“My daughters, please help me carry my firewood. I’m so tired.”

“Don’t you ever call me your daughter.”

Joy and Tracy were best friends in the village of Aduka. They were both 19 years old, both in secondary school, and everyone knew them as the two girls who always walked together. Tracy was bold, sharp-tongued, and proud. Joy was quiet, kind, and always thinking about other people.

That morning, the sun was already bright. The road was dusty red, and the school bell could ring any minute. They were walking fast, their school bags bouncing on their backs, breathing hard because they were almost late. Tracy kept complaining as they hurried.

“Joy, hurry up. If we enter late again, Madame Rose will disgrace us. I’m not kneeling today,” Tracy said, dragging Joy forward like time was chasing them.

As they reached the big Ioko tree beside the road, they saw an old woman coming from the opposite direction. She was very weak, bent, and trembling, like her bones were tired of life. A heavy bundle of firewood was tied on her head with rough rope, and her hands shook as she tried to balance it. Her feet were bare, her wrapper was old and patched, and sweat was already running down her face, even though it was still morning.

She stopped in front of them, breathing heavily, and her voice came out thin, like she was begging with her last strength.

“My daughters, please help me carry my firewood to my house. It’s not far from here.”

Tracy’s face changed immediately. She frowned like she was offended.

“No,” she snapped. “Old ugly woman. We can’t help you. We are going to school and we are already late. Why are you disturbing us? Go and find your children.”

The old woman blinked and looked down. But Joy stepped closer with concern.

“Mama, don’t worry,” Joy said softly. “I will help you carry it.”

Then Joy turned to Tracy. “Tracy, please go to school. I will join you later. Let me help her.”

Tracy shouted, “Joy, are you mad? Who is your mother? Is this your mother? You don’t even know this woman. Come, let’s go now. We are getting late.”

Joy shook her head. “I can’t leave her like this. She is weak and she might fall.”

Tracy grabbed Joy’s arm in anger. “So you want them to punish you because of a stranger? You like suffering too much. You always want to act like a saint,” she hissed.

Joy gently removed her hand. “It’s not about acting, it’s about helping.”

Tracy’s eyes became cold. “Fine, carry the firewood, but don’t call me when you get punished.” Then she added with bitterness, “And listen, you will soon stop being my friend. I don’t follow stubborn people. Who does this kind of nonsense?”

Tracy turned and walked away fast toward the school road, still angry, still talking to herself, not even looking back.

Joy watched her go for a second, feeling that painful tightness in her chest. But she faced the old woman again. The woman looked at Joy like she could not believe someone was still standing there.

“You really want to help me?” the old woman asked.

Joy nodded. “Yes, mama.”

She knelt, arranged herself, and tried to lift the heavy bundle. The firewood pressed down on her head so hard her knees shook, but she refused to cry. The old woman steadied it and pointed to a small path away from the main road.

“This way,” she said quietly.

Joy took her first step into the path—late for school, abandoned by her best friend, carrying a weight that felt too heavy for her age. Yet she still moved forward, not knowing that this small act of kindness was about to open a door that would change her life forever.

Joy followed the old woman into the narrow path, and the sound of the main road slowly disappeared behind them. The trees on both sides were tall, the bushes were thick, and the morning air felt cooler here. Joy kept adjusting the firewood with her hands because it was pressing her head like a stone. Her neck was already burning, but she refused to complain. The old woman walked slowly behind her with a small stick, breathing like someone who had been carrying pain for many years.

Joy tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “Mama, are you sure your house is not far? Because this wood is heavy.”

The old woman replied weakly, “It is not far, my daughter. Just a little more.”

Joy nodded and continued, but inside her mind she was thinking about school. She imagined the bell ringing, the teacher writing names of late students, and Tracy entering class alone with that angry face, telling everybody that Joy was foolish and proud. Joy felt the shame trying to rise in her chest, but she pushed it down. She told herself, “Let them laugh. Let them insult. This woman needs help.”

After some minutes, Joy’s legs began to shake. Sweat entered her eyes. Her breathing became rough. She stopped for a second and bent a little to rest the load, but the old woman quickly said, “Don’t drop it on the ground, my daughter, please.”

Joy looked back in surprise. “Why?”

The old woman’s eyes moved away. “Because dust will enter it.”

Joy did not understand, but she forced herself to hold it again and continue. The deeper they went, the quieter everything became. Joy started feeling uneasy—not because she was scared of the old woman, but because the place looked like nobody lived around here.

Joy asked again, “Mama, do you live here alone?”

The old woman answered slowly, “I live with what life gave me.”

Joy frowned. That answer sounded like a riddle. Joy wanted to ask more, but she did not want to sound disrespectful.

