“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.
“Close your eyes.”
Joy hesitated. Her mind was confused. Everything about that morning had already gone beyond normal. But she obeyed. She held the white pot tightly to her chest and closed her eyes.
The next thing she felt was a soft breeze passing over her face, as if the air had shifted. Her stomach turned slightly, like when someone stands up too fast. It lasted only a moment.
Then the old woman’s voice came again, gentle and clear.
“Open your eyes.”
Joy opened her eyes—and her whole body froze.
She was no longer in the old woman’s compound.
She was standing inside her own small room, the same room in her aunt’s house.
Joy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked down at her hands. The white native pot was still there.
Her knees grew weak. She sat down slowly on the mattress as if her legs could no longer carry her.
Her heart was beating like a drum. Her eyes moved around the room again and again, as if she expected the walls to change.
“No… no… how?” she whispered.
She rushed to the window and looked outside. She could see the village road. She could hear people’s voices. She could hear ordinary life. It was as if that strange place had never existed.
Joy held the pot tighter. Her breath shook.
Then she whispered again, this time with fear and shock together, “What just happened to me?”
Minutes later, Joy was still standing in the middle of her room. Her mind kept replaying everything like a film—the old woman’s weak voice, the heavy firewood, the dirty compound, the sweeping, the cooking, the white pot, and the strange moment she opened her eyes and found herself back in her room.
Suddenly, the door slammed open.
Her aunt rushed in angrily. She did not even greet her.
“Joy!” she shouted. “So you did not go to school.”
Joy blinked as if coming back to life. “Auntie—”
But the woman did not let her speak.
“What are you doing in this house this morning? Are you now seeing men?” She looked Joy up and down with disgust. “Is that why you’re standing here like this, looking confused, like someone who just came from somewhere?”
Joy’s mouth opened again. “No, Auntie, I—”
But her aunt cut her off with a loud hiss. “Shut up! Don’t you ever open your mouth to lie to me. You’re in uniform and you’re still at home. So what is it? You think you are grown now? You want to start sleeping around?”
Joy’s eyes widened in shock. “Auntie, I didn’t do anything like that.”
Her aunt laughed bitterly. “An old woman story, abi? Every day you have a story. Tomorrow it will be, ‘I helped a young man.’ Next tomorrow it will be, ‘I fell into somebody’s bed.’ Listen to me, Joy. If you like, continue. If you like, spoil your life. But don’t bring shame to my house.”
Joy’s throat tightened. “Auntie, please—”
“Please what?” her aunt barked. “If you talk too much, I will stop you from going to school completely, because I have not even paid your fees. In fact, I’m happy I didn’t. Useless girl.”
Joy stood there holding her tears while her aunt kept pouring insults on her like hot water. Inside Joy’s chest, fear and anger mixed painfully.
The next morning, Joy and Tracy were on the road to school again, but the air between them was different. Tracy walked fast and angry, her face tight. Joy followed quietly, her mind still full of everything that had happened.
Tracy did not even greet properly. She started talking immediately.
“So, you left me yesterday and followed that witch old woman. Joy, you are lucky she didn’t eat you. I thought she was going to harm you. You are very stubborn. That’s what I hate about you. You don’t listen to me as a friend.”
Joy sighed and looked at her. “Tracy, there is nothing wrong in helping people.”
“You are too soft,” Tracy snapped. “Try to be hard a little. If you are too soft, people will use you and throw you away.”
They kept walking.
Then Tracy suddenly changed the subject. “By the way, some big city boys are coming to the village tomorrow. They’re hosting a big party at night. Music, drinks, everything. All the fine girls will be there. Will you go with me?”
Joy’s eyes widened immediately. “Never. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be at home reading my books.”
“Books?” Tracy repeated with disgust. “Joy, are you serious?”
“Yes. I want to finish school. Well.”
“I’m not doing night party,” Tracy hissed. “You are really a local village girl. A village girl who doesn’t know anything about enjoyment.”
