Tales by Moonlight

24/10/2025

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1AZa3WH5yR/

13/10/2025

The Spiritual Passenger
​The dust of the village path, the same deep red that stained Pa Jide’s traditional robe, billowed gently as the sleek, grey Uber coasted to a stop. Pa Jide, who served as both the community’s wisest elder and its chief spiritual advisor, sat patiently on his woven mat, a smooth, dark pebble clutched in one hand and his smartphone—a gift from his Lagos-based nephew—in the other. He had summoned the ride with an unprecedented, albeit slightly clumsy, tap of his thumb.
​The driver, a young man named Emeka whose polo shirt was crisp and whose ambition was palpable, leaned across the passenger seat, his expression a masterpiece of confusion and faint alarm. Emeka was a man of the city; his reality was traffic jams, ride-outs, and five-star ratings. He was not a man of ancestral spirits and forest secrets.
​“Oga, I no carry animal o!” Emeka called out, his voice a tight, high-pitched squeak of panic. He was staring, aghast, at the large, prehistoric-looking tortoise—a venerable old shell-dweller known in the village as Baba Alagba—who was slowly, majestically making its way toward the open passenger door.
​Pa Jide chuckled, a deep, earthy sound that seemed to rumble up from the very soil beneath him. He adjusted the feathered cap that adorned his head and held up the phone, which still displayed the Uber app’s confirmation screen. He pointed a long, calloused finger at the tortoise, then at the phone, then back at Emeka.
​“Na just spiritual passenger,” Pa Jide explained with a beatific, toothy grin. “Baba Alagba, he is ready for his journey.”
​Emeka’s jaw dropped. “Spiritual… passenger? Oga, the app says one passenger. With all due respect, sir, if that tortoise gets in my car, my upholstery is finished, my ratings will drop, and my boss will fine me for… for having a reptilian companion!”
​Pa Jide stood up, unhurried, radiating an air of ancient authority. He picked up his carved walking stick and took a single step toward the car. “Young man,” he said, his voice now lower and infinitely more compelling, “Baba Alagba is not a passenger. He is the vessel for the passenger. The spirit of Obi, my late brother, has important business at the next village, the one beyond the river. Obi always enjoyed a slow journey, and his spirit is currently residing within the shell of Baba Alagba, as is tradition for travel over water. It is a long journey for an old spirit; he deserves comfort and speed.”
​Emeka stared from the powerful-looking traditional healer, to the weathered skulls and carvings adorning the hut wall, to the tortoise whose ancient eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the forest. The story was utterly bonkers, but Pa Jide’s conviction was absolute. Also, Emeka knew that in this part of the country, insulting an elder—especially a spiritual one—was an invitation to a lifetime of bad luck. He imagined a tire puncture every kilometer, an engine that only sputtered, and customers who constantly rated him two stars.
​“Sir… the destination is The Great Baobab Tree near the River Omoba, correct?” Emeka stammered, his mind racing. He mentally calculated the fare: it was a long, expensive ride, and he really needed the money. He took a deep breath. “Okay, Pa Jide. Tell me… does the spirit of your brother… pay in cash or use the app’s digital wallet?”
​Pa Jide laughed again, patting the tortoise gently on its shell. “Oh, he is a spirit of the old ways, but a modern traveler. I will handle the fare.” He then leaned down and, with surprising strength, lifted Baba Alagba. “Now, please, open your trunk. A true spiritual elder must have his baggage.”
​Emeka, shell-shocked but compliant, popped the trunk. Pa Jide carefully placed the tortoise inside, making sure the trunk lid didn't slam too hard. Then, Pa Jide slid into the back seat of the Uber, placing his staff carefully beside him.
​“To the Baobab Tree, driver,” Pa Jide commanded, adjusting his beads. “And please, no loud radio. My brother’s spirit is trying to meditate on the journey.”
​Emeka put the car in drive, the engine humming quietly. As he pulled away, he couldn't help but glance into his rearview mirror. He saw Pa Jide sitting serenely, and he could have sworn he heard a very faint, dry rustling sound coming from the trunk. He gripped the steering wheel, muttering to himself, “Five stars for this trip is a non-negotiable must. I’m driving a spirit.”
​And so, the journey began: a sleek, modern Uber, its trunk carrying a venerable tortoise that might or might not be housing a meditating ancestor, bridging the ancient wisdom of a village elder with the hyper-modern efficiency of a ride-sharing app—a perfect collision of tradition and transportation on a dusty, African road.