Soon the path opened into a small clearing, and Joy slowed down because her eyes could not believe what she was seeing. In front of her was a small compound. It was an old place, quiet and tired, like it had been standing there for too many years without joy.

The old woman pushed the gate open gently and said, “Come inside, my daughter.”

Joy entered slowly, still carrying the heavy firewood. The old woman led her to the side of the yard and pointed to a spot near an old shed.

“Put it there,” she said.

Joy dropped the firewood and almost fell with it. She held her neck and breathed hard, tears almost entering her eyes because of the pain. She looked at the old woman and then looked around again, and she could not keep quiet.

“Mama, this place is dirty,” Joy said with concern. “You are too weak to be doing everything alone.”

The old woman just watched her quietly, breathing slowly, like she was waiting to see what Joy would do next.

Joy did not wait for permission. She said, “Mama, sit down. Let me help you.”

Joy picked up a broom resting against the wall. She started sweeping the leaves, the dust, the dirt that had gathered near the corners. As she swept, she kept shaking her head.

“Mama, why are you living like this? This place needs care,” she said.

The old woman replied softly, “People stopped coming here long ago.”

Joy felt pain in her chest, but she kept sweeping.

After cleaning, Joy went behind the house and found a small bundle of dry sticks and a pot that looked unused. She washed the pot well, washed her hands, and asked the old woman, “Mama, do you have anything to cook?”

The old woman pointed to a small bag and a little basket. Joy opened it and found some gari, a few dry peppers, and some vegetables that were still good. Joy nodded.

“Okay, mama. I will cook something simple for you.”

She lit a small fire and cooked a light meal. The smell of food entered the air for the first time in that compound, and it made the place feel like a home again.

The old woman watched Joy from where she sat, silent, her eyes following every movement, like she was looking at a picture she had been searching for all her life.

When the food was ready, Joy served the old woman first, even though her own stomach was hungry.

“Mama, eat,” Joy said gently.

The old woman held the plate with shaking hands and ate slowly. After some time, she looked up and said, “Thank you, my daughter.”

Joy smiled. “You are welcome, mama.”

Then Joy stood up quickly because reality came back to her like a slap. She looked toward the direction of the school again and sighed.

“Mama, I have to go now. I’m already very late. They will punish me,” she said.

The old woman nodded and stood up slowly. “Come,” she said quietly, and she entered the old house.

Joy followed her inside, thinking the old woman wanted to give her advice, or maybe beg her to come again another day. But the old woman walked to one corner and brought out a white native pot. It was not big, but it looked special. It was clean and bright, like it was not from that dirty place.

Joy stared at it in confusion.

The old woman held it out to her. “This is my reward for you,” she said.

Joy’s eyes widened. “Mama, no, I can’t take it. I only helped you.”

“It’s okay.” The old woman pushed it closer. “Take it,” she said firmly.

Joy slowly collected it with both hands, still confused. “What is it for?” Joy asked.

The old woman stepped closer and lowered her voice like she was giving a secret that could change a life.

“If you need anything in this life, just touch this pot three times, and whatever you need—anything at all—will be inside.”

Joy froze. She looked at the pot again, then looked at the old woman’s face. The old woman’s eyes were calm, serious, and strong. She did not look like someone joking. Joy’s heart started beating fast.

“Mama, how is that possible?”

The old woman sighed. “My daughter,” she said, “don’t ever tell anybody about this. Keep it to yourself. If you talk, people will destroy you and they will destroy the gift. And listen to me: make sure you keep helping people. Do good, my child. Goodness is not for noise. It is for destiny.”

Joy nodded slowly, still shocked. “Yes, mama,” she said.

Joy carried the pot carefully like it could break her whole life if it fell. She stepped toward the door, her mind spinning and her hands shaking. She wanted to turn back and ask questions, but the old woman’s voice stopped her like a hook.

“My daughter,” the old woman said. “You can’t walk back home.”

Joy paused and turned. “Why, mama?”

The old woman looked serious. “It’s dangerous. Wild animals are everywhere. You don’t know the distance we took to reach this place. If you decide to walk back alone, it’s too risky.”

Joy’s heart jumped. “So, what do I do, mama?” she asked, trying not to sound scared.

The old woman stood up slowly, came close to her, and spoke in a calm voice, like someone giving a simple instruction.

“Close your eyes.”

Joy hesitated. Her mind was confused. Everything about that morning had already gone beyond normal. But she obeyed. She held the white pot tight to her chest and closed her eyes.

The next thing she felt was a soft breeze pass her face, like the air shifted. Her stomach turned slightly, like when someone stands up too fast. It lasted only a moment.

Then the old woman’s voice came again, gentle and clear. “Open your eyes.”