Joy replied softly but firmly, “Enjoyment is not everything, Tracy. Not everybody wants that kind of life.”
Tracy rolled her eyes and increased her speed. “Stay with your books. When you see people progressing, don’t cry.”
Joy stayed quiet, but inside she felt that familiar pain again—the pain of being mocked for being different. Still, she told herself: I will not change my heart because someone wants to shame me.
At break time in school, Tracy came to where Joy was standing near the classroom corridor.
“Joy, they didn’t call your name this morning on the assembly ground for unpaid school fees. How come? Have you paid your fees?”
Joy nodded. “Yes.”
Tracy’s mouth opened in shock. “How? Your aunt finally gave you the money?”
Joy’s eyes changed. “Tracy, please don’t insult her.”
Tracy waved her hand. “Whatever.”
Just then, a junior student passed by slowly. He looked sad.
“Good afternoon, seniors,” he greeted politely.
Joy noticed his face immediately. “Hey, why are you sad? You are always cheerful. What happened?”
The boy stopped. His eyes looked tired. “Senior Joy, my mother is sick. She has been in the hospital since yesterday, and I have not paid my school fees too. They said they will send me home tomorrow.”
Joy’s heart tightened. She did not think twice.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning I will pay your school fees. And come to my house this evening. I will give you money for your mother’s hospital bills.”
The boy’s face lit up at once. “Thank you, Senior Joy. God bless you!”
He almost bowed in gratitude, then hurried away smiling for the first time.
The moment he left, Tracy stepped closer with a strange look on her face.
“Wait a minute. Joy, is there something you are not telling me?”
Joy looked away. “Nothing at all.”
Tracy narrowed her eyes. “Stop that nonsense. What do you mean nothing? You just promised somebody money. Me and you know you are poor. Where will you get money from?”
Joy’s heart beat fast, but she kept her face calm. “Tracy, I’m not poor. Don’t worry. The Lord will provide.”
Tracy laughed mockingly. “I knew it. You are sleeping with men in this village. That’s where the money is coming from. I thought I was the bad one, but you are worse. You’re doing it secretly.”
Joy’s eyes widened. “Tracy, how can you say that?”
“Then explain. How did you pay your fees? How are you promising hospital money? Don’t tell me, ‘God will provide,’ like a child.”
Joy swallowed hard. She wanted to tell Tracy the truth, but the old woman’s warning flashed in her mind—Don’t ever tell anybody.
So she forced herself to breathe and said, “Tracy, I’m not sleeping with anybody. Please stop talking like this.”
Tracy shook her head slowly. “If you like, lie. But I will watch you, because something is going on.”
After school, Joy walked home quietly. When she reached the house, she entered her small room and locked the door gently. She stood there for a moment, breathing slowly.
Then she brought out the white native pot and placed it on the floor.
She looked at it as if speaking to a living thing. Then she touched it three times and whispered, “Please, my dear pot, I need money.”
Immediately, money appeared inside it.
Joy’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from shouting. It was real. It was not a dream.
She quickly collected the money, counted what she needed, and hid the rest carefully.
Then she stepped out of the house. On the road, she met the junior student’s father coming toward her. The man looked worried and tired, like someone who had not slept.
“My daughter,” he said quickly, “my son told me you want to help us. Is it true?”
Joy nodded. “Yes, Papa. It’s true.”
The man’s eyes filled with tears. “Ah, God bless you. My son said you told him to bring us this evening.”
Joy shook her head. “No need, Papa. I couldn’t wait till evening.” She brought out the money and gave it to him. “Take this. Use it for the hospital and medicine. Please go quickly.”
The man stood as if dreaming. He looked at the money, then at Joy again in shock. “My daughter, are you sure?”
“Yes, Papa. Please go and take care of Mama.”
The man lifted his hands to the sky and started praying immediately, right there on the road.
