Viktor

Stories from Old

In a quiet village, beneath the shade of an ancient Baobab, lived Mama Wanga, the keeper of stories. People said her words were like the Baobab’s roots—deep, strong, and nourishing.

One evening, young Mfundisi sat beside her, troubled. "Mama, I feel lost," he said. "I don’t know where I belong."

Mama Wanga chuckled softly and pointed to the towering Baobab. "See this tree? It did not ask where the wind would take its seed. It simply grew, spread its roots, and gave shade."

She picked up a fallen seed. "This seed has no map, no certainty of where it will land. But wherever it falls, it can grow. You, too, are like this seed. Your path is not some distant place—it is wherever you choose to stand and grow."

Mfundisi hesitated. "But what if I am too broken to grow?"

Mama Wanga smiled, her face lined like the dry earth. "Even a broken seed feeds the soil, Mfundi. Strength is not about being whole; it is about giving what you have. Help your neighbors, learn from the elders, sing with the children. That is your path."

Mfundisi looked around—the village, the fields, the faces of his people. He understood. He did not need to search far. Like the Baobab, his purpose was right where he stood.