24/09/2025

https://www.facebook.com/100041344517946/posts/1673324914055643/

In the days of old, when animals spoke the language of men and the sky was close enough to touch on a clear day, there lived a tortoise named Mbe. Mbe was known throughout the land not for his speed, for he had none, but for his cunning mind and a belly that was never, ever full. His neighbour was Asa, the hawk, whose sharp eyes and swift wings made him the king of the skies. They were neighbours, but they were not friends, for pride and cunning rarely mix well.
​One morning, a scent more wonderful than any on Earth drifted down from the heavens. It was the aroma of roasted celestial yams, spicy star-fruit stew, and the sweet perfume of cloud-nectar. The Sky-Dwellers were hosting a magnificent feast, and they had invited all the creatures with wings to join them.
​Asa preened his feathers, feeling very important. He flapped his mighty wings and soared in joyful circles, boasting to all who would listen. "I am off to the feast in the sky! Only the worthy are invited!"
​Mbe the tortoise heard this from his hiding place under a cocoyam leaf. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled a jealous song. How could he, a creature of the earth, attend a feast in the sky? The thought of missing such a meal was more painful than the weight of his own shell. And so, a plan began to form in his clever mind.
​He slowly ambled over to Asa's perch. "Ah, my great friend Asa!" he began, his voice dripping with false admiration. "The prince of the air! I hear you are dining with the spirits of the sky tonight. What an honour!"
​Asa puffed out his chest. "Indeed, Mbe. It is a party for those of us who can... you know... fly."
​"Of course, of course," Mbe said, nodding his head slowly. "It is just a shame. I have been asked by my ancestors to deliver a special message of gratitude to the Sky-Dwellers, but alas, I have no wings." He sighed dramatically. "The feast will surely be less joyful without a proper thank you from the creatures of the land."
​Asa, being proud and wanting the feast to be perfect in every way, was intrigued. "A message, you say?"
​"Yes," Mbe said. "And besides, we have a custom here on Earth. When visiting a new and important kingdom, all guests take on a new name for the occasion, to show humility and respect. It would be rude not to."
​This sounded very grand and proper to Asa. "A new name? What a fine custom! What shall you be called, should I deign to carry you?"
​Mbe smiled a secret smile. "You may call me... 'All-Of-You'."
​Asa scoffed. "A strange name. But very well. And I shall be called 'King of the Skies'!"
​And so, it was agreed. Asa gripped Mbe's shell in his powerful talons, and with a mighty flap of his wings, they ascended into the heavens.
​When they arrived, the sight was breathtaking. The clouds were tables, the stars were lanterns, and the hosts, shimmering with soft light, greeted them warmly. All the birds of the air were there – the eagle, the parrot, the owl, all chattering with excitement.
​The head Sky-Dweller clapped his hands of light. "Welcome, welcome! Before we begin, what are your names, newcomers?"