Joy opened her eyes and her whole body froze. She was no longer in the old woman’s compound. She was standing inside her own small room, the same room in her aunt’s house.

Joy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked down at her hands. The white native pot was still there. Her knees became weak. She sat down slowly on the mattress like her legs could not carry her anymore.

Her heart was beating like a drum, and her eyes moved around the room again and again as if she expected the walls to change.

“No… no… how?” she whispered.

She rushed to the window and looked outside. She could see the village road. She could hear people’s voices. She could hear normal life. It was like that strange place never existed.

Joy held the pot tighter. Her breath shook. Then she whispered again, this time with fear and shock together:

“What just happened to me?”

Minutes later, Joy was still standing in the middle of her room. Her mind kept replaying everything like a film—the old woman’s weak voice, the heavy firewood, the dirty compound, the sweeping, the cooking, the white native pot, and then the strange way she opened her eyes and found herself back in her room. Joy’s heart was still beating fast.

She kept asking herself the same question again and again: Was it real? Was it a dream? How did I get back so fast?

She took a small step, then stopped again, still confused, still lost in thought.

Suddenly, the door of her room slammed open. Her aunt rushed in, angry like a storm. She didn’t even greet. Then her face twisted with irritation.

“Joy!” she shouted. “So you did not go to school.”

Joy blinked like she was coming back to life. “Auntie,” she managed to say, but the woman didn’t allow her to talk.

“What are you doing in this house this morning?” the aunt continued, stepping closer. “Are you now seeing men?” She looked Joy up and down with disgust. “Is that why you’re standing here like this, looking confused, like somebody that just came from somewhere?”

Joy’s mouth opened again. “No, auntie, I—”

But the aunt cut her off with a loud hiss. “Shut up,” she snapped. “Don’t you ever open your mouth to lie to me. You’re in uniform and you’re still at home. So, what is it? You think you are grown now? You want to start sleeping around?”

Joy’s eyes widened in shock. “Auntie, I didn’t do anything like that,” Joy said quickly. “I was just—”

“Just what?” the aunt barked. “Just standing like a goat.” She shook her head hard. “Thank God I have not paid your school fees yet. Thank God. God save me. This useless girl wants to disgrace me.”

Joy’s throat became tight. She tried to stay calm. “Auntie, please. I only helped an old woman and I got late.”

And the aunt laughed wickedly. “Old woman,” she repeated. “See story. Every day you have story. Tomorrow it will be, ‘I helped a young man.’ Next tomorrow it will be, ‘I fell into someone’s bed.’ Listen to me, Joy. If you like, continue. If you like, spoil your life. But don’t bring shame to my house.”

Joy’s eyes were watery. “Auntie, I’m not spoiling my life,” she said softly. “I was coming to go to school now.”

The aunt scoffed. “Now, when they have already started lessons. You see, you are useless.” Then she spoke louder like she wanted the whole compound to hear. “You are eating my food, wearing my clothes, and you still want to waste my money in school.”

Joy shook her head. “Auntie, please.”

“Please what?” the aunt interrupted. “If you talk too much, I will stop you from going to school completely because I have not even paid your fees. I’m even happy I did not pay it. Useless girl.”

Joy stood there holding her tears while her aunt kept pouring insults on her like hot water. And inside Joy’s chest, fear and anger mixed together.

The next morning, Joy and Tracy were on the road to school again, but the air between them was not the same. Tracy walked fast and angry, her face tight like someone chewing bitter kola. Joy followed beside her quietly, holding her bag and trying to act normal, but her mind still remembered everything from the day before.

Tracy did not even greet her well. She just started talking with fire.

“So you left me yesterday and followed that witch old woman,” Tracy said with irritation. “Joy, you are lucky she did not eat you. I thought she was going to harm you. You are very stubborn. That’s what I hate about you. You don’t listen to me as a friend.”

Joy sighed and looked at her. “Tracy, there is nothing wrong in helping people,” she said calmly. “You are too hard. Try to be a little soft. Yours is too much.”

Tracy stopped walking for a second and faced Joy. “Soft?” she repeated with sarcasm. “You want to die young. That’s why you like being soft in this life. If you are too soft, people will use you and throw you away.”

They continued walking, and Tracy shook her head. “See you. You think you are wise. One day your goodness will put you inside trouble.”

Joy did not reply. She just kept walking because she didn’t want another fight.

After a short silence, Tracy’s mood suddenly changed like she remembered something sweet. She leaned closer and lowered her voice like gossip.

“By the way,” she said, “some big city boys are coming to the village tomorrow. They are hosting a big party at night. Music, drinks, everything. All the fine girls will be there. Will you go with me?”