“God of heaven, thank you. My daughter, may you go to the best university in this world and graduate with flying colors. You will marry a good husband. You will not suffer. You will not beg. Keep doing good, my daughter. God will reward you.”
Joy’s eyes softened and she smiled. “Amen, Papa. Thank you.”
Then she added, “Tomorrow morning I will pay your son’s school fees when I get to school, so they won’t send him home again.”
The man’s face shone with even more joy. “What would we have done without you? God bless you, Joy. You just saved a life.”
Joy shook her head gently. “It’s nothing, Papa. Please hurry to the hospital.”
He kept thanking her as he walked away quickly, holding the money like hope itself. Joy watched him go, and for the first time in her life, she saw clearly that her kindness could truly change someone’s story.
Two days later, trouble came to Joy’s house through the person she least expected—Tracy.
That afternoon, Joy’s aunt was outside in the compound doing chores when Tracy entered with a face that looked serious and annoyed.
“Good afternoon, Ma,” Tracy said.
“Good afternoon, Tracy. Where is Joy?”
Tracy lowered her voice immediately and moved closer as if sharing a secret. “Ma, I came because I don’t want problem. Please don’t tell Joy I told you.”
Joy’s aunt frowned. “Told her what?”
Tracy looked around, then whispered, “Ma, haven’t you heard? People are saying Joy is now sharing money in this village like a billionaire. Money for school fees, money for hospital, money for food. Everybody is talking.”
Joy’s aunt froze. “Joy… sharing money?”
Tracy nodded. “Yes, Ma. And people are saying she is sleeping with local village men. That’s where the money is coming from. She is stubborn. I don’t want them to say I’m following a bad girl. That’s why I stopped moving with her.”
Joy’s aunt’s face turned red. “So Joy has money and we are suffering in this house?”
“I don’t know, Ma. I just know what people are saying.”
Joy’s aunt started pacing angrily. “So this girl has been hiding money from me!”
Tracy lifted her hands quickly. “Ma, please. Don’t mention my name. I didn’t tell you anything. I just came as a friend.”
“Friend indeed!” her aunt barked. “Leave! Leave my compound!”
Tracy rushed out immediately.
Joy’s aunt stood there breathing hard. “So this girl has money and she is doing big woman outside. Me, I’m here struggling and she is hiding money. God will not forgive her.”
Just then Joy entered the compound, unaware that her life was about to turn upside down.
Before she could greet, her aunt rushed toward her like a lion.
“Joy! So you are now sharing money in this village like a billionaire!”
Joy stopped suddenly. “Auntie, what are you saying?”
Her aunt’s eyes were full of anger. “Don’t ask me anything. Where are you getting money from? Where? They said you are paying people’s hospital bills, paying school fees. Are you sleeping with men in this village?”
Joy’s heart jumped. “Auntie, I’m not sleeping with anybody.”
Her aunt laughed bitterly. “Then where is the money coming from? Answer me!”
Joy opened her mouth, but no words came. She remembered the old woman’s warning too clearly.
Her silence made her aunt even angrier.
“So you will be hiding money from me. You want to eat money alone while we are suffering?”
Joy held her aunt’s hands gently. “Auntie, please.”
But her aunt pushed her away. “Please what? Useless girl. You will disgrace me in this village. One day you will just disappear and bring shame. Mark my words—you will leave this house soon.”
Joy went to her room and sat down, breathing hard, her eyes full of tears. She felt trapped. She had lost Tracy. She was fighting her aunt. The village was already talking.
A week later, on a quiet evening, someone knocked on Joy’s door.
When she opened it, she saw Tracy standing there with a small smile and a bottle in her hand.
“Joy,” Tracy said softly, “I’m sorry.”
Joy’s face stayed hard.
Tracy stepped closer. “Please, my best friend. I was angry. I talk too much. I miss you. You know you are my only true friend. Forgive me.”
