Òyì nke e mepụtara

The village of Akwọ lay between a restless river and a stretch of red earth that cracked open under the sun. Palm trees stood tall like silent guardians, their leaves whispering whenever the wind passed through. At the far end of the village, slightly raised above the others, stood a round mud hut with a thatched roof—home of the Rainmaker. On this evening, the sky was heavy with clouds, thick and grey, pressing low as if listening. The air smelled of wet soil even before a drop had fallen. In