Walking with Mom this evening, we came across a bird’s nest. It had fallen off a tree and laid half broken on the sidewalk. Constructed with mud and dried grass stalks, the bottom still held though a side was torn off.

“This reminds me of a folktale from my youth,” Mom said. “In those days, the old used to tell us young ones, tales in the night, lit only by the moonlight. We’d sit outside in the yard, listening to tales and sharing jokes.” She stopped talking as we crossed the road.

“What specific story does the bird’s nest remind you of?” I too remembered when she used to tell us children stories by lantern anytime there was a power outage. My sisters and I will huddle beside her and she’ll tell stories from her youth in the village.

“Ademisoro was a prince. Like us, he found a bird’s nest. He plucked it out of the tree and carried it off. Just then, the mother bird which had gone looking for food, flew after Ademisoro, crying.

“Ademisoro, give me back my nest for it is my home.

My home keeps the dew from settling on me

My home keeps the rain from falling on me

My home keeps the wind from carrying away everyone I hold dear.”

But the willful brat did not listen. He looked greedily at the four eggs in the nest. He thought of the fine meal he would have frying them in palm oil with ata gigun.

In despair, the bird began to sing:

“Ademisoro, give me back my nest for it is my home.

If you don’t give me back my home, dew will fall.

If you don’t give me back my home, rain will fall.

Winds will carry away everyone you hold dear.”

The bratty prince scoffed. The palace was the sturdiest building in the village. The first building to use bricks in the entire village. Why, it had taken workmen ten days to thatch its roof. And the palm fronds had come from as far away as Odo Owa!

The prince enjoyed a delicious meal of fried eggs and yam. But no sooner had he finished than a thunderstorm arose. “Pra pa pa pa!” the thunder cracked. The palace was in a frenzy, the king, his wives, and children took cover. The prince hid under the rafter where his mother dried grains.

There was no shelter. The storm leveled the palace, palm frond roof, bricks, and all.

Mom and I walked round the block. It’s been a while, I thought. But, it’s always a good day for a good book.