.
To this day, when rain begins to fall, Monkey is seen jumping nervously from branch to branch, searching for shelter, still depending on trees and luck instead of walls and wisdom.

Moral Lessons:
Laziness may feel sweet today but often brings suffering tomorrow.
Preparation is better than regret.
Intelligence without discipline is wasted potential.
Do not mock those doing the hard work you may later depend on.

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Why Panther Walks Like a Shadow

An African Folktale of Pride, Wisdom, and Quiet Strength
Long ago, when the earth was still young and animals could speak to one another like brothers and sisters, Panther was not the silent creature we know today.
In those days, Panther was impossible to ignore.

His fur was not black, but golden like dry savanna grass under the afternoon sun. His voice was loud and deep, and he loved being noticed. Whenever Panther walked through the forest, he stomped his paws heavily on the ground so everyone would hear him coming.
“Make way!” Panther would roar. “The strongest hunter in all the land is here!”

The monkeys rolled their eyes from the trees.
The antelope hurried away, not because they feared him, but because they were tired of his endless boasting.
Even Lion, king of the grasslands, shook his mane and muttered, “Strength that must announce itself is often weaker than it sounds.”
But Panther paid no attention.
Every morning, he admired himself in the river.

“Look at my shining coat,” he would say. “No animal is more beautiful. No hunter is more powerful.”
Now, deep in the oldest part of the forest lived Grandmother Moon, an ancient spirit who watched all creatures.
She loved balance.
She blessed the humble and corrected the proud.

One evening, as the sky turned purple and the stars began to wake, Grandmother Moon came down to the forest disguised as an old woman wrapped in silver cloth.
She approached Panther, who was boasting to a circle of frightened rabbits.
“My son,” she said softly, “why do you make so much noise?”
Panther laughed.
“So all may know greatness is near.”
The old woman smiled faintly.
“And what is greatness?”
Panther lifted his head proudly.
“To be feared. To be admired. To be seen.”
The old woman’s eyes flashed like starlight.
“You understand little.”
Panther scoffed. “Old one, what can you teach me?”

At that moment, the wind grew cold.
The rabbits ran.
The silver cloth around the woman began to glow until the whole forest was bathed in pale moonlight.
Panther stepped back, suddenly nervous.
The old woman rose taller and taller until she touched the treetops.
She was no ordinary woman.
It was Grandmother Moon.
All the animals nearby bowed low.
Only Panther trembled.

“You have mistaken noise for strength,” Grandmother Moon said, her voice echoing like drums in the night. “You seek to be seen, but true power does not beg for attention.”
“Please forgive me,” Panther whispered.
But lessons given by spirits are rarely simple.
Grandmother Moon stretched out her glowing hand and touched Panther’s coat.
At once, his golden fur darkened.
Darker.
Darker still.

Until it became black as midnight.
Panther gasped.
“My beautiful coat!”
“It is more beautiful now,” said Grandmother Moon. “But it will no longer catch the sun and feed your vanity.”
Then she touched his paws.
Instantly, Panther’s heavy footsteps became soft as falling leaves.
No branch cracked beneath him.
No grass bent loudly under his weight.
He could move without a sound.
“No!” Panther cried. “How will others know I am coming?”
Grandmother Moon leaned close.
“They will not.”

From that day onward, Panther blended into the night itself.
His dark coat swallowed moonlight.
His paws kissed the earth without sound.
When he walked through the forest, he moved like smoke, like wind, like a living shadow.
At first, Panther hated his curse.
He missed the admiration.
He missed being noticed.
But as seasons passed, he discovered something surprising.
Silence taught him what noise never could.
In quietness, he began to hear the world.

The rustle of leaves.
The heartbeat of prey.
The whisper of rivers.
The warning cries of birds.
He became wiser.
Sharper.
More patient.
And stronger than ever before.
One night, Lion crossed paths with Panther beneath the moonlight.
At first, Lion did not even see him.
Only two golden eyes glowed from the darkness.
Lion chuckled.

“So, Panther, you no longer announce yourself?”
Panther smiled.
“The strongest things no longer need to.”
Lion nodded with respect.
At last, Panther had learned.
And that is why, to this day, Panther walks like a shadow—silent, graceful, and almost invisible in the dark.

Not because he was born that way.
But because pride once made him loud, and wisdom taught him the power of moving quietly.

Moral Lessons:
True strength does not need constant attention or praise.
Pride can blind us, but humility can transform us.
Silence often teaches what noise never can.
The most powerful people are not always the loudest.

