“My daughters, please help me carry my firewood. I’m so tired.”
“Don’t you ever call me your daughter.”
Joy and Tracy were best friends in the village of Aduka. They were both 19 years old, both in secondary school, and everyone knew them as the two girls who were always together. Tracy was bold, sharp-tongued, and proud. Joy was quiet, kind, and always thinking about other people.
That morning, the sun was already bright. The road was red and dusty, and the school bell could ring any minute. They were walking fast, their school bags bouncing on their backs, breathing hard because they were almost late. Tracy kept complaining as they hurried.
“Joy, hurry up. If we enter late again, Madame Rose will disgrace us. I’m not kneeling today,” Tracy said, dragging Joy forward as if time were chasing them.
As they reached the big Iroko tree beside the road, they saw an old woman coming from the opposite direction. She was very weak, bent, and trembling, as if her bones were tired of life. A heavy bundle of firewood was tied on her head with rough rope, and her hands shook as she tried to balance it. Her feet were bare, her wrapper was old and patched, and sweat was already running down her face even though it was still morning.
She stopped in front of them, breathing heavily, and her voice came out thin, as if she were begging with the last of her strength.
“My daughters, please help me carry my firewood to my house. It’s not far from here.”
Tracy’s face changed immediately. She frowned as if insulted.
“No,” she snapped. “Old ugly woman, we can’t help you. We are going to school and we are already late. Why are you disturbing us? Go and find your children.”
The old woman blinked and lowered her eyes.
But Joy stepped closer with concern. “Mama, don’t worry,” she said softly. “I will help you carry it.”
Then Joy turned to Tracy. “Tracy, please go to school. I will join you later. Let me help her.”
Tracy shouted, “Joy, are you mad? Who is your mother? Is this your mother? You don’t even know this woman. Come, let’s go now. We are getting late.”
Joy shook her head. “I can’t leave her like this. She is weak and she might fall.”
Tracy grabbed Joy’s arm in anger. “So you want them to punish you because of a stranger? You like suffering too much. You always want to act like a saint.”
Joy gently removed her hand. “It’s not about acting. It’s about helping.”
Tracy’s eyes turned cold. “Fine. Carry the firewood. But don’t call me when you get punished. And listen, you will soon stop being my friend. I don’t follow stubborn people. Who does this kind of nonsense?”
Tracy turned and walked away quickly toward the school road, still angry, still talking to herself, not even looking back.
Joy watched her go for a second, feeling that painful tightness in her chest. But then she faced the old woman again. The woman looked at Joy as if she could not believe someone was still standing there.
“You really want to help me?” the old woman asked.
Joy nodded. “Yes, Mama.”
She knelt, arranged herself, and tried to lift the heavy bundle. The firewood pressed down on her head so hard that her knees shook, but she refused to cry. The old woman steadied it and pointed to a small path away from the main road.
“This way,” she said quietly.
Joy took her first step into the path—late for school, abandoned by her best friend, carrying a weight that felt too heavy for her age. Yet she still moved forward, not knowing that this small act of kindness was about to open a door that would change her life forever.
Joy followed the old woman into the narrow path, and the sound of the main road slowly disappeared behind them. The trees on both sides were tall, the bushes thick, and the morning air felt cooler there. Joy kept adjusting the firewood with her hands because it was pressing on her head like a stone. Her neck was already burning, but she refused to complain.
The old woman walked slowly behind her with a small stick, breathing like someone who had been carrying pain for many years.
Joy tried to keep her voice steady. “Mama, are you sure your house is not far? Because this wood is heavy.”
The old woman replied weakly, “It is not far, my daughter. Just a little more.”
Joy nodded and continued, but inside, she was thinking about school. She imagined the bell ringing, the teacher writing down the names of late students, and Tracy entering class alone with that angry face, telling everybody that Joy was foolish and proud.
Joy felt shame trying to rise in her chest, but she pushed it down. She told herself, Let them laugh. Let them insult me. This woman needs help.
After some minutes, Joy’s legs began to shake. Sweat entered her eyes. Her breathing became rough. She stopped for a second and bent slightly to rest the load, but the old woman quickly said, “Don’t drop it on the ground, my daughter, please.”
Joy looked back in surprise. “Why?”
The old woman looked away. “Because dust will enter it.”
Joy did not understand, but she forced herself to hold it up again and continue.
The deeper they went, the quieter everything became. Joy started feeling uneasy, not because she was scared of the old woman, but because the place looked like nobody lived around there.