Joy looked at her for a long time. Tracy’s eyes were watery and her voice was sweet. She kept begging, saying nice things, reminding Joy of old times, touching Joy’s hand like she truly cared.
Joy’s heart was soft inside, even when she tried to stay firm. After a while, she sighed and said, “Okay, I forgive you. But don’t ever talk to me like that again.”
Tracy’s face brightened. “Thank you. Thank you. Let’s celebrate with this wine, my best friend.”
Joy hesitated immediately. “Tracy, you know I don’t drink alcohol.”
Tracy waved her hand quickly. “Ah, stop it. It’s not alcoholic. It’s just normal wine. Non-alcoholic. Like juice. I brought it because I know you like sweet things.”
Joy still looked unsure.
Tracy laughed. “Joy, do you think I want to harm you? After I came to beg like this? Come on, just a little.”
Joy finally agreed because she wanted peace and because Tracy was her friend again.
They sat in Joy’s room and Tracy poured the drink into two cups. Joy took small sips at first. It tasted sweet and did not burn like alcohol, so she relaxed.
Tracy kept smiling, acting happy, telling jokes, making Joy laugh a little.
Then she poured again. “Drink more. Today is celebration. Don’t be stingy with yourself.”
Joy shook her head.
“Just small more,” Tracy insisted.
Joy drank again.
After some time, Joy’s head started feeling light. Her eyes blinked slowly. Her body felt warm. She laughed at things that were not even funny.
That was when Tracy leaned closer with a serious face.
“Joy,” she said softly, “please tell me the truth. Where do you get money from?”
Joy smiled foolishly and waved her hand. “It’s God.”
Tracy frowned. “Stop that. Which God will be dropping money in your hand like that? Tell me. I’m your best friend.”
Joy’s head swayed. “God,” she repeated, laughing.
Tracy’s eyes became sharp. She poured more into Joy’s cup. “Drink. Maybe you will feel better.”
Joy drank more.
Her tongue became loose. Her eyes heavy. She started talking carelessly.
Tracy moved even closer, her voice like soft rope. “Joy, that day you followed that old woman with firewood… what happened?”
Joy’s face changed as if remembering something. She giggled and whispered, “Old woman… she gave me a pot.”
Tracy’s heart jumped. “A pot? What kind of pot?”
Joy laughed again. “White pot. If you touch it three times, money will come.”
Tracy’s eyes widened with greed, though she pretended surprise. “Where is the pot?”
Joy pointed lazily. “Under my bed.”
Tracy stood up immediately, trying not to move too fast. She bent down, lifted the bed cover, and saw it.
The white native pot.
Her breath caught. She grabbed it quickly, held it tight, and looked at Joy one last time. Joy was already half asleep, not knowing anything.
Tracy turned, rushed out of the room, and disappeared with the pot.
Joy woke up the next morning with a heavy head and a confused mind. She remembered only two things clearly: Tracy came to apologize, and Tracy brought a drink. After that, everything was blank.
She sat on her mattress for a while trying to force her brain to remember, but nothing came. She felt angry, not because Tracy had apologized, but because she knew something was wrong.
What did she do to me? Why can’t I remember?
She stood up quickly and decided to go straight to Tracy’s house to ask what had happened.
But on the road she met the old woman again.
The same old woman from the firewood day.
“Mama,” Joy said, forcing a small smile. “I’m happy to see you. Where are you going?”
The old woman looked at Joy, and her eyes became deep, like she already knew what was in Joy’s heart.
“My daughter,” the woman said quietly, “there is trouble.”
Joy frowned. “Trouble? What trouble, Mama?”
The old woman moved closer and lowered her voice. “That your friend, Tracy… she has stolen your pot.”
Joy froze.
Her whole body turned cold.
“What?” she whispered. “Mama, what are you saying?”
“I am telling you before you go and waste your time. You are on your way to her house now, thinking you will ask her what happened yesterday. But listen to me. If you go back home now, you will discover the pot is no longer there. Tracy took it.”