​Asa stepped forward proudly. "I am 'King of the Skies'!"
​Then Mbe shuffled forward. "And I," he said humbly, "am 'All-Of-You'."
​The hosts found the name peculiar but welcomed them all the same. The first course was brought out – a mountain of fluffy, pounded star-yam. The host announced in a booming voice, "This delicious food is for all of you!"
​Before any other bird could dip its beak, Mbe stepped forward and blocked the platter. "Did you hear that?" he declared. "The host said this food is for 'All-Of-You'. That is my name! It is all for me!"
​The birds squawked in confusion and anger, but the Sky-Dwellers were bound by their hospitality and their words. Grumbling, they watched as Mbe devoured the entire mountain of yam, his belly already beginning to swell.
​Next, a river of shimmering palm wine from the moon was brought forth. "This sweet drink," the host announced, trying to be more specific, "is for our guests... for all of you!"
​"Ah, for me again!" shouted Mbe, and he waddled over and drank until the river ran dry.
​This continued for every course. The pepper soup, the roasted plantain, the honeyed cakes. Each time the hosts presented the food for "all of you," Mbe claimed it as his own, eating and drinking until his shell was stretched taut like a drum and he could barely move.
​The other birds, especially Asa, were starving and furious. Their stomachs were empty and their hearts were full of rage. Asa had carried the trickster on his back only to be shamed and starved.
​When the feast was over, Mbe, groaning with fullness, turned to Asa. "My good friend, 'King of the Skies'," he belched. "It is time to return to Earth. My legs are a bit tired."
​Asa's eyes narrowed to slits of fury. "Of course, 'All-Of-You'," he hissed. He grabbed the heavy tortoise and launched into the sky.
​When they were high above the earth, so high that the trees looked like tiny green needles, Asa said, "Mbe, are you holding on tight?"
​"Yes, my friend!" Mbe replied smugly.
​"Good," Asa screeched, and he suddenly did a sharp barrel roll.
​Mbe, heavy and clumsy, lost his grip and went tumbling down, down, down from the sky. As he fell, he saw his wife in his compound far below. "My wife! My wife!" he cried. "Bring out all the soft things in the house to break my fall! Bring the pillows, the leaves, the cloths!"
​But the wind whistled past his ears, twisting his words. His wife looked up and heard only a garbled shout that sounded like, "Bring out all the hard things in the house!"
​Confused but obedient, she dragged out her grinding stone, the mortar and pestle, iron pots, and every rock she could find.
​Mbe landed on the pile with a tremendous KPA-KOOM!
​His beautiful, smooth shell shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. It was a great village doctor, a snail who knew the secrets of herbs and glues, that painstakingly pieced Mbe's shell back together, piece by tiny piece.
​And that is why, to this very day, the tortoise's shell is not smooth. It is a patchwork of cracks and lines, a permanent reminder of his great greed and the day he tricked the birds and fell from the sky.