She asked again, “Mama, do you live here alone?”
The old woman answered slowly, “I live with what life gave me.”
Joy frowned. That answer sounded like a riddle. She wanted to ask more, but she did not want to sound disrespectful.
Soon the path opened into a small clearing, and Joy slowed down because she could not believe what she was seeing. In front of her was a small compound. It was an old place, quiet and tired, as if it had been standing there for too many years without joy.
The old woman pushed the gate open gently and said, “Come inside, my daughter.”
Joy entered slowly, still carrying the heavy firewood. The old woman led her to the side of the yard and pointed to a spot near an old shed.
“Put it there,” she said.
Joy dropped the firewood and almost fell with it. She held her neck and breathed hard, tears almost coming to her eyes from the pain.
She looked at the old woman, then around the compound again, and she could not keep quiet.
“Mama, this place is dirty,” Joy said with concern. “You are too weak to be doing everything alone.”
The old woman simply watched her quietly, breathing slowly, as if she were waiting to see what Joy would do next.
Joy did not wait for permission. “Mama, sit down. Let me help you.”
She picked up a broom resting against the wall and started sweeping the leaves, the dust, and the dirt that had gathered in the corners.
As she swept, she kept shaking her head. “Mama, why are you living like this? This place needs care.”
The old woman replied softly, “People stopped coming here long ago.”
Joy felt pain in her chest, but she kept sweeping. After cleaning, she went behind the house and found a small bundle of dry sticks and a pot that looked unused. She washed the pot well, washed her hands, and asked the old woman, “Mama, do you have anything to cook?”
The old woman pointed to a small bag and a little basket. Joy opened them and found some garri, a few dry peppers, and some vegetables that were still good.
Joy nodded. “Okay, Mama. I will cook something simple for you.”
She lit a small fire and cooked a light meal. The smell of food entered the air for the first time in that compound, and it made the place feel like a home again.
The old woman watched Joy from where she sat, silent, her eyes following every movement, as if she were looking at something she had been searching for all her life.
When the food was ready, Joy served the old woman first, even though her own stomach was hungry.
“Mama, eat,” Joy said gently.
The old woman held the plate with shaking hands and ate slowly. After some time, she looked up and said, “Thank you, my daughter.”
Joy smiled. “You are welcome, Mama.”
Then Joy stood up quickly because reality returned like a slap. She looked toward the direction of the school and sighed.
“Mama, I have to go now. I’m already very late. They will punish me.”
The old woman nodded and stood up slowly. “Come.”
She entered the old house. Joy followed her, thinking the old woman wanted to give her advice or maybe ask her to come another day. But the old woman walked to one corner and brought out a white native pot. It was not big, but it looked special. It was clean and bright, as if it did not belong to that dirty place.
Joy stared at it in confusion.
The old woman held it out to her. “This is my reward for you.”
Joy’s eyes widened. “Mama, no, I can’t take it. I only helped you.”
“It’s okay.” The old woman pushed it closer. “Take it.”
Joy slowly collected it with both hands, still confused. “What is it for?”
The old woman stepped closer and lowered her voice as if she were giving a secret that could change a life.
“If you need anything in this life, just touch this pot three times, and whatever you need—anything at all—will be inside.”
Joy froze. She looked at the pot again, then at the old woman’s face. Her eyes were calm, serious, and strong. She did not look like someone joking.
Joy’s heart started beating fast. “Mama, how is that possible?”
The old woman sighed. “My daughter, don’t ever tell anybody about this. Keep it to yourself. If you talk, people will destroy you, and they will destroy the gift. And listen to me—make sure you keep helping people. Do good, my child. Goodness is not for noise. It is for destiny.”
Joy nodded slowly, still shocked. “Yes, Mama.”
She carried the pot carefully as if it could break her whole life if it fell. She stepped toward the door, her mind spinning, her hands even shaking. She wanted to turn back and ask questions, but the old woman’s voice stopped her like a hook.
“My daughter,” the old woman said, “you can’t walk back home.”
Joy paused and turned. “Why, Mama?”
The old woman looked serious. “It is dangerous. Wild animals are everywhere. I don’t think you know the distance we walked to reach this place. If you decide to walk back alone, it is too risky.”
Joy’s heart jumped. “So what do I do, Mama?” she asked, trying not to sound scared.
The old woman stood up slowly, came close to her, and spoke in a calm voice, as if she were giving a simple instruction.
