CRY N cry n give US GOLD GIVE US GOLD N CRY FOR at the edge of a forgotten forest sat the strange and noisy village of a place where even silence had its own sound. Every morning before sunrise, the villagers will wake up to hear the river hum a soft melody. They called it the singing river and they believed it chose who would prosper each year.
When it sang louder near someone’s heart, that person would suddenly find fortune, maybe a bumper harvest or a healthy newborn. No one questioned it because inadu the river’s will was law. The people of the village were always loud, cheerful, and obsessed with signs. If a roster crewed twice before dawn, it meant there would be rainfall.
If it crued three times, then someone would marry on the next market’s day. If he didn’t c at all, everyone ran to the river begging for forgiveness. Life went on like that until one misty morning when everything changed. A group of children went down the river to fetch water. As they played by the rocks, one of them screamed.
Floating near the rits was something glittering like it had life in it. When they came closer, they saw her, a woman with a fish tail. Her long hair tangled in vines, and her skin shone like wet glass under the sun. Her eyes were blue like they held the powers of the river. The children ran to the village in fear, shouting, “There’s a woman in the river.
A woman with a tail.” Within minutes, everyone gathered at the riverside. Drummers, traders, even Chief Udolo, whose belly entered every place before he did. He stared at the creature in a “She’s no woman,” Chief Odolo said. “She’s the river’s daughter.” The crowd fell silent, and every eyes widened with fear and excitement.
They lifted her gently from the ridge and carried her to the riverside shrine wrapped in white cloth. From that day the hum of the river grew louder as though it were singing her name. The villagers named her Olua N meaning the gift of the gods and truly she was. We praise the river. WE [screaming] PRAISE THE TREE.
Olua is here. From the day she arrived, everything in Nuador began to change. Fishermen who once caught mud now returned the nets so heavy that even children helped drag them to the shore. Cavas screw thicker than a man’s arm. Goats gave birth to twins. Even baring women began to tie wrappers around their swelling bellies, singing praises to the river.
Ulua N became the center of the village life. She couldn’t walk on land for too long because she was not used to living on dry lands, but she loved to sit on the smooth rock near the water. The children gathered around her every evening, listening as she hummed strange songs that made the river shimmer.
Sometimes when she laughed, fish led from the water like they were dancing. Chief Udulo, a proud man with round belly, claimed the mermaid coming was a reward for his good leadership. The river knows its people. he would see slapping his chest so hard that his beads rattled. He ordered new huts to be built closer to the river so they could honor her properly, though most people suspected he simply wanted to keep an eye on her inadu.
Not everyone was happy with Olu and N’s arrival. Mama Airi, the sharp tonged fish monger, began to lose customers. Who needed her fish when the mermaid’s blessings made everyone’s net overflow? She grumbled loudly in the market. A fish with a woman’s face cannot feed the village forever, she said.
Then there was Maka, the quiet storyteller. He alone seemed to look at the mermaid with more wonder than greed. Every night he sat by her side, asking questions no one else bothered to ask, where she came from, what she missed, and what she feared. She never answered directly, but sometimes her songs sounded like memories of a world deep below, where lights floated like smoke, and time moved slowly as waves.
For a while, became a paradise. The villagers danced every evening by the riverside, chewing flowers and coins into the water, while drums thundered like heartbeats. Children raced through golden fields. Traders laughed at full baskets and the air smelled of wealth and comfort. But no one noticed that the river had stopped singing.
And deep below where the light could no longer reach, something began to stay. At first, everyone was content with Olu and the next blessings. But in Uku, contentment never stayed long. The people began to ask for more. Farmers demanded for longer rains. Impatient traders demanded for faster harvest and husbands craved for unmarried girls to add to their list.
Each time the villagers came to the riverside, Uluan would smile gently, but deep down she was getting fed up by their neverending demands. She tried to please them, but each blessing seemed to take something from her. Her once bright glow began to dim slowly, and her voice grew hers. One evening as the villagers began to make demands, she said softly.
The river gives what it can carry. If you take too much, the river will break. But the villagers didn’t understand the message he was passing across. Chief Udono stepped forward with his round belly shooting out like a proud drum that entered the scene before the rest of his body. The gods gave you to us, N, he said with his booming voice.
Surely they didn’t send you here to rest. Two more. You owe this village your gift. He yelled angrily. The crowd clapped and shouted in agreement. Ulua Nette’s eyes filled with sadness. The next morning, she refused to grant anyone’s wish. When the people kneelled before her, she turned away and swam into the sea. That was when the gossipy began.
“She’s hiding her powers,” said Mama Airi while spitting into the dust. “She’s saving her magic for someone else,” another muttered. Some even claimed they saw her at night talking to the river like it was a lover. The love the village once had for her slowly turned into hatred and suspicion.
And the songs they sang in her honor began to fade. Among the villagers was a man named Tumba. He was lazy, unlucky, and always hungry. Once he had been a fisherman, but his net store, his kenno sank, and his wife left him for a better man. People laughed when they saw him wandering with a stick instead of a paddle.
