VOLUME 2 |His Mother Turned Into A Statue Before He Woke Up, And he Found Her In The City

Part 2|His Mother Turned Into A Statue Before He Woke Up, And he Found Her In The City

Dabau’s life changed completely since the day they found out that the rich woman was not a ghost but actually his late mother’s twin sister. Everything began to feel like a dream. The woman’s name was Auntie Adisua, but she told Dabau to call her mama. “I am your mother now,” she had whispered while hugging him tightly.

Dabo had smiled so wide like he never had in years. It felt like his heart had been healed. Auntie Kem and Dabau’s father could hardly believe what was happening. Even after they returned home that day, they kept talking about it over and over again. She looks exactly like your late wife,” Auntie Cammy said to Dabo’s father that night.

 “Yes,” he replied with tears in his eyes. “But I never knew she had a twin. Now, Dabo had moved in with Mama Adisua. Her house was very big. It had six bedrooms, a large living room with two flat screen televisions, and a swimming pool outside. The compound was so wide, Dabble could ride a bicycle round and round for hours without getting tired.

His room was painted blue and white, just like he had always imagined. There was a big bed with soft pillows, a reading table, a bookshelf with toys, and a wardrobe full of new clothes. Every day he wore fine clothes, real designers. He ate food he never knew the names of. His new mama hired a cook and Dabo could ask for anything.

 Can I have jalof rice and fried chicken with orange juice? He would ask shily. Of course, my love, Mama Adisa would say with a smile. You can have anything. Dab smiled more often now. He laughed freely. He started gaining weight and his cheeks became round. He even told Auntie Kem on the phone one day.

 “I think I’m getting fat.” Auntie Kem laughed. “It means you are happy. You deserve it, my dear.” Mama Adisua took care of him like he was her own child. She bought him new shoes, new school bags, even a small tablet to use for school work and games. He started attending a new school where all the children wore neat uniforms and had laptops in class.

 The teachers were kind and patient, and very soon Dabau became one of the brightest pupils in the class. He wasn’t scared to raise his hand anymore. He started making friends. One weekend while they were eating breakfast in the garden, Mama Adessawa looked at Dabble and said, “Dabu, I want us to travel to your village next week.” “Why?” he asked surprised.

 “I want to see your mother’s statue,” she said softly. I want to see where my twin sister turned to stone. Dabo’s face dropped a little. He remembered the day he knelled before the statue, crying and calling her, “Mama.” “Okay,” he said quietly. She reached across the table and held his hand. “We won’t stay long. I just want to see it.

 I owe her that much.” So the next Friday they packed their bags and traveled to the village. Dabo wore a clean white shirt and black jeans. Mama Adua wore a simple long gown and tied a scarf on her head. Her driver, a tall man called Monday, drove them all the way. The road to the village was long and dusty.

 Sometimes the car shook because of the potholes. But Mama Desessa didn’t complain. She kept looking out the window. Lost in thought. They arrived in the village that afternoon. People stared when they saw the black SUV enter. Children ran after the car, shouting and waving, “Big car!” One of them screamed.

 The car stopped in front of Darab’s father’s compound in the village. Auntie Kem was already waiting outside with Darab’s father. They were both dressed in their Sunday best. “My sister,” Auntie Kem greeted, bowing slightly. “No, please stand,” Mama Desua said and hugged her tightly. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Darabo.

 She also greeted Dabau’s father with respect. He was quiet for a while, then said, “You look just like her. My wife, if she were alive, Mama Adurua’s eyes filled with tears. Please take me to her statue.” Everyone became silent. Doub’s father led the way. They walked to the front of the house. Even the wind seemed to calm down. Then they saw it.

 There in front of the house stood the statue. The stone figure of a woman looking as if she’s running. With her arms open, her eyes were lifted towards the sky. Mama Disa stopped walking, her breath caught her throat. She moved closer slowly, step by step. When she stood in front of the statue, she gasped.