Joy’s eyes widened immediately. “Never,” she said quickly. “I’m not going anywhere. I will be at home reading my books.”

Tracy stared at her as if she heard madness. “Books?” Tracy repeated. “Joy, are you serious?”

Joy nodded. “Yes. I want to finish school.”

Tracy hissed loudly. “You are really a local village girl,” she said with disgust. “A village girl that doesn’t know anything about enjoyment. You don’t know what life is.”

Joy looked at her and spoke softly but firmly. “Enjoyment is not everything, Tracy. Not everybody wants that kind of life.”

Tracy rolled her eyes and increased her speed. “Stay with your books,” she snapped. “When you see people progressing, don’t cry.”

Joy stayed quiet, but inside her heart she felt that familiar pain again—the pain of being mocked for being different. Still, she told herself one thing as she walked: I will not change my heart because someone wants to shame me.

At break time in school, Tracy came to meet Joy where she was standing near the classroom corridor. Tracy’s face was serious like she came with hot news.

“Joy, they did not call your name this morning on the assembly ground for unpaid school fees. How come? Have you paid your fees?”

Joy nodded. “Yes.”

Tracy’s mouth opened in shock. “Ha. How?” she asked. “So your aunt finally gave you the money? Thank God. Oh, before that wicked woman blocks your future.”

Joy’s eyes changed. “Tracy, please don’t insult her,” she said quietly.

Tracy waved her hand. “Whatever,” she replied, not caring.

Just then, a junior student walked past them slowly. He looked sad like someone carrying heavy thoughts. He greeted politely. “Good afternoon, seniors.”

Joy noticed his face immediately. She turned and called him. “Hey, why are you sad? You are always cheerful. What happened?”

The boy stopped. His eyes looked tired. He hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. “Senior Joy, my mother is sick. She has been in the hospital since yesterday, and I have not paid my school fees too. They said they will send me home tomorrow.”

Joy’s heart squeezed. She didn’t even think twice. She held his shoulder gently and said, “Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning, I will pay your school fees.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

Joy continued, “And come to my house this evening. I will give you money for your mother’s hospital bills.”

The boy’s face changed like light entered it. “Ah… thank you, Senior Joy,” he said happily. “God bless you.” He almost bowed. “Thank you. Thank you.” Then he hurried away, smiling for the first time.

The moment he left, Tracy stepped closer with a strange look on her face.

“Wait a minute,” she said slowly. “Joy, is there something you are not telling me?”

Joy looked away. “Nothing at all,” she replied quickly.

Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “Stop that nonsense,” Tracy said. “What do you mean, nothing? You just promised someone money. Me and you know you are poor. Where will you get money from?”

Joy’s heart beat fast, but she kept her face calm. “Tracy, I’m not poor. Don’t worry. The Lord will provide.”

Tracy laughed—not the happy kind, the mocking kind. “I knew it. You are sleeping with men in this village. That’s where the money is coming from. I thought I was the bad egg, but you are worse. You are doing it secretly.”

Joy’s eyes widened in shock. “Tracy, how can you say that?”

Tracy frowned. “Then explain,” she challenged. “How did you pay your fees? How are you promising hospital money? Don’t tell me God will provide like small children. Joy, I know you.”

Joy swallowed hard. She wanted to tell Tracy the truth, but the old woman’s warning flashed in her mind like fire: Don’t ever tell anybody. Keep it to yourself.

Joy forced herself to breathe and said, “Tracy, I’m not sleeping with anybody. Please stop talking like this.”

Tracy shook her head slowly. “If you like, lie,” she said. “But I will watch you because something is going on.”

Joy looked at her best friend and felt something painful and deep. Tracy didn’t trust her at all.

After school, Joy walked home quietly, like nothing happened. When she reached the house, she entered her small room and locked the door gently. She stood there for a moment, breathing slowly. Then she remembered the white native pot.

Her hands shook a little as she brought the pot out and placed it on the floor. Joy looked at it like she was talking to a living thing. She bent down, touched it three times, and whispered, “Please, my dear pot, I need money.”

Immediately, the pot produced money. Joy’s eyes widened. She held her mouth with her hand to stop herself from shouting. It was real. It was not a dream.

She quickly collected the money, counted what she needed, and hid the remaining safely. Then she stepped out of the house.

As she was walking down the road, she met the junior student’s father coming toward her. The man looked worried and tired, like someone who had not slept well. When he saw Joy, he rushed closer.

“My daughter,” he said quickly. “My son told me you want to help us. Is it true?”

Joy nodded. “Yes, papa. It’s true.”

The man’s eyes became wet. “Ah, God bless you,” he said. “My son said you told him to bring us this evening.”

