The House at the Edge
Before Mbari Mbayo grew roads and red rooftops, it breathed slowly, like a sleeping giant wrapped in forest silence and dusty wind.
At the farthest edge of the village, past the last kolanut tree and down a narrow red-earth path, stood a crooked house made of clay, and tatched roof. An eerie looking building, smoky but warm and inviting.
Children said the wind didn’t blow there — it listened.
That house belonged to Ma Moni.
Her real name was Monisola Adebayo, but the village had long forgotten that. To most, she was simply Ma Moni — the strange woman who never bore a child, who spoke to trees, who dried herbs that no one could name. But to the children, she was something else entirely.
She was warmth. She was magic.
She never scolded. She never judged. She just told stories — stories that made the evening sky brighter and the fear of night softer.
The children loved her and would run to her house every evening, sometimes defying their own parents, just to listen to Ma Moni’s stories.
Any mother looking for her child knew where to look and many parents punished their stubborn children by threatening not to let them go to Ma Moni’s house if they refused to do chores or if they refuse to behave themselves. Among these children were Adedayo, Funmi, Sunkanmi, Bola, and Akanni, who would one day become Kanni the Survivor.
“Alo ooo” she would call out once the children are all gathered. Her golden voice intriguing. The children seated on raffia mats round her wooden stool, staring excitedly at her calm face as she told them folk stories that teaches them various lessons. would respond with - “Alo!
One evening, as a slow harmattan breeze blew gently against their dry skin, Ma Moni’s eyes darkened slightly as she tells the children a story.
“Once, upon a time” she whispered , her voice like rustling palm fronds, “there lived a spirit in the river who watched over children and punished the greedy.”
The children listen attentively as she narrates the story in her usual calm descriptive manner….
“But when the people forgot the spirit’s name,” she said, “it turned its back on them. And when a spirit turns its back…”
She paused, letting silence hum.
“It never forgives.”
The children shivered with excitement, not fear. Their attention fully engaged by Ma Moni’s demeanor.
Only Akanni, with his large eyes and cautious spirit, looked back at the door… and saw, for a fleeting second, a shadow curl just beneath it. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe it was the moonlight casting shadows on the door.. but he did see something, no one else did.
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