 “She she died like this?” she asked in the whisper. “Yes,” Dabo’s father said behind her. Mama Adessawa touched the stone face gently. “Oh, my sister, I’m so sorry. I should have come home earlier. I should have looked harder. I should have.” Her voice broke and she knelt on the ground, sobbing.

 Dab went to her and placed his tiny hands on her back. “She was very kind,” he said. She used to sing for me every night before I slept. Mama Adisua cried louder. Villagers began together slowly, whispering and pointing. Is that not the stonewoman’s ghost? No, she looks like her, but she’s not. That is her twin sister, we heard. Wow. Wonders shall never end.

 Mama Adisua stood up and faced the villagers. My name is Adisua. This woman was my twin sister. We were born the same day, same time. But I went abroad and I didn’t know what she went through. A deep silence fell among everyone. She turned to the statue again. I will make sure she’s not forgotten. I will do something special for her in this village.

 Then she picked Dabau up and hugged him again. You are my gift from her, she whispered. And I will never leave you, Dabau smiled and nodded. For the first time, he didn’t feel like crying near the statue. It was a sunny afternoon in the village. The sky was bright and the wind was soft and warm. Birds sang gently from the trees and the air smelled of firewood and fresh palm fruits.

 Villagers moved about with peas in their heart. Some women were returning from the stream, pots of water balanced carefully on their heads. Their rappers clung to their wet skin as they chatted and laughed on the narrow footpath. Some men sat under trees drinking palm wine, discussing village matters.

 The children ran barefoot along the dusty roads, laughing and shouting as they pushed old tires with sticks while some gathered before Dabau’s father’s compound. In the middle of this calm day, something strange was about to happen. Something that would shake the whole village. That afternoon, Auntie Adisu stood beside the statue.

 Dabo held her hand tightly. His father stood quietly beside them, his face full of guilt and confusion. Dabau stared at the statue. I miss her so much,” he said in a soft voice. Auntie Adisua looked at the face of the statue, tears welling in her eyes. She nodded slowly. “Yes, Dabo, we all miss her so much.

” Dabau blinked and looked up again. “She’s beautiful.” Suddenly, something strange happened. The statue blinked. Yes. The statue made of solid stone moved its eyes just a little, but it blinked. An old man who was walking past froze. He dropped his walking stick and screamed. “Huh? The statue just blinked,” he shouted, pointing with a trembling hand.

 Everyone nearby turned. “What did you say?” one woman asked. I said the statue blinked. I saw it with my eyes. That’s not possible, someone said. It’s just a statue. But before they could say more, the statue blinked again slowly and clearly. This time, everyone saw it. A gasp spread through the crowd like fire on dry grass. A baby started crying nearby.

Women screamed and dropped their baskets. Some ran behind stores. Others fell to their knees whispering prayers. A few villagers started to run away in fear. But Dabo didn’t move. He stood there frozen, his eyes wide. “She moved,” he whispered. My mommy moved. Then the most shocking thing happened.

PART2

 The statue began to cry. Tears, real clear tears began to drop from her stone eyes. Slowly at first, then more quickly, as though the statue was weeping in pain, someone screamed again. Hey, the statue is crying. The statue is crying. The news spread like wildfire. Within minutes, Dabau’s father’s compound was filled with people.

 Auntie Adisu dropped to her knees. Tears pouring from her eyes, too. Jesus, my sister, what is happening? Dabu’s father stared at the statue, trembling. His legs felt weak. He held the wall for support, fear gripping him. Daru walked slowly to the statue and touched its cold hand. “Mommy, please don’t cry,” he said softly. “We’re here.

” The village chief was called. All the elders came with him. They stood in a circle watching in silence. One elder said, “We must not touch it. Let us call the native doctor.” The native doctor arrived. He was an old man with gray beards and tired eyes. He wore white rappers and walked with a staff made of carved wood.