Joy shook her head. “No need, papa. I couldn’t wait till evening.” She brought out the money and gave it to him. “Take this. Use it for the hospital and medicine. Please go quickly.”

The man stood like someone dreaming. He looked at the money, then looked at Joy again, shocked. “My daughter, are you sure?” he asked, almost trembling.

Joy nodded again. “Yes, papa. Please go and take care of mama.”

The man’s knees almost gave way. He lifted his hands toward the sky and started praying immediately right there on the road.

“God of heaven, thank you,” he cried. “My daughter, may you go to the best university in this world and graduate with flying colors. You will marry a good husband. You will not suffer. You will not beg. Keep doing good, my daughter. God will reward you.”

Joy’s eyes softened and she smiled. “Amen, papa,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

Then Joy added, “Tomorrow morning, I will pay your son’s school fees when I get to school, so they will not send him home again.”

The man’s face opened with more joy. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “what would we have done without you? God bless you, Joy. You just saved a life. Thank you. Thank you.”

Joy shook her head gently. “It’s nothing, papa,” she said. “Please hurry to the hospital.”

The man kept thanking her as he walked away quickly, holding the money like it was his last hope. Joy watched him go, and her heart felt warm because for the first time in her life, she saw clearly that her kindness could truly change someone’s story.

Two days later, trouble came to Joy’s house through the person she least expected—Tracy.

That afternoon, Joy’s aunt was outside in the compound doing small chores when Tracy entered with a face that looked serious and annoyed at the same time. She didn’t greet with her normal energy. She greeted like someone who came to drop a bomb and go.

“Good afternoon, Ma,” Tracy said.

Joy’s aunt looked at her. “Good afternoon, Tracy. Where is Joy?”

Tracy lowered her voice immediately and moved closer like they were sharing a secret. “Ma, I came because I don’t want problem. Please don’t tell Joy I told you,” Tracy said quickly.

Joy’s aunt frowned. “Tell her what?”

Tracy looked around the compound, then whispered, “Ma, haven’t you heard? People are saying Joy is now sharing money to villagers like a billionaire. Money for school fees, money for hospital, money for food. Everybody is talking.”

Joy’s aunt froze. “Joy sharing money,” she repeated slowly.

Tracy nodded. “Yes, Ma. And people are saying she is sleeping with local village men. That’s where the money is coming from. She is stubborn,” Tracy added, acting like she was disappointed.

Joy’s aunt’s eyes turned red; her whole face changed. “So Joy has money and we are suffering in this house.”

Tracy shrugged. “I don’t know, Ma. I just know what people are saying. And me? I don’t like disgrace. I don’t want them to say I’m following bad girl. That’s why I stopped moving with her.”

Joy’s aunt’s hand shook. “Ah, so she has been hiding money from me!” she shouted.

Tracy quickly lifted her hands. “Ma, please. Oh, don’t mention my name. I didn’t tell you anything. I just came as a friend,” Tracy said, already stepping back.

Joy’s aunt was already boiling. “Friend indeed,” she barked. “Leave. Leave my compound.”

Tracy turned and rushed out immediately like she had finished her mission.

Joy’s aunt stood there breathing hard, pacing the compound like someone whose head was on fire. “So this girl has money and she is doing big girl outside. Me? I’m here struggling and she is hiding money. God will not forgive her.”

Just then Joy entered the compound, not knowing that her life was about to turn upside down. Before she could even greet, her aunt rushed toward her like a lion.

“Joy!” she screamed. “So you are now sharing money in this village like a billionaire!”

Joy stopped suddenly. “Auntie, what are you saying?”

Her aunt’s eyes were full of anger and shame. “Don’t ask me anything! Where are you getting money from? Where? They said you are paying people’s hospital bills, paying school fees. Are you sleeping with men in this village?”

Joy’s heart jumped. “Auntie, I’m not sleeping with anybody,” Joy said quickly.

Her aunt laughed a bitter laugh. “Then where is the money coming from? Answer me.”

Joy opened her mouth, but no words came out because she remembered the old woman’s warning clearly: “Don’t tell anybody.”

Joy’s silence made her aunt even more angry. “So you will be hiding money from me. You want to eat money alone while we are suffering?”

Joy held her aunt’s hands gently. “Auntie, please.”

But her aunt pushed her away. “Please what?” she screamed. “Useless girl. You will disgrace me in this village.”

Days later, Joy and Tracy were walking slowly on the village road, just strolling like people who had time. Tracy was talking like everything was normal, but Joy could still feel the bitterness inside her.

As they were walking, an old woman from the neighboring village appeared from the side, looking weak and tired. Her wrapper was worn, and her face showed suffering. She greeted them and begged softly, “My daughters, please help me. Even small money—I have not eaten. Please give me money.”

