The Day the Baobab Spoke

🌍 The Day the Baobab Spoke

In the heart of an old African village stood a baobab so tall its crown seemed to brush the clouds. The elders said it was older than time itself — that it had seen kings rise and rivers dry. Children played under its wide arms, lovers carved their names in its bark, and travelers found shade from the cruel sun beneath its roots.

But one season, the rains delayed. The ground cracked, crops withered, and the laughter of the people faded into murmurs of worry. The baobab, silent for centuries, felt their pain. One moonlit night, it decided to speak.

Its voice was deep, like thunder wrapped in honey.
“Why do you cry when you have forgotten who you are?” it asked.

The villagers trembled. “We are hungry,” said a mother. “Our wells are dry,” said a farmer.
The baobab sighed. “You take from the earth but no longer give. You pluck the fruit but forget to plant the seed. You pray for rain but quarrel like strangers.”

Ashamed, the people looked down.

So the elders gathered everyone beneath the tree. That night, songs of unity rose higher than the drought’s despair. They shared food, told stories, and forgave old wounds. Children danced again around the baobab’s roots.

And when dawn came, dark clouds gathered in the sky — heavy with promise. The first drop of rain landed on the baobab’s leaves, and the tree smiled in silence once more.

Moral:

When a community forgets gratitude and harmony, even the heavens grow quiet.
But when hearts unite, the rain — like blessings — always returns.

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