How the Tortoise Broke Its Shell

It started with the famine, or so they say, but we who came after knew the truth. It began long before the drought that plunged us into starvation, which took our people.

 The elders would like to say it began with the famine, that we once lived happily, and our kingdom one, but every calamity has an origin.

Even the tallest iroko was once a seed.

It happened that the elders had always hoarded the food, leaving little for the rest of us until there was nothing left.

  It was the death of the oracle that broke the camel’s back, and the camel was the entire animal. That night, we took sanctuary under the moonlight until the tortoise said that the gods had spoken to him.

  You see, the tortoise was the oracle’s son, and it was no surprise that the gods spoke through him, who was a better fit for the position, if not the one who shared blood with the former oracle.

So, we listened.

Tortoise revealed to us why the gods had damned us. “It is our elders' greed,” he said, “They never listen to the warnings from the gods; it is innate in them to doom the younger ones since they won’t live long.”

Then he claimed his father, the former oracle, was manipulated by the other elders and kept the truth of the animal survival against his own judgment.

The elders were afraid, terrified of what the vision would wreak.

“Now that my father is dead, it is upon me to convey this message of the gods.

 Nobody protested; we all listened hungrily, desperate for answers.

Desperate for salvation.

And he told us what the gods had told his father.

What the elders had kept from us.

“The oracle spoke to me last night; it said we should sacrifice the old ones”

A short gasp ran through the animals; we all turned to each other, confused.

“Isn’t that blasphemous to kill them?” a soft voice echoed through the silence; it was the dog.

“Who said anything about killing? It is their sacrifice to sustain their children. It is the best they could do, as our elders. They had lived and doomed us, and of course, it is our time to change that”

“But…” the dog stammered,

“Are you trying to question the gods?” the tortoise asked, a frown on his face.

“The gods…” the dog looked at him, baffled.

“Yes, the gods, or have you forgotten that i am the son of the oracle and the gods never lie”

“The gods never lie,” I echoed

“The gods never lie,” the animal beside me said

“The gods never lie,” and it became a chant.

   That night, we all agreed to sacrifice our elders, every animal against their own mothers.

Every animal against their own fathers, tearing through the night with rage, stealing back the future stolen from the ones who plunged us into the hands of death.

  By morning, our parched land was soaked in blood, and every animal had eaten until the ache of hunger faded, all except one.

While the animals were killing their elders, one couldn’t bear to kill her own.

  One might say the bond shared between the dog and her mother was rather stronger than she took her to the mountain, safe away from the carnage.

We didn’t realize what she had done, not while we were killing our parents. Not while we were rejoicing that the gods had finally saved us, because after a week had passed, our hunger continued.

This time worse than the first. We were starting to wonder if the gods had truly spoken to the tortoise, but no one dared to speak because the tortoise had promised a way out.  

“The gods said, soon, the heaven will be filled with food”

  Each time he said that, we grew desperate. Hunger had reached its peak, and some of us were starting to believe that maybe the gods never spoke to the tortoise. We were all dying slowly.

 The lion had stopped roaring. Even the monkey no longer had the strength to climb, and the elephant, once large, slumped one evening, eyes to the sky with no strength to carry on.

   One day, while scavenging in the forest, the tortoise and I saw the dog coming out of a hidden bush. She looked frightened at first but quickly recovered her composure before smiling at us. She was different, we noticed.

While the rest of us were bones beneath our furs, the dog grew radiant and rounder.

  There was no mistake that she was and is well-fed. The corner of her mouth was oily as if she had just finished eating.

“You look well, dog”

The tortoise said, watching her trudge down our path. “So do you,” she smiled nervously as we watched her go. We were suspicious, and every animal notice the clear difference between the dog and us; while we grew stunted and hungrier, she was always plump and radiant.

  We soon started monitoring the dog, without her knowledge. It took a week before we realized what was happening. One fateful day, the tortoise and I caught the dog sneaking into the forest. It was a long walk until she stopped in front of the huge mountain, looking behind her to see if anyone was following. We quickly hid behind the iroko tree; that was when she started singing.