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Why Scorpion Carries Death in Its Tail

A Moral African Folktale About Anger, Betrayal, and the Weight of Revenge
Long ago, when the earth was still young and animals spoke like humans, Scorpion was not feared.

In those days, Scorpion was small, harmless, and quiet. His tail was soft and curved like a dry leaf, carrying no poison, no danger, and no threat. He lived beneath cool stones near the riverbank and spent his days helping other creatures.
Scorpion was known for one rare gift—he was a healer.

Whenever Antelope bruised her leg while running through thorn bushes, Scorpion brought crushed herbs. When Hare caught fever after sleeping in the rain, Scorpion stayed awake all night, preparing roots and leaves to cool his body.
Though small, he was respected.
But respect is not always friendship.
The larger animals accepted Scorpion’s help, yet secretly mocked him.
“Look at him,” Hyena laughed one afternoon. “So tiny he could be blown away by a sneeze.”
Monkey clapped and howled with laughter. Even Gazelle, whom Scorpion once healed, turned away and pretended not to hear.
Scorpion heard every word.
At first, he ignored them.

“A peaceful heart is stronger than a sharp tongue,” his mother had taught him.
So he kept serving others.
But mockery, when repeated daily, is like dripping water on stone—it slowly carves damage where none existed.
One dry season, a terrible sickness spread through the land.
Animals collapsed from weakness. Their fur dulled. Their eyes sank.
Panic filled the forest.
“Find Scorpion!” cried Elephant. “He knows medicine.”

They came rushing to his home under the rocks.
“Please help us,” begged Gazelle.
“You are wise,” said Monkey, suddenly humble.
“We were foolish,” added Hyena.
Scorpion looked at the same faces that once laughed while he suffered.
Inside him, something dark began to grow.
For the first time, Scorpion did not feel kindness.
He felt power.
He could save them... or let them suffer.
A voice inside whispered:
Now they need you. Make them feel what you felt.

Scorpion gathered herbs and prepared medicine. The animals sighed with relief.
But while mixing the remedy, anger clouded his judgment.
Instead of preparing healing herbs alone, he added a bitter black root known only to him—a root that caused pain before healing.
“Just enough to teach them a lesson,” he muttered.
He served the medicine.
At first, the animals improved.
But soon, terrible pain spread through their bodies.

They screamed and rolled on the ground.
“What have you done?” Elephant roared.
Scorpion froze.
He had wanted revenge—but not suffering this severe.
The forest shook with rage.
The animals dragged Scorpion before Nyame, the Great Sky Spirit who watched over all creatures.
A thunderstorm gathered.
Clouds rolled dark across the sky.
Nyame’s voice boomed like drums.
“Scorpion, you were given the gift of healing, yet you poisoned others with bitterness.”
Scorpion trembled.

“They mocked me,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Nyame replied. “They wounded your heart. But instead of breaking the chain of cruelty, you carried it forward.”
The animals lowered their heads in shame too.
Nyame turned to them.
“And you—those who laugh at the gentle often create the monster they later fear.”
Silence swallowed the earth.
Then Nyame raised his hand.
“For your actions, Scorpion, your anger shall never leave you.”
Lightning struck his tail.

His soft curved tail hardened and sharpened.
Dark venom filled its tip like liquid shadow.
Scorpion cried out as pain rushed through his body.
“From this day forward,” Nyame declared, “death shall live in your tail, so all may remember what happens when kindness is corrupted by revenge.”
The animals stepped back in terror.
Scorpion fled beneath the stones, ashamed and changed forever.
And that is why, to this day, Scorpion walks alone, carrying poison behind him—not just in body, but as a reminder.
A reminder that pain can either make you wiser... or make you dangerous.

Moral Lessons:
Being mocked or hurt does not justify harming others.
Revenge often poisons the one who carries it first.
Kindness is powerful, but unhealed bitterness can corrupt even a good heart.
Never create enemies through cruelty—you may awaken danger where peace once lived.

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The Night Mosquito Learned to Drink Blood

Long ago, when the earth was still young and animals could speak with humans, Mosquito was not the tiny pest everyone knows today. In those days, Mosquito was small, yes, but harmless. He fed only on flower nectar and drops of morning dew. His wings sparkled like silver threads under the moonlight, and he spent his days humming cheerful songs in the reeds by the river.

But though Mosquito was harmless, he was never satisfied.
He would watch the bigger animals feast on fruits, roots, meat, and grains. He would see Lion grow strong from his meals, Elephant become mighty, and Leopard move with fierce energy.