 He looked at the statue and nodded as if he had been expecting this day. I warned them, he said years ago. I warned them. That woman’s spirit is not at rest. What should we do? asked the village chief. She needs to be set free. The native doctor said, “How?” Auntie Adisua asked quickly. He dropped his bag and brought out some calories.

 He threw them on the ground and studied them for a moment. The crowd held their breath. After a long pause, he spoke again. Her soul is trapped. She died in pain and betrayal. And now she cries for justice. To set her spirit free, a sacrifice must be made. What kind of sacrifice? Someone shouted from the crowd. The native doctor’s voice was firm.

Seven cows. Seven hegoats. That is what the spirit world demands. The crowd went silent. Seven cows. Seven hegoats. That was a fortune. Huh? Where will that come from? One man whispered. We cannot afford that. another cried. But Auntie Adisawa stood up, wiping her tears. Her voice was strong. I will pay for everything.

 Everyone turned to her in shock. Yes, she said. I will pay. That woman was my sister, my blood. She died without peace. I will not let her suffer anymore. Even in death, she deserves justice. Dabau looked up at her, his eyes full of love. Thank you, auntie. The native doctor nodded. We must not delay. If her spirit is not set free, it may become angry.

What happens if we delay? The chief asked. She may scream next, the native doctor said. The villagers gasped. A screaming statue is a curse, he added. It can bring death, madness, disease. Auntie Adisua didn’t waste time. She called her driver and told him to return to the city to get her checkbook cash and call her business partners to help source the animals quickly.

 I want everything here in 2 days, she said. Meanwhile, the villagers began to whisper. Some were still afraid. Others began to cry softly, remembering how kind Dabau’s mother had been before her death. That night, no one slept well in the village. Mothers held their children close. Men stayed awake with their lamps burning.

And in front of Dabo’s father’s house, the statue of a weeping woman stood still, tears still falling down her face. Dabau sat near it, holding her cold fingers. “Mommy,” he whispered. “We will help you. I promise. Please be strong.” And as if the statue heard him, it blinked again and one more tear rolled down her stone cheek.

 Two days later, a loud noise filled the village square. Drums were beating. People gathered in groups, talking in low voices. Children stopped playing. Everyone’s eyes were focused on the animals being led into Dabau’s father’s compound. Seven strong cows and seven big hegoats stood in front of the statue.

 Their ropes were held tightly by strong men from the village. Auntie Adua stood nearby with double, her eyes fixed on the statue of her twin sister. The native doctor stepped forward dressed in red and white clothes with feathers in his hair and chalk on his face. He began to chant, walking slowly around the statue.

 He poured palm wine on the ground, then sprinkled some on the cows and goats. “The gods have spoken,” he said in a loud voice. Today we give what they require. May peace return. May the crying woman be free. The villagers watched silently as the sacrifice began. One by one, the animals were laid down and offered to the gods.

 The drums beat louder. Smoke from a small fire rose into the sky. The wind changed. The air felt thick like something was about to happen. Just as the last goat was offered, a loud crackling sound came from the statue. Look, someone shouted. The statue began to shake. What is this? Someone screamed. The stone face of the statue started to change.

 The cracks appeared on her cheeks. Her hands moved slowly, her head tilted forward. Dabo held tightly to Auntie Adisua’s rapper. “What is happening?” he asked, shaking. A blinding light flashed from the statue. Everyone covered their eyes. When they opened them again, the statue was gone.

 Lying on the ground where the statue once stood was a woman. A real woman. Tall, beautiful, skin glowing like the morning Sunday. Hair like waves. It was her. It was Dabo’s mother. Gasps filled the air. She’s alive. It’s her. The statue turned into a woman. People rushed forward, but Auntie Adisu got there first. She fell on her knees and touched her sister’s face.

“It’s her,” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks. “It’s really her,” the woman’s eyes were closed. Her body was cold but breathing. “Get her inside. Take her to her old room!” someone shouted. The villagers helped carry her gently. They laid her on a soft bed in her old room, the same room where she had lived before her strange disappearance.