24/09/2025

In the days of old, when animals spoke the language of men and the sky was close enough to touch on a clear day, there lived a tortoise named Mbe. Mbe was known throughout the land not for his speed, for he had none, but for his cunning mind and a belly that was never, ever full. His neighbour was Asa, the hawk, whose sharp eyes and swift wings made him the king of the skies. They were neighbours, but they were not friends, for pride and cunning rarely mix well.
​One morning, a scent more wonderful than any on Earth drifted down from the heavens. It was the aroma of roasted celestial yams, spicy star-fruit stew, and the sweet perfume of cloud-nectar. The Sky-Dwellers were hosting a magnificent feast, and they had invited all the creatures with wings to join them.
​Asa preened his feathers, feeling very important. He flapped his mighty wings and soared in joyful circles, boasting to all who would listen. "I am off to the feast in the sky! Only the worthy are invited!"
​Mbe the tortoise heard this from his hiding place under a cocoyam leaf. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled a jealous song. How could he, a creature of the earth, attend a feast in the sky? The thought of missing such a meal was more painful than the weight of his own shell. And so, a plan began to form in his clever mind.
​He slowly ambled over to Asa's perch. "Ah, my great friend Asa!" he began, his voice dripping with false admiration. "The prince of the air! I hear you are dining with the spirits of the sky tonight. What an honour!"
​Asa puffed out his chest. "Indeed, Mbe. It is a party for those of us who can... you know... fly."
​"Of course, of course," Mbe said, nodding his head slowly. "It is just a shame. I have been asked by my ancestors to deliver a special message of gratitude to the Sky-Dwellers, but alas, I have no wings." He sighed dramatically. "The feast will surely be less joyful without a proper thank you from the creatures of the land."
​Asa, being proud and wanting the feast to be perfect in every way, was intrigued. "A message, you say?"
​"Yes," Mbe said. "And besides, we have a custom here on Earth. When visiting a new and important kingdom, all guests take on a new name for the occasion, to show humility and respect. It would be rude not to."
​This sounded very grand and proper to Asa. "A new name? What a fine custom! What shall you be called, should I deign to carry you?"
​Mbe smiled a secret smile. "You may call me... 'All-Of-You'."
​Asa scoffed. "A strange name. But very well. And I shall be called 'King of the Skies'!"
​And so, it was agreed. Asa gripped Mbe's shell in his powerful talons, and with a mighty flap of his wings, they ascended into the heavens.
​When they arrived, the sight was breathtaking. The clouds were tables, the stars were lanterns, and the hosts, shimmering with soft light, greeted them warmly. All the birds of the air were there – the eagle, the parrot, the owl, all chattering with excitement.
​The head Sky-Dweller clapped his hands of light. "Welcome, welcome! Before we begin, what are your names, newcomers?"
​Asa stepped forward proudly. "I am 'King of the Skies'!"
​Then Mbe shuffled forward. "And I," he said humbly, "am 'All-Of-You'."
​The hosts found the name peculiar but welcomed them all the same. The first course was brought out – a mountain of fluffy, pounded star-yam. The host announced in a booming voice, "This delicious food is for all of you!"
​Before any other bird could dip its beak, Mbe stepped forward and blocked the platter. "Did you hear that?" he declared. "The host said this food is for 'All-Of-You'. That is my name! It is all for me!"
​The birds squawked in confusion and anger, but the Sky-Dwellers were bound by their hospitality and their words. Grumbling, they watched as Mbe devoured the entire mountain of yam, his belly already beginning to swell.
​Next, a river of shimmering palm wine from the moon was brought forth. "This sweet drink," the host announced, trying to be more specific, "is for our guests... for all of you!"
​"Ah, for me again!" shouted Mbe, and he waddled over and drank until the river ran dry.
​This continued for every course. The pepper soup, the roasted plantain, the honeyed cakes. Each time the hosts presented the food for "all of you," Mbe claimed it as his own, eating and drinking until his shell was stretched taut like a drum and he could barely move.
​The other birds, especially Asa, were starving and furious. Their stomachs were empty and their hearts were full of rage. Asa had carried the trickster on his back only to be shamed and starved.
​When the feast was over, Mbe, groaning with fullness, turned to Asa. "My good friend, 'King of the Skies'," he belched. "It is time to return to Earth. My legs are a bit tired."
​Asa's eyes narrowed to slits of fury. "Of course, 'All-Of-You'," he hissed. He grabbed the heavy tortoise and launched into the sky.
​When they were high above the earth, so high that the trees looked like tiny green needles, Asa said, "Mbe, are you holding on tight?"
​"Yes, my friend!" Mbe replied smugly.
​"Good," Asa screeched, and he suddenly did a sharp barrel roll.
​Mbe, heavy and clumsy, lost his grip and went tumbling down, down, down from the sky. As he fell, he saw his wife in his compound far below. "My wife! My wife!" he cried. "Bring out all the soft things in the house to break my fall! Bring the pillows, the leaves, the cloths!"
​But the wind whistled past his ears, twisting his words. His wife looked up and heard only a garbled shout that sounded like, "Bring out all the hard things in the house!"
​Confused but obedient, she dragged out her grinding stone, the mortar and pestle, iron pots, and every rock she could find.
​Mbe landed on the pile with a tremendous KPA-KOOM!
​His beautiful, smooth shell shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. It was a great village doctor, a snail who knew the secrets of herbs and glues, that painstakingly pieced Mbe's shell back together, piece by tiny piece.
​And that is why, to this very day, the tortoise's shell is not smooth. It is a patchwork of cracks and lines, a permanent reminder of his great greed and the day he tricked the birds and fell from the sky.