Mosquito began to complain.
“Why must I survive on sweetness alone?” he grumbled one evening, perched on a lotus leaf. “Others eat rich meals and grow powerful, while I remain small and weak.”
Nearby, Tortoise overheard him and shook his head slowly.
“Be careful what you envy,” Tortoise warned. “Not every food is meant for every creature.”
But Mosquito laughed with arrogance.
“What does an old shell-carrier know of ambition?”

That night, unable to sleep, Mosquito wandered through the forest searching for answers.
The moon was full, casting pale silver light over the village. As Mosquito flew, he heard whispers coming from a dark baobab tree where strange spirits gathered.
These were the Night Spirits—ancient beings who listened to the desires of foolish creatures.

One spirit, with glowing red eyes, noticed him.
“Little Mosquito,” it hissed, “why do you wander when all others sleep?”
Mosquito bowed nervously.
“I seek strength,” he said. “I am tired of being small and ignored. Tell me what food gives the greatest power.”
The spirits laughed—a cold, eerie sound like dry leaves scraping stone.

“The strongest force in all living things is blood,” the spirit replied. “Blood carries warmth, life, strength, and memory.”
Mosquito’s eyes widened.
“Then let me taste it.”
Another spirit leaned closer.
“Be warned: once you drink blood, you will never desire anything else again. But your hunger will come with a curse.”
Mosquito, blinded by greed, waved his tiny legs dismissively.

“I accept any price.”
Ah, the classic mistake: accepting “any price” before reading the terms and conditions.
The spirits stretched out their shadowy hands and touched Mosquito’s mouth.
At once, his smooth little mouth transformed into a long sharp needle.
Mosquito gasped.
“What have you done?”
“You asked for power,” the spirits answered.
Driven by curiosity, Mosquito flew toward the nearest sleeping creature—a goat resting peacefully outside a hut.
He landed softly on its skin and pierced it.
A warm taste filled his mouth.
Blood.

It was rich, salty, alive with energy unlike anything he had ever known.
Mosquito felt a rush of strength surge through his tiny body.
His wings buzzed louder. His body felt lighter, faster, sharper.
“This is magnificent!” he cried.
But as dawn approached, something strange happened.
The sweetness of flowers no longer pleased him.

Morning dew tasted like nothing.
Fruit nectar seemed bland and empty.
Mosquito panicked.
He returned to the spirits.
“Undo this!” he begged. “I cannot enjoy anything else!”
But the spirits only smiled.

“We warned you. Desire without wisdom becomes slavery.”
From that day forward, Mosquito became cursed with endless hunger for blood.
No matter how much he drank, he was never fully satisfied.
And because he had stolen what was not

meant for him, every creature grew angry.
Humans slapped at him.
Animals flicked him away with tails and ears.
Birds hunted him from the sky.
Even frogs waited eagerly to swallow him whole.

Mosquito soon realized his new power came with a lonely life of fear.
One evening, exhausted from being chased, Mosquito sat beside the same wise Tortoise he had mocked.
“You were right,” Mosquito admitted quietly.
Tortoise nodded.
“Strength gained through greed often costs more than weakness ever did.”
Mosquito lowered his head.
“But now I cannot change.”

“No,” Tortoise replied, “but others can learn from your mistake.”
And so, to this day, Mosquito still buzzes through the night searching endlessly for blood, never knowing peace, forever chased by the world.
Sometimes, if you listen closely after he bites, his buzzing sounds almost like regret.

Moral Lessons:
Greed can turn a blessing into a curse.
Not everything others have is meant for you.
True contentment is better than endless craving for more.
Wisdom ignored often becomes regret remembered too late.

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The Beast the Forest Regrets Creating

An African Folktale About Power Without Wisdom
Long ago, when the earth was still soft beneath bare feet and animals still gathered under moonlight to settle disputes, there was a great forest called Nkata Forest.

Nkata was unlike any other forest. Its trees whispered secrets to one another, rivers sang songs at dawn, and every creature—big or small—had a gift given by the Spirit of Nature.
The lion had strength.
The eagle had vision.
The tortoise had wisdom.
The ant had discipline.

Even the tiny firefly carried light.
Because every creature had its own purpose, the forest lived in peace.
But peace has a strange enemy: envy.
At the heart of Nkata Forest lived a council of elders—Elephant, Owl, Tortoise, and Python. Their duty was to guard balance in the land.

One dry season, disaster struck.
Hunters from a distant land began entering the forest. They trapped gazelles, cut sacred trees, poisoned streams, and set fires to drive animals from hiding.
Fear spread quickly.
The monkeys stopped laughing.
Birds abandoned their nests.