Joy’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“No… Mama, it can’t be Tracy. Tracy is my best friend.”
The old woman’s face stayed calm. “Your friend is evil. Could you believe she is already on her way to the city? Don’t even bother going to her house. You will not meet her.”
Joy’s knees became weak. “The city? So she planned it.”
The old woman nodded.
Joy’s eyes filled with tears immediately. “Mama, what will I do? I’m so sorry for everything. I should not have accepted her apology. I didn’t know she was this evil. Please forgive me.”
The old woman gently held Joy’s hand. “I don’t blame you, my child. You are a good person. You trusted someone you loved. That is not your sin.”
“But Mama, I failed you. I lost what you gave me.”
The old woman’s eyes looked strong. “Don’t worry. Karma will soon deal with her. Evil does not run forever. It always meets its judgment.”
Joy nodded slowly, crying as if her heart were being squeezed.
She turned back and walked home, not even knowing how her feet carried her.
Before she even checked, she already knew the truth.
Her best friend had betrayed her.
Tracy reached the city that same day with her heart beating wildly. She did not go to any friend’s house. She rented a cheap room near a noisy street and locked the door quickly like someone hiding stolen gold.
She brought out the white native pot and placed it on the floor, staring at it with hungry eyes.
“So it’s true,” she whispered with a smile.
She touched the pot three times and said, “Oh, sweet pot, please give me ten million naira.”
Immediately, bundles of money appeared inside the pot.
Tracy screamed and covered her mouth quickly so people outside would not hear. She started laughing, shaking, and crying at the same time.
“Yes! I’m rich!” she whispered loudly. “Money! I love money!”
She spread the cash on the bed, rolled on it like a mad person, and kissed it. Her eyes shone like someone who had been waiting for that moment all her life.
“Joy is foolish,” she muttered. “She doesn’t know what she was holding. Now it’s mine.”
That same day, Tracy entered one of the most expensive boutiques in town. She bought new hair, a new wig, lashes, perfume, shoes that shone like mirrors, and dresses that hugged her body. She walked into a phone shop and pointed like a boss.
“Give me the latest iPhone.”
People started smiling at her, calling her madam, treating her like a big woman. That sweet attention went straight to her head.
By evening, she entered a big salon and did her nails, her brows, everything. She kept checking herself in the mirror and smiling.
Finally she said, “I have arrived.”
That night, Tracy went to a club. Loud music, flashing lights, bottles on tables, people dancing like tomorrow did not matter. Tracy sat in front like a celebrity. She ordered drinks and sprayed money to impress strangers. Men gathered around her quickly, laughing at her jokes, calling her baby, asking for her number.
She enjoyed it like a hungry person eating for the first time. She danced, shouted, and posted pictures like she was living her best life.
In her mind, she had not stolen anything. She told herself it was destiny. She told herself Joy was too slow and too holy.
“Life is for smart people,” she laughed.
The following day, Tracy woke up and faced the truth she did not want to admit.
Ten million naira was already almost finished.
She had spent like someone trying to prove something to the whole world. Shopping, clubbing, drinks, hotel, hair, nails, phone, giving strangers money just to hear them call her madam.
When she checked her bag and counted what remained, fear and greed tightened around her heart.
Instead of learning, she only wanted more.
“It’s not enough,” she muttered. “I need more.”
She brought out the white pot, smiled sweetly at it like it was her boyfriend, touched it three times, and said, “Oh, sweet pot, please give me more money. Plenty money.”
She waited, already smiling, imagining herself buying a car and renting a big apartment.
But this time, the room became strangely cold.
The pot shook slightly—
then vanished before her eyes like smoke.
Tracy’s smile died immediately.
“Ah! My pot!”
Before she could move, the air in the room changed and two masquerades suddenly appeared, as if they had come out of the ground. Their bodies were covered, their faces hidden, and their presence filled the room with fear.
Tracy’s legs went weak. She tried to run, but her body refused to obey.