Joy’s heart softened immediately. She stepped closer and held the woman’s hand gently.

“Mama, don’t worry,” Joy said. “I will help you with something. I will bring the money to your house later. Let me quickly go to the market first and get something for my aunt.”

The old woman’s eyes brightened like someone who had been given hope. “Ah, thank you, my daughter,” she said happily. “God bless you. I will be waiting.”

Then the old woman walked away slowly, thanking Joy as she went.

The moment the woman left, Tracy’s face changed. Anger entered her eyes.

“So this is it,” Tracy said, stopping on the road. “You call me your best friend, but you have been sharing money to people, and I have not gotten anything from you.”

Joy looked at her in surprise. “Because you never asked me for help,” Joy replied calmly.

Tracy laughed with disbelief. “Do I have to ask?” she said. “Are we not friends? Must I beg you before you do for me?”

Joy sighed. “Okay,” she said. “How much do you need?”

Tracy’s eyes lit up immediately like she had been waiting for that question. “Two million naira,” Tracy said confidently. “In cash. I want a new iPhone too, and some clothes. I will just manage the money, though it won’t be enough.”

Joy stared at her as if she didn’t hear.

“Tracy, are you okay?” Joy asked. “Two million, iPhone, clothes—are you out of your mind?”

Tracy frowned. Joy continued, her voice rising. “That is ridiculous. Where do you expect me to see that kind of money from? You must be foolish.”

Tracy’s face became hot with anger. “But you have been sharing money to villagers. Don’t pretend with me. I also heard you are sleeping with Chief Damber. We all know that man has money. Imagine—I’ve been giving him attention but he refused to see me. Now he is going out with a local classless girl like you.”

Joy’s eyes widened. Her whole body shook with anger and pain.

“Tracy, you must be a fool to say that,” Joy snapped. “I’m not getting money from any man. I’m not sleeping with anybody. I help people because I want to help, not because I’m selling myself.”

Tracy laughed bitterly. “So you’re now talking to me like that?” she mocked. “After all our friendship.”

Joy’s eyes were red. “Friendship?” Joy repeated. “Tracy, you don’t even respect me. You only see me as someone you can use. All you do is accuse me, insult me, and spread rubbish about me. You know what? I’m done.”

Tracy scoffed. “Done.”

Joy nodded firmly. “Yes, I’m done with this friendship. Please stay away from me forever.”

Tracy opened her mouth to speak, but Joy didn’t wait. She turned and walked away angrily, leaving Tracy standing on the road in shock and bitterness.

Joy got home that day with her heart still hot from the fight. She entered the compound quietly, but her aunt was already waiting like someone who had been looking for trouble. The moment Joy stepped in, her aunt started shouting.

“So you are now rich, sharing money,” she said with anger. “You are walking up and down like big woman. Yet you are contributing nothing in this house. Joy, listen to me very well: soon I will send you out of my house. You will go and survive by yourself since you like doing things your way.”

Joy tried to talk but her aunt didn’t allow her. “Don’t give me story,” she barked. “I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your secret life. You think I’m stupid. One day you will just disappear and bring disgrace. Mark my words. You will leave this house soon.”

Joy went to her room and sat down, breathing hard, her eyes full of tears. She felt trapped. She felt alone. She had lost Tracy. She was fighting her aunt. And the village was already talking.

A week later, on a quiet evening, someone knocked on Joy’s door. When Joy opened it, she saw Tracy standing there with a small smile and a bottle in her hand.

“Joy,” Tracy said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Joy’s face stayed hard.

Tracy stepped closer. “Please, my best friend,” she begged. “I was angry. I talk too much. I miss you. You know you are my only true friend. Forgive me.”

Joy looked at her for a long time. Tracy’s eyes were watery and her voice sounded sweet like honey. She kept begging, saying nice things, reminding Joy of old times, laughing softly, touching Joy’s hand like she truly cared.

Joy’s heart was soft inside, even when she tried to be strong outside.

After Tracy begged for a while, Joy finally sighed and said, “Okay, I forgive you, but don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

Tracy’s face opened with happiness. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said, almost jumping. “Let’s celebrate with this wine, my best friend.”

Joy hesitated immediately. “Tracy, you know I don’t drink alcohol,” she said.

Tracy waved her hand quickly. “Ah, stop it. It’s not alcoholic. It’s just normal wine. Non-alcoholic. It’s like juice. I brought it because I know you like sweet things.”

Joy still looked unsure.

Tracy laughed. “Joy, do you think I want to harm you? After I came to beg you like this. Come on, just small.”

Joy finally agreed because she wanted peace and because Tracy was her friend again.