She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t speak. She simply slept deeply, peacefully like someone who had been away for a very long time. Days passed. The whole village waited. Every morning people gathered outside the house whispering and praying. Some brought food, others brought gifts. No one could believe what had happened.

It was a miracle. Dab sat beside his mother’s bed every day. He held her hand and told her stories. “I hope you can hear me, Mommy,” he said. I’m your son. It is me, Daro. Auntie Adisua took care of me. She told me how kind you were. Auntie Adisua never left her sister’s side. She wiped her face with wet cloth, cleaned her arms, and whispered prayers over her.

Then one early morning, just as the sun was rising, the woman opened her eyes slowly, gently. She blinked. Adisua, she said in a fainted voice. Auntie Adisua sat up quickly. “Yes, it’s me. It’s me,” she cried, grabbing her sister’s hand. Her sister sat up slowly and stared at her. Then with tears in her eyes, she threw her arms around Auntie Adisua.

 They hugged each other tightly and began to cry loudly. “I thought I would never see you again,” the woman whispered. “You came back,” Auntie Adisua said, sobbing. “Thank God you came back.” At that moment, Dabo entered the room. He was carrying a bowl of warm pap. When he saw his mother sitting up, his mouth fell open. “Mommy!” he screamed, dropping the bowl, he ran to her and jumped into her arms.

The woman held him tightly. “My son, my baby,” she whispered, kissing his head again and again. Double cried and cried, pressing his face against her chest. The sound of their joy reached outside. Soon villagers gathered in front of the house. People were singing, dancing, and shouting for joy. Drums beat loudly.

Some even rode on the ground in excitement. She’s alive. She’s back from the dead. God is powerful. It was the greatest miracle the village had ever seen. But while the village celebrated, one woman was not happy. It was Duro’s stepmother, the second wife of his father. She stood inside her house, staring out the window with fear in her eyes.

 Her heart beat very fast. Her hands shook. She could hardly breathe. She knew what she had done years ago. She had pushed Do’s mother out of the house that terrible night after a heated fight. She had told lies, insulted her, and called her names. That night, Dau’s mother ran out of the house crying. She ran into the darkness.

The next morning, a statue appeared in her place. The stepmother had kept quiet all these years, pretending not to know anything. But now the statue had become a woman again. And the woman had returned. She knows. The stepmother whispered to herself. She remembers everything. She began to sweat. Her legs felt weak.

 Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest. She sat on the floor, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth. Outside her house, villagers who once respected her now whispered insult. She’s the one who caused it. Wicked woman. If not for her, that poor woman wouldn’t have suffered. They should send her out of the village. Each day, the whispers grew louder.

 The stepmother stopped going out. She stayed indoors, watching from her window, chewing her fingers and crying softly. But deep inside her, fear grew like fire because she knew the woman she had wronged was back. And sooner or later, the truth would come out. The village woke up early that morning, but the air was not as peaceful as usual.

 Something was different. People gathered around the village square with serious faces. The elders had called a meeting, and everyone knew why. Daro’s stepmother, the woman who pushed his mother out on that terrible night, was about to face judgment. The elders arrived with palm frrons in their hands. In the village, palm frrons were a symbol of banishment.

When someone was to be sent away forever, the elders would use palm frrons to drive them out. That was the highest punishment. She has done evil, said the oldest elder. And now the gods have shown us the truth. She must leave this land. The villagers clapped and shouted in agreement. But when they got to the house where Dau’s stepmother stayed, they found it empty.

 “She has escaped,” someone shouted. “Search the village. Search the bush.” Another man cried. Young men ran in every direction. Some searched to the stream. Others searched the yam farms. Finally, deep in the bush, they found her hiding under a tree, shaking like a leaf. Her clothes were dirty, her hair full of leaves.