25/06/2025

Shout out to my newest followers! Excited to have you onboard! Ofurum Ugochukwu Conrad, Chieke Okwudiri B, Sunday Olarinde, Õg Çõrîstõ Çhrîs, Rofiqul Islam, Nnaemeka Ejiogu, Ron Macasero

23/06/2025

EPIC TITLE: "OJIUGO, THE SILENT WATCHER OF OMA-NTA"

Prologue: The Girl with the Eyes of the Ancestors

In the days when the moon still danced with the rivers and trees told stories to those who could listen, a girl was born in the sacred village of Oma-Nta under a sky without thunder or bird song.

She was bald from birth, her eyes deep and ancient, like they had seen too many lifetimes. The midwife who delivered her wept, not out of fear—but awe.

“This child bears the gaze of Ani, the Earth Goddess. Let her be called Ojiugo, for she is the treasure of the gods.”

She never cried, never giggled like other children. She simply watched. Her presence quieted drums and stilled storms. The village grew to fear and revere her.

Chapter One: The River’s Grief
When the River Ọgịrị dried up during a cursed season, the villagers knew it was not just nature—it was punishment. The elders sought answers. The oracle declared:

“Only one who walks with the ancestors can awaken the river’s heart.”

Ojiugo, now a young woman draped in white cloth, barefoot, silent, and holding a staff carved from sacred Iroko, stepped forward.

She walked to the riverbed, eyes to the sky, and struck the ground thrice with her staff.

The earth trembled. Clouds burst open. Rain fell like mercy. River Ọgịrị flowed again.

Not a word from Ojiugo. Only her silence, as deep as the waters she restored.

Chapter Two: The Red-Mouthed Raiders
One night, flames danced on the hills. The Red-Mouthed Raiders of Ejeke, feared for blood rituals and bone necklaces, stormed Oma-Nta. Their leader, Ezenwata the Devourer, shouted:

“Bring your gods, your daughters—we will drink your future!”

The warriors of Oma-Nta had fallen. The king hid. But Ojiugo stood beneath the sacred tree, staff planted like a root.

Ezenwata laughed. “A woman? A mute?”

She raised her staff and the winds grew teeth. Lightning kissed the earth. Raiders burst into flames. Trees uprooted themselves and crushed the invaders.

When dawn came, Ojiugo was still standing—eyes closed. The people sang her name for the first time, not with fear, but praise.

Chapter Three: The Whispering Tree
Whispers spread: a tree deep in the forbidden forest had begun to speak. It offered lies in sweet voices—promising riches, power, immortality. Many who entered the forest never returned.

The priests declared it cursed. But Ojiugo entered the forest alone.

Days passed. No sign of her.

On the seventh day, the tree screamed—a voice so sharp it cracked stones. Birds fled the sky. Silence fell like death.

Then she emerged, untouched. Her staff glowed. Her white cloth shone like dawn. The whispering tree burned itself to ash.

From that day, no tree dared lie again.

Chapter Four: The Night the Stars Stood Still
When the gods descended—seven spirits in the form of flaming herons—they sought a mortal worthy to walk into the spirit world alive.

They circled the earth, crossed oceans, passed kings and warlords—until they came to Oma-Nta.

There, they saw Ojiugo, her head bare, her eyes aflame with wisdom older than mountains.

They landed on her staff.

She climbed the tallest hill, where earth meets sky. She looked once at her people and whispered one word—her only word in life:

"Remember."

The sky opened, and she was lifted in a pillar of light.

Epilogue: The Statue of Silence
In the heart of Oma-Nta today stands a statue of a bald woman holding a staff, her eyes carved to look into the soul of anyone who dares lie before her.

Children ask: “Mama, who is that?”

The mothers say:

“She is Ojiugo, the one who never needed a voice to move mountains.”

To this day, when the wind rustles the Iroko leaves, old women smile and say, “She’s listening.”

Would you like to continue the saga with a younger girl who finds Ojiugo’s staff and unknowingly awakens her spirit? Or maybe a chapter where Ojiugo must return to protect her people once more? Let me know in the comments section.
Please feel free to share this story.
Thanks for your support

21/06/2025

Thanks for all your support.
Now tell me, what type of story would you like me to write next... Am waiting in the comment section