They sat in Joy’s room and Tracy poured the drink into two cups. Joy took small sips at first. It tasted sweet and it didn’t burn her throat like alcohol, so she relaxed. Tracy kept smiling, acting happy, telling jokes, making Joy laugh a little. Then Tracy poured again.

“Drink more,” she said. “Today is celebration. Don’t be stingy with yourself.”

Joy shook her head.

“It’s okay,” Tracy insisted. “Just small more.”

Joy drank again.

After some time, Joy’s head started feeling light. Her eyes began to blink slowly. Her body felt warm. She laughed at things that were not even funny.

That was when Tracy leaned closer with a serious face.

“Joy,” she said softly. “Please tell me the truth. Where do you get money from?”

Joy smiled foolishly and waved her hand. “It’s God,” she said.

Tracy frowned. “Stop that. Which God will be dropping money in your hand like that? Tell me. I’m your best friend.”

Joy’s head swayed. “God,” she repeated again, laughing.

Tracy’s eyes became sharp. She poured more into Joy’s cup. “Drink,” she said gently. “Maybe you will feel better.”

Joy drank more.

Joy’s tongue became loose. Her eyes became heavy. She started talking anyhow.

Tracy moved even closer, her voice like soft rope. “Joy, that day you followed that old woman with firewood. What happened?”

Joy’s face changed like she remembered something. She giggled and whispered, “Old woman… she gave me a pot.”

Tracy’s heart jumped. “A pot?” she asked, trying to keep calm. “What kind of pot?”

Joy laughed again. “White pot. If you touch it three times, money will come.”

Tracy’s eyes widened with greed, but she pretended to be surprised for Joy. “Ah, where is the pot?” she asked softly.

Joy pointed lazily. “Under my bed.”

Tracy stood up immediately, trying not to look too fast. Joy’s head fell sideways as if she was sleeping. Tracy quickly bent down, lifted the bed cover, and saw it—the white native pot. Her breath caught. She grabbed it fast, held it tight, and looked at Joy one last time. Joy was already half asleep, not knowing anything.

Tracy turned, rushed out of the room, and disappeared with the pot.

Joy woke up that morning with a heavy head and a confused mind. She remembered only two things clearly: Tracy came to apologize, and Tracy brought a drink. After that, everything in her memory was blank, like someone wiped it clean.

Joy sat on her mattress for a while trying to force her brain to remember, but nothing came. She felt angry—not because Tracy apologized, but because Joy knew something was wrong. She couldn’t explain it, but her spirit didn’t feel at rest.

“What did she do to me?” Joy whispered to herself. “Why can’t I remember?”

She stood up quickly and decided she would go straight to Tracy’s house to ask her what happened last night. She told herself, “If Tracy is truly my friend, she will explain. I won’t keep guessing.”

Joy stepped out and started walking toward Tracy’s house, her face serious and her heart hot. On the road, she met people greeting her, but she barely responded. She was too focused.

As she walked, she suddenly saw the old woman again—the same old woman from the firewood day—coming toward her slowly with her walking stick. Joy’s steps slowed in surprise.

“Mama,” Joy said, forcing a small smile. “I’m happy to see you. Where are you going to?”

The old woman looked at Joy, and her eyes became deep, like she already knew what was in Joy’s heart. “My daughter,” the woman said quietly. “There is trouble.”

Joy frowned. “Trouble? What trouble, mama?”

The old woman moved closer and lowered her voice. “That your friend, Tracy? She has stolen your pot.”

Joy froze on the road. Her whole body turned cold. “What?” she whispered. “Mama, what are you saying?”

The old woman nodded slowly. “I’m telling you before you go and waste your time,” she said. “You are on your way to her house now, thinking you will ask her what happened yesterday, but listen to me. If you go back home now, you will discover the pot is no longer there. Tracy took it.”

Joy’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes widened in shock. For a moment, she just stood there breathing hard like the village road had turned into a dream.

Joy shook her head slowly. “No, no, mama. It can’t be Tracy. Tracy is my best friend.”

The old woman’s face stayed calm. “Your friend is evil,” she replied. “Could you believe she is already on her way to the city? Don’t even bother going to her house. You will not meet her.”

Joy’s knees became weak. “City,” she repeated. “So she planned it.”

The old woman nodded.

Joy’s eyes filled with tears immediately. She looked at the old woman like a child that just lost everything. “Mama, what will I do?” she asked, trembling. “I’m so sorry for everything. I should not have accepted her apologies. I didn’t know she is this evil. Please forgive me.”

The old woman gently held Joy’s hand. “I don’t blame you, my child. You are a good person. You trusted someone you loved. That is not your sin.”

