Stay Put

By Akinkuolie Steve

The harmattan wind roared through the village of Omoloro, dragging with it a shroud of dust that veiled the sun and set men coughing into their elbows. Women crouched low over their mortar and pestle, pounding yam with a rhythm older than memory, their faces lined not just with age but with the weight of expectation. It was in this restive, sun-bleached season that old tales were remembered, tales of courage and folly, of those who stayed put and those who wandered too far.

Ekun, a restless youth whose spirit burned like the embers of the blacksmith’s forge, leaned against a weather-beaten baobab tree at the village square. He had heard enough of the elders’ droning about patience and waiting for destiny to unveil its mysteries. His heart, swollen with ambition, yearned to see the world beyond Omoloro.

“Why must we stay put?” Ekun questioned aloud one evening as the council of elders gathered beneath the ancient iroko tree. “What becomes of a man who never ventures beyond the familiar?”

Pa Ifagbemi, the oldest of the elders, raised his head slowly, his eyes gleaming with the wisdom of a hundred seasons. His voice, though frail, carried the weight of tradition. “You speak of adventure, Ekun, but you forget that the roots of a tree, deep and unmoving, draw the strength that sustains it. Stay put, young one, lest you lose yourself to the wind.”

The crowd murmured approval, but Ekun’s heart rebelled. He saw in their eyes not wisdom but fear—a fear of the unknown, a clinging to comfort. That night, he made a decision. He would leave Omoloro before dawn.

As the first cock crowed, Ekun slung a small bundle over his shoulder and slipped past the village gate. He walked until the sun crested the horizon, until Omoloro was but a distant memory swallowed by the endless plains. For days, he journeyed through forests and across rivers, encountering strange lands and stranger people. He felt alive, unburdened by the weight of stillness.

But the farther he traveled, the more he noticed a peculiar thing. His strength began to wane. The joy he once felt turned hollow. The fruits of foreign lands, though plentiful, never quite sated his hunger. Something gnawed at him, something he could not name—a longing, perhaps, or the whisper of forgotten roots.

One night, beneath a canopy of unfamiliar stars, Ekun dreamt of Omoloro. He saw the baobab tree, the elders gathered beneath the iroko, and the women pounding yam in rhythmic unison. He awoke with a start, his heart heavy. It was then he understood: staying put was not about fear but about anchoring oneself to something greater than the self.

With renewed purpose, he turned back toward Omoloro. The journey home was longer, more arduous. Each step tested his resolve, but he pressed on, guided by the unseen thread that bound him to his people. When he finally stood before the village gate, he was a changed man—worn, wiser, and ready to embrace the stillness he once despised.

The elders welcomed him without question, their eyes knowing. Pa Ifagbemi smiled faintly. “You have seen the world, and now you understand. To stay put is not to stagnate but to grow where one is planted, drawing strength from the soil of one’s roots.”

Ekun bowed his head, the fire in his heart now tempered by the quiet wisdom of home. He had wandered far to learn a simple truth: sometimes, the greatest journey is the one that leads us back to where we began.

Akinkuolie Steve is a passionate storyteller whose writing blends vivid cultural landscapes with deep philosophical themes. Drawing inspiration from African traditions and folklore, Steve crafts narratives that explore the human experience—its conflicts, ambitions, and quiet moments of introspection.

With a keen eye for detail and a lyrical prose style, Steve invites readers into worlds where personal growth and cultural identity intertwine.