Even Lion, king of the plains, began sleeping with one eye open.
The council gathered beneath the Great Baobab Tree.
“We need a protector,” said Elephant.
“One creature strong enough to scare away all enemies,” hissed Python.
“A guardian no hunter would dare challenge,” added Owl.
Tortoise frowned.

“Power without wisdom is a blade without a handle,” he warned.
But fear makes even wise ears deaf.
The council ignored him.
Together, the animals offered their finest gifts into a sacred clay pit.
Lion gave strength.
Leopard gave speed.
Buffalo gave endurance.
Crocodile gave armored skin.
Hyena gave cunning.
Eagle gave sharp sight.
Rhino gave fury.
Snake gave venom.
The forest spirits mixed these gifts beneath a storm-filled sky.
Thunder cracked.
The earth shook.

And from the clay rose a beast no eye had ever seen.
Its body was massive like buffalo, yet swift as leopard.
Its skin was thick as crocodile scales.
Its claws curved like sharpened sickles.
Its eyes glowed like dying embers.
The forest named it Mbara, meaning The Ender of Threats.
At first, Mbara was everything they hoped for.
When hunters entered, Mbara roared so loudly that trees trembled.
Traps were crushed.
Weapons shattered.

Hunters fled in terror, abandoning camps and never returning.
The forest rejoiced.
Songs were sung in Mbara’s honor.
Children danced around fires.
“See?” said Elephant proudly. “We saved ourselves.”
But creation is easy.
Control is harder.
Soon, Mbara began to change.

Without hunters to fight, it searched for new threats.
At first, it chased strangers.
Then trespassing baboons.
Then antelopes grazing too loudly.
Then anyone who crossed its path.
Power had tasted fear.
And fear was delicious.
Mbara no longer guarded the forest.
It ruled it.

Animals now feared the protector more than the hunters.
No one could gather water without checking the shadows.
No one sang after sunset.
No one played near the river.
The forest became silent.
Even the wind seemed afraid.
One evening, the council met again.
This time, no one looked proud.
“We must stop what we created,” whispered Owl.

Elephant lowered his head.
“It has become worse than the danger we feared.”
Tortoise sighed.
“I warned you.”
“But can it be destroyed?” asked Python.
Tortoise shook his head.
“No. Gifts given freely cannot be taken back by force.”
“Then what do we do?”
Tortoise smiled faintly.
“We must defeat power the one thing it never understands.”
“What is that?”
“Humility.”

The animals were confused.
How could humility defeat a monster?
But Tortoise had a plan.
He approached Mbara alone.
The beast laughed, a deep terrifying sound.
“You dare come before me, little shell-carrier?”
Tortoise bowed.
“Great Mbara, all the forest agrees there is no creature stronger than you.”
Mbara grinned.
“Of course.”

“But one rumor remains,” Tortoise added.
Mbara narrowed its eyes.
“What rumor?”
“That you are powerful only because the forest made you.”
The beast snarled.
“I need no one!”
Tortoise nodded thoughtfully.
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Destroy your reflection.”
He led Mbara to a hidden lake, still as polished glass.

Mbara looked into the water and saw its own terrifying face.
“That creature below mocks you,” Tortoise whispered.
Blinded by pride and rage, Mbara roared and lunged into the lake to attack its reflection.
But the lake was enchanted—deep, bottomless, and fed by ancient underground rivers.
The beast sank.
Thrashed.
Roared.
Fought.

But strength could not save what pride had doomed.
By sunrise, the water was calm again.
Only ripples remained.
The forest was free.
But celebration did not come quickly.
Too much damage had been done.
Too many homes destroyed.
Too much fear planted.
The council stood in silence beneath the Baobab.
Elephant finally spoke.
“We created danger while trying to destroy danger.”
Tortoise nodded.
“The greatest mistakes are often born from good intentions without patience.”

From that day, Nkata Forest made a sacred law:
Never create what you cannot guide.
Never seek power greater than your wisdom.
And elders still tell this story to young ones around firelight:
“A weapon built from fear may first protect you…
but if fed pride, it will one day hunt its maker.”

Moral Lessons:
Power without wisdom becomes destruction.
Fear can push people into dangerous decisions.
Not every problem should be solved with force.
Pride often destroys what strength cannot protect.
Wisdom is greater than raw power.
And that is why, in old African legend, the forest regrets only one thing more than its enemies: the beast it created to fight them.

Thank you for reading ❤️

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