The masquerades moved fast and began to beat her—not in some bloody way, but with heavy blows that made her cry and beg.
“Help! Help me!”
Nobody came. The walls swallowed her voice.
As she cried and begged, one masquerade spoke with a deep angry voice that sounded like thunder inside a drum.
“Greedy human. Wicked soul. You stole what is not yours. You used friendship as a trap. Now listen carefully. Go to the village now. Go and apologize to your friend. Go and return what you stole.”
Tracy was shaking violently, crying until her face was soaked. “Please! Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Forgive me! I will go back. I will apologize. I will do anything!”
The masquerade stepped closer and warned her, “If you delay, your suffering will be worse. The gift you stole will never bless you. It will only destroy you.”
Tracy nodded quickly, crying like a child. “I will go now. I promise.”
The masquerades disappeared the same way they came, leaving Tracy alone on the floor, trembling, bruised, and terrified.
For the first time since she stole the pot, Tracy understood one hard truth:
Some shortcuts lead straight into punishment.
Meanwhile, Joy was in the village sitting on her mattress in her small room, quiet and broken. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her chest felt heavy like someone had poured sand inside it.
She kept blaming herself. Why did I trust her? Why did I drink that thing? Why didn’t I listen to my spirit?
She stood up slowly, wiped her face, then turned—
and froze.
On her small wooden table, right there in front of her, was the white native pot.
Joy stared at it as if she were dreaming. She moved closer slowly, touched it lightly, then pulled her hand back again as if it might disappear.
“No… how?”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of shock and relief.
As she kept staring at the pot, the air in the room changed gently and a voice came—soft but clear, as if it were inside her ears and also inside her heart.
“My child, be careful with Tracy. She is on her way to your house. Forgive her, but stay away from her. Do not be close to her again.”
Joy’s whole body shook. “Who… who is speaking?” she whispered.
But the voice did not answer that question. It only repeated:
“Forgive her, but stay away.”
Then the room became normal again.
A few minutes later, there was a fast, urgent knock at the door.
Joy’s heart tightened. She walked to the door and opened it slowly.
Tracy was standing there.
But she did not look like the Tracy who had left the village in pride. Her eyes were red. Her face was swollen from crying. Her body looked weak, as if she had been through something terrible.
The moment she saw Joy, she fell to her knees.
“Joy, please forgive me. I’m sorry.”
Her voice shook and tears ran down her face.
“I was blind. I was blinded by greed. I don’t know what came over me. Please, my friend, forgive me.”
Joy stood still, watching her quietly. Her heart was hurt, but the voice she had heard earlier was still fresh in her mind.
Tracy crawled closer, still crying. “I swear I’m sorry. I did a terrible thing. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.”
Joy’s eyes were calm but firm.
“Tracy, I forgive you.”
Tracy’s face lifted with hope. “You do?”
Joy nodded. “Yes, I forgive you.”
Then she added the words that cut deeper than shouting:
“But we can never be friends again.”
Tracy’s mouth opened in shock. “Joy, please!”
Joy shook her head. “No. I wish you good luck. I pray you change. I pray you become a better person. But you can’t be close to me again. You betrayed me. You used me. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Tracy started crying harder. “Joy, please, I beg you. We’ve been friends since childhood.”
“That is why it hurts,” Joy replied. “But my decision is final.”
Tracy tried to hold Joy’s hand, but Joy stepped back gently.
“Go, Tracy. Please go.”
Tracy’s shoulders shook as she cried. She wanted to talk more, to beg more, to force Joy’s heart to soften. But Joy did not move. She did not insult her. She just stood there, strong and quiet, like a door that would never open again.
At last Tracy stood up slowly, wiped her face, and nodded like someone accepting punishment. She looked at Joy one last time, full of regret, then turned and walked away from the compound, sad and empty.
Joy watched her go. Tears entered her eyes again, but she did not call her back.
Because forgiveness does not always mean access.