One moon late night with an empty stomach and a bitter heart. Tomba dragged himself to the river bank. Oh, he called out softly. Please, if you can bless fools and thieves, at least bless one honest man. But no one answered. Then suddenly he heard a faint sob. He moved closer and froze. N was sitting on a rock with her face buried in her hands, weeping quietly.
But as her tears rolled down her glowing cheek and fell into the river, they shimmerred faintly like drops of light. Pumba watching ah, he moved closer and sat beside her, trying to call her, but when one of her tears splashed onto his arm, it burned for a second, then turned into gold dust. Tomb couldn’t believe his eyes. He didn’t speak and didn’t move.
He sat still beside her, waited until she sank back into the water, then ran home like a mad man. When he reached his heart, he found gold dust on his mat, scattered like fallen stars. By morning, his heart glittered with flakes of it. Tumba fell to his knees, laughing and crying at once. The mom made tears.
It was it her tears made me reach, he screamed. The next night he returned not to beg this time but to carry out his plans. He told N sad stories. Stories of his mother dying in the rain, of a child he never had, of how the villagers mocked him. N softarted as always, quite silently through each tail.
And Tomba, the actor of Soros, quietly collected her tears into a bottle. And when he got home, the tears had been replaced with gold. Tomba made it a daily routine to visit her each night and tell tragic stories that were ever ready on his tongue. He cried fake tears while she cried V once. Within days, his neck was heavy with cooling beats.
He bought new clothes and roasted meat for breakfast. When people asked about his sudden wilt, he only smiled and said, “The river finally remembered me.” But the river remembers everything and soon someone else would find out about his secrets. Tumba thought he was clever. Every night he snaked to the river when the moon was high, pretending to fetch water or check his nets.
He always returned home before dawn, warming himself and jingling softly like coins hidden under his cloth. But secrets are like smoke. They never stay still. One night, two twins, Kachi and Machi, known for stealing mangoes, saw Tomba walking towards the river carrying a calabash. They followed him quietly, hiding behind the bushes.
What they saw that day made their mouths fall open. There he was, kneeling before the mermaid, telling her a sad story about his dead mother. The mermaid’s shoulders trembled as she wept, and when her tears touched the water, it shimmered. The children gasped as one drop fell into Tomba’s calabash and hardened into gold.
They ran straight to the market shouting. Tomba is making the mermaid cry. He’s turning her tears to gold. By afternoon, the whole of b is like a disturbed beehive. Mama who never liked being left out of other people’s fortune followed that night to see for herself. She crouched behind a tree watching as a scene unfolded.
She watched in shock as the mermaid’s glowing tears dawned into shimmering gold dust. Her eyes widened. Ah, so that’s his secret. The next morning, she stormed into Chief Abolu’s compound shouting, “Tomba is holding the river’s blessing. He makes the river’s daughter cry for God.” By evening, half the village stood at the river bank.
Tomba tried to deny it, but greed spreads faster than fire. The crowd pushed forward, demanding to see for themselves. When the mermaid saw them, she backed away, frightened. But if Udolo raised his staff and said, “If her tears bring gold, then she must cry for us all.” Then they trapped her in a large wooden cage made from palm fonts.
At first, they begged her softly. Then they mocked her, but she refused to cry. When their tricks didn’t work, they pinched and whipped her until tears rolled down her face. Cry n cry. The drops hit the sand and hardened into gold nuggets right before their eyes. The crowd went wild. They fell to their knees, scooping clothes like maniacs, shouting, laughing, and crying at once.
That night, the whole of Unador sparkled like a city made of stars. The next morning, Chief Udullo stood before the villagers with his chest puffed out like a drum. The gods have remembered us. He shouted, “Let us honor this blessing.” And just like that, he declared a festival of prosperity. The entire village transformed overnight.
Women rubbed gold dust on their faces until they shone like lanterns. Men hung golden beads around their neck. Even children painted their fingers with crushed gold. The humble brown huts of now gleamed under the sun. Their walls crushed with golden flakes. Drums beat from morning till night, and goats were roasted on every corner, and laughter rode through the air like thunder.
But not everyone was laughing. By the river, the mermaid lay inside her cage, weak and motionless. Her eyes, once bright as river lights, were now dull and half open like dying months. Her scales had lost their glow and the water around her looked darker, thicker, and almost sick. Still, no one noticed.
They were too busy counting golds. Only Maka, the quiet storyteller, felt something was wrong. He sat near the river and listened to the silence. It was the kind of silence that it sounds. He stood slowly and faced the crowd one night. Then the river stopped singing he said it swallowing breath but no one listened.
Chief Dulot shrew his head back and laughed. The river is resting from blessing us. He said let it rest well while we dance. So they danced with their golden faces, their golden hearts and their golden madness. That night even the moon hid behind the clouds. The river, dark and silent, watched them quietly like a predator waiting for its prey.
And deep below, where no light could reach, something ancient began to stir. The tragedy that followed served as a reminder that greed is the root of all evil. Thank you so much for watching and stay blessed.