 She looked like a mad woman. When she saw the men, she fell on her knees. “Please forgive me,” she cried. “I was jealous. I didn’t mean to harm her forever.” But it was too late. They tied her hands and took her back to the village square. The elders stood up and spoke with loud angry voices. You caused pain to an innocent woman.

You chased her out. You turned her into a statue with your wickedness. Now you will face the same pain. The villagers shouted, “Yes, let her go.” The young men took her to the edge of the village, the place where no one dared to go alone. It was the evil forest, a place full of thick trees, wild animals, and strange spirits.

 No one who entered ever returned. From today, the chief said, “You will live with the spirits you called upon.” With palm france, they pushed her into the dark forest. She cried and screamed, but no one listened. The path was closed behind her with sticks and fire. The whole village watched as she disappeared into the trees forever.

 Justice had finally been done. That same week, Auntie Adisua sat under the big tree with her sister Dau’s mother. The pain of the past was beginning to melt like ice. Her sister looked healthier now. Her cheeks had color again. Her eyes were bright. Sister, Auntie Adua said, holding her hand. You need rest. You’ve suffered too much in this village.

 Come back to the city with me. Let me buy you a house. Let me give you a fresh start. Darabo’s mother looked at her and smiled weakly. “You’ve done more than enough, Adisua. You saved me. You raised my son. You gave me hope again. You are my twin,” Adisua said, her voice shaking. “And I love you.

 I will never let anything happen to you again,” she nodded. “All right, I’ll go.” Days later, a big black car entered the village and parked in front of their compound. The villagers came out to wave goodbye. Some brought gifts, tubers of yam, baskets of vegetables, palm wine. They sang songs of joy and thanksgiving. She is leaving in peace, they said.

After years of pain, she is finally free. Darabos sat in the back seat with his mother. Auntie Adisua sat in the front with the driver. Darab’s father, who had begged for forgiveness, now sat beside his wife, his head low in humility. “I promise to take care of you this time,” he said to her quietly. She didn’t reply, but she gently held his hand. That was enough.

 When they arrived in the city, everything felt like a dream. Auntie Adisua took them straight to a new house. A beautiful house with painted walls, glass windows, clean water, and a wide compound. There were flowers by the gate and curtains dancing in the wind. “This is your new home,” she said with a smile. Dabu’s mother stepped out of the car slowly.

 She looked at the house and then at her son. “We are home,” she said softly. She turned and hugged her sister tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered again. Weeks passed and life became sweet. Every morning, Darel would run into his mother’s room to wake her up. He would lie beside her and tell her all his dreams.

 “Mommy, I want to become a doctor,” he said one morning. She smiled and brushed his hair. “You will, my son. You will make me proud. His father helped in the kitchen. He washed clothes. He cleaned the house. He worked hard to make up for all the years. Auntie Adessa visited often with bags of food and gifts. My sisters smiling again. She told her friends.

 God has restored everything the enemy took away. But far away, deep in the evil forest, something terrible was happening. Daro’s stepmother sat alone under a crooked tree. Her hair was tangled. Her skin was covered in bites and rashes. She hadn’t eaten real food in days. At night, she heard strange voices whispering her name.

 Sometimes she heard footsteps, but no one appeared. The wind would blow and knock down trees, but the sky remained clear. One night, a voice said to her, “Now you know how it feels to be alone.” She screamed, but there was no one to save her. The forest had swallowed her. Just as the pain she caused had once swallowed Dabau’s mother.

 Back in the city, one quiet evening, Dabau and his mother sat outside the house. The sun was setting. The sky was orange and pink. “Mommy,” he said. “Can I ask you something?” “Yes, my dear. When you were a statue, could you hear me?” She looked at him, smiled, and nodded. “I heard everything,” she said.

 “Every time you stood by me. Every time you touched my hand, every time you cried and said, “Mommy, don’t cry.” I heard it all. and it gave me strength. Darab smiled and hugged her tightly. “I love you. I love you, too,” she whispered. And for the first time in years, her heart felt completely whole.