And some friendships must end to protect a good heart.
Joy continued her life quietly in the village, using the white pot only to help people who truly needed help. She paid school fees for children who were about to drop out. She helped sick people buy medicine. She supported widows and old people with food and rent. She never showed off. She never made noise. She remembered the warning and kept her heart clean.
One day, news spread through the village that the prince had returned home from overseas. He had heard stories about a young woman in the village who helped people without pride, who changed lives quietly. Curious, the prince asked to meet her.
When Joy was told, she was shocked and scared. But from the first day they met, something gentle happened between them. There was no pride, no force—only peace. They talked like two people who had known each other for a long time.
The prince admired her kindness and wisdom. Joy admired his humility and calm spirit.
From that first meeting, love grew naturally between them.
Just days into their friendship, the prince spoke clearly.
“Joy, I have seen many women, but I have never seen a heart like yours. Will you marry me?”
Joy’s eyes filled with tears—not tears of fear, but of gratitude.
She nodded with a smile. “Yes. I will marry you.”
But far away, Tracy heard the news.
The moment she heard that Joy was going to marry the prince, anger entered her like poison.
“Joy again?” she shouted. “She always gets the best things. Who the hell is she? That prince is mine.”
Her heart burned with jealousy. “She took money. She took respect. Now she wants to take my man too.”
Blinded by hatred, she went to a native doctor deep in the bush. She told him everything and demanded a charm to destroy Joy.
The man looked at her carefully and said, “This path is dangerous. If you take this charm, don’t look back. Even if someone calls your name, don’t turn. If you do, your life will change forever.”
Tracy nodded quickly. “I won’t look back. Just give it to me.”
The man gave her the charm, and Tracy left with her heart full of darkness.
As she walked through the bush path, fear and excitement mixed inside her. Suddenly, she heard a male voice behind her.
“Tracy, how are you doing today?”
Her heart jumped, but she remembered the warning. She did not look back.
Then the voice came again, softer, sweeter.
“It’s me, my queen. It’s the prince—your prince—the man you want.”
Tracy’s heart exploded with hope and desire.
The prince?
Forgetting the warning, forgetting everything, she turned back.
The moment she did, her eyes changed. She screamed. Her mind broke like glass.
Tracy ran wildly, shouting and laughing at the same time. She ran straight to the palace, burst into the king’s presence, and fell to the ground crying. She confessed everything—how she planned to take Joy’s place, how she went for a charm to destroy her.
“It was greed. It was the devil. Forgive me!”
The king stood in shock, unable to speak.
Before anyone could stop her, Tracy suddenly jumped up and ran out of the palace, laughing and crying, disappearing into the bush, lost to the very evil she had chosen.
And in the village, Joy stood peacefully, unaware of the storm that had just ended behind her, as destiny protected the one who chose kindness over greed.
A month later, Joy and the prince got married.
Joy wore a beautiful traditional outfit, but what made her shine most was her smile—soft, peaceful, and full of gratitude. The prince looked proud and happy. Not proud in a vain way, but proud like a man who had finally found the right woman.
After the wedding, Joy moved in with the prince, and they lived happily. She did not become proud because she married royalty. She kept her simple heart. She still helped people, still respected elders, and still cared for those who had nobody. The prince loved her even more because of that.
Their home was filled with peace, laughter, and love.
Not long after, Joy’s aunt came crying. She was ashamed. She knelt and begged for forgiveness, confessing how she had insulted Joy, threatened her, and treated her like a burden.
“My daughter,” she cried, “I was wicked. I was blind. Please forgive me.”
Joy looked at her and remembered all the pain. But she also remembered her own heart.
She lifted her aunt gently and said, “I forgive you.”
Her aunt cried harder, not because she was punished, but because she was forgiven.
Joy told her, “Let’s move forward. Just change.”
And from that day, Joy’s story became a living lesson in the village:
Goodness may be delayed, but it never dies.
