When Ajo Turns to Ejo - by Thoughts From Emilia

In the bustling town of Ibadan, nestled among vibrant markets and dusty roads, lived a young man named Ajo. His name, meaning "savings" in Yoruba, was fitting, for Ajo was known for his thriftiness. Every kobo he earned from his tailoring shop was carefully tucked away in a small clay pot under his bed. Ajo dreamed of building a grand house, one that would make his late parents proud and silence the whispers of those who doubted him. Ajo’s life was simple but disciplined. Each morning, he’d rise with the sun, stitch clothes with precision, and by evening, he’d count his earnings, smiling as the pot grew heavier. His neighbors admired his focus but often teased, “Ajo, money is for spending, not just saving!” He’d laugh it off, his eyes fixed on his dream. One day, a stranger arrived in Ibadan—a tall man with a glint in his eye and a tongue as smooth as palm oil. He called himself Baba Ejo, a name that raised eyebrows, for "ejo" meant "snake" in Yoruba. Baba Ejo claimed to be a merchant from Lagos, offering a deal too good to ignore: invest your savings, and in three months, you’d double your money. “It’s a business in palm oil exports,” he said, flashing papers that looked official. The townsfolk were skeptical, but Ajo’s ears perked up. Doubling his savings could mean building his house sooner. He hesitated, clutching the clay pot that night, its weight both comforting and heavy. “What if this is my chance?” he whispered to himself. Against the warnings of his friend Kemi, who smelled deceit, Ajo handed over his life’s savings to Baba Ejo the next day. Weeks passed, and Baba Ejo vanished like smoke. No palm oil, no profits, no trace. Ajo’s pot was empty, his dream shattered. The town buzzed with pity, and Ajo felt the sting of shame. “Ajo has turned to ejo,” they whispered, meaning his savings had slithered away like a snake. Kemi, ever loyal, sat with him as he stared at the empty pot. “Money comes and goes,” she said, “but wisdom stays.” Ajo could have crumbled, but something stirred within him. The loss burned, yet it sparked a fire. He returned to his shop, stitching with renewed vigor. This time, he didn’t just save—he learned. He studied the market, listened to customers, and began designing modern ankara styles that drew crowds. He saved again, but wisely, investing in tools and apprentices to grow his business. Months later, Ajo stood before a modest but sturdy house, built brick by brick from his new earnings. The townsfolk no longer whispered “ejo.” They called him Ajo the Wise, for he’d turned a snake’s bite into a lesson. At the housewarming, Kemi raised a glass of palm wine and grinned. “When Ajo turns to ejo, it’s not the end—it’s a new beginning.” And so, Ajo learned that while money could slip away, resilience and wisdom were treasures no snake could steal.

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