The Idol of Ika Village

In the heart of Ika village, beyond the red earth roads and ancient iroko trees, lived a man known not by his birth name but by a title whispered with reverence—BABA. No one in the village dared call him anything else. The name carried weight, history, and fear.

BABA was the custodian of an ancient idol inherited from his father, and his father before him. This was no ordinary shrine figure. The idol possessed a rare and terrifying power: when questions were asked about the unknown—things hidden, things lost, things yet to come—it answered in a loud, clear human voice, echoing through the sacred hut. Many villagers avoided the place, not out of hatred, but out of respect for forces older than memory.

News of this mysterious idol traveled far beyond Ika village. One day, white men arrived, driven by curiosity and disbelief. They had heard stories of an object that spoke like a man and revealed secrets no living soul could know. They laughed at first—until they witnessed it themselves.

Inside the shrine, they asked their questions.

And the idol answered.

The visitors were shaken.

Eager to possess such power, the white men made an offer. They asked BABA to build another idol—one exactly like the original. After days of negotiation, a price was agreed upon. Using the same materials, rituals, and chants passed down through generations, BABA created a new idol for them.

When the white men tested it, the idol spoke.

It worked.

Satisfied, they prepared to leave—then one of them made a bold proposal.

“Let us take the old one instead,” he said. “We will pay you double. After all, you can always build another.”

The village gasped when BABA agreed.

The original idol—the one inherited from his own father, the one soaked in ancestral blood, prayers, and sacrifice—was taken away.

At first, nothing seemed wrong.

But weeks later, the new idol stopped working.

No voice.

No answers.

Only silence.

BABA performed rituals. He repeated incantations. He called upon the spirits—but the power was gone. The truth became clear too late: some things cannot be recreated. The strength of the original idol was not in the wood or the carving, but in inheritance, lineage, and ancestral bonds.

What was built could speak for a moment.

But what was inherited spoke forever.

And so, Ika village learned a painful lesson—

not all power can be sold, and not all spirits accept replacement.