   Iya, iya fa okun walế

   Alu jonjo ki jon

   Gbogbo eranko pa iya re je

   Alu jonjo ki jon

   Aja gbe ti re odi orun ooo

   Alu jonjo ki jon

Her voice sounded low and guttural, but we listened to her sing several times until a hand threw a rope from the mountaintops toward the ground. The dog quickly climbed onto the rope, and we watched it carry her into the mountain top. She was at the mountain top for hours until we saw the rope bring her down and she looked full.

“That bastard,” the tortoise shrieked, punching through the tree. I watched his face glow red with anger.

“Does that mean the gods…” I stopped when his glaring eyes met mine, because he knew what I wanted to say, He stomped off, and I followed him back to the village. There, he called the few animals he trusted and told them what he had seen and what the dog had done, but the way he said it.

  One would think it was the gods’ will and the dog was the devil incarnate. With the help of the other animals, we take back from the dog what she had taken from us.

It was the dog’s fault that the gods had not answered us.

It was the dog’s fault that the other animals were dying.

It was the dog’s fault that our land was plagued with unending drought and famine.

  That night, three animals snuck into the dog’s house and killed her, and that night, we celebrated the death of a traitor. We knew the food from heaven was ours, but we also knew how suspicious it was for us to go there that night and call for the magic rope. So, we waited, and with each passing time, we dreamed of the heaven the dog had kept away from us.

  Until the day- our dream was to come into fruition, with the tortoise to lead us, we walked for miles until we reached the face of paradise. The tortoise, the wisest of all, the son of the oracle, the mouthpiece of the gods, cleared his throat and imitate the dog’s guttural voice:

   Iya, iya fa okun walế

   Alu jonjo ki jon

   Gbogbo eranko pa iya re je

   Alu jonjo ki jon

   Aja gbe ti re odi orun ooo

   Alu jonjo ki jon

It took long, and the other animals were beginning to doubt us. Just when the tortoise was about to give up, the rope suddenly appeared dangling from the mountaintop and descended toward us.

They all gasped, awed by the miracle.

Heaven. I could hear their thought.

“We need to be strategic; the hyena and I will go up first and kill whoever is there, then we will throw the rope down to the rest of you” the tortoise suggested and everyone agreed. I armed myself with a large stick in case whoever was up in the mountain was dangerous. We climbed the rope and let it pull us gently toward the top.

   It was a gentle pull, as if the person at the other end was struggling under our weight. I wondered if the dog was as heavy as two animals− She must have been, with all she had eaten. Soon enough, we were getting closer to the mountaintops and the wafting smell of porridge with peppered soup filled our nose.

Heaven.

We were getting closer to heaven. Just seven more pulls and paradise would be within our grasp, but then it happened rather fast. The dog’s mother had peeked down to see the face of her daughter, only to be greeted with the faces of intruders.

  We must have been heavier than the dog because she stopped pulling and reached for a blade.

“Wait,” the tortoise tried to stop her, but she already understood.

With one swift motion, she cut the rope.

  The tortoise fell. I watched him disappear beneath me before I too lost my grip and came crashing down. But unlike me, the tortoise landed on his back.

   The sound that came from that fall was one I would never forget; the sound of shell striking the earth.

  He lay there unmoving, and I, in much worse shape. The animals gathered around him, and for the first time, the son of oracle had nothing to say.

No god, no prophecy, no divine wisdom.

Only pain, and I know this because I felt what he was feeling.

“Help me,” he wheezed in pain.

Nobody moved.

“Please”

  The animals stood around him in silence; they were beginning to understand, and perhaps they were finally seeing the truth.

The one who claimed to have spoken to the gods was a liar, and our desperation had cost us nothing but despair.

We had killed our elders and our friend, and we could only simply be. Each animal sauntered away looking for salvation elsewhere.

   The tortoise dragged himself through the dust, searching for anyone who might help him. That was when a group of working ants passed by.

He pleaded with them, and out of pity, they gathered his broken shell scattered across the ground.

   Without asking what he had done, they began their work. Piecing together all that was broken and when they were done, the tortoise back never remained the same.

  Sometimes, the animals who survived the famine would like to think that the tortoise broken shell was a curse from the gods.

A curse and a lesson, a remind to people to never use the names of the gods’ in vain.