Joy sniffed, tears falling. “But Mama, I failed you. I lost what you gave me.”

The old woman’s eyes looked strong. “Don’t worry. Karma will soon deal with her. Evil does not run forever. It always meets its judgment.”

Joy nodded slowly, crying as if her heart was being squeezed. She turned back, not even knowing how her feet carried her. She just walked back home with tears on her face because now she already knew the truth. Before she even checked, her best friend had betrayed her.

Tracy reached the city that same day with her heart beating like a drum. She didn’t even go to any friend’s house first. She entered a small cheap room she paid for near a noisy street and locked the door quickly like someone hiding stolen gold. She brought out the white native pot and placed it on the floor, staring at it with hungry eyes.

“So it’s true,” she whispered with a smile.

She touched the pot three times and said, “Oh, sweet pot, please give me ten million naira.”

Immediately, bundles of money appeared inside the pot. Tracy screamed and covered her mouth fast so people outside would not hear. She started laughing, shaking, and crying at the same time.

“Yes, I’m rich,” she whispered loudly. “Money! I love money!”

She carried the cash, spread it on the bed, rolled on it like a mad person, and kissed it. Her eyes were shining like someone that had been waiting for that moment all her life.

“Joy is foolish,” she muttered. “She doesn’t know what she’s holding. Now it’s mine.”

That same day, Tracy entered one of the expensive boutiques in town. She bought new hair, a new wig, new lashes, expensive perfume, shoes that shone like mirrors, and dresses that hugged her body like she was born in the city.

She walked into phone shops and pointed like a boss. “Give me the latest iPhone,” she said, throwing money on the counter like it was paper.

People started smiling at her, calling her madam, treating her like a big woman. That sweet attention entered Tracy’s head immediately. She began to feel like she was above everyone.

By evening, she entered a big salon and did her nails, her brows—everything. She kept checking herself in the mirror, smiling. Finally, she said, “I have arrived.”

Night came and Tracy went to a club. Loud music, flashing lights, bottles on tables, people dancing like they didn’t have tomorrow. Tracy sat in front like a celebrity. She ordered drinks and sprayed money to impress strangers.

Men gathered around her quickly, laughing at her jokes, calling her baby, asking for her number. Tracy enjoyed it like a hungry person eating for the first time. She danced, shouted, and posted pictures like she was living her best life.

In her mind, she didn’t steal anything. She told herself it was destiny. She told herself Joy was too slow and too holy. “Life is for smart people,” she laughed.

The following day, Tracy woke up and realized the truth she refused to admit. Ten million naira was already finished. She had spent like someone who wanted to prove something to the whole world—shopping, club, drinks, hotel, hair, nails, new phone, giving strangers money just to hear “madam.”

When she checked her bag and counted what remained, her heart squeezed with fear and greed. Instead of learning, she became more hungry.

“It’s not enough,” she muttered. “I need more.”

She brought out the white pot, smiled sweetly at it like it was her boyfriend, and touched it three times. “Oh, sweet pot,” she said softly. “Please give me more money. Plenty money.”

She waited, already smiling, imagining herself buying a car and renting a big apartment.

But this time, the room became strangely cold. The pot shook a little, then vanished in front of her eyes like smoke. Tracy’s smile died immediately.

“Ah!” she screamed. “My pot!”

Before she could even move, the air in the room changed, and two masquerades suddenly appeared as if they came out from the ground. Their bodies were covered, their faces hidden, and their presence filled the room with fear.

Tracy’s legs became weak. She tried to run, but her body refused to obey. The masquerades moved fast and began to beat her—not with blood or anything messy, but with heavy strikes that made her cry and beg.

Tracy screamed, “Help! Help me!” But nobody came, and the walls swallowed her voice.

As she cried and begged, one masquerade spoke with a deep, angry voice that sounded like thunder inside a drum.

“Greedy human,” it said. “Wicked soul! You stole what is not yours. You used friendship as a trap. Now listen carefully: go to the village now. Go and apologize to your friend. Go and return what you stole.”

Tracy was shaking violently, crying until her face was wet. “Please… please don’t kill me,” she begged. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I will go back. I will apologize. I will do anything.”

The masquerade stepped closer and warned her. “If you delay, your suffering will be worse. The gift you stole will never bless you. It will only destroy you.”

Tracy nodded quickly, crying like a child. “I will go now,” she promised, voice broken.

The masquerades disappeared the same way they came, suddenly, leaving Tracy alone on the floor—trembling, bruised, and terrified.

And for the first time since she stole the pot, Tracy understood one hard truth: some shortcuts lead straight into punishment.

Meanwhile, Joy was in the village sitting on her mattress in her small room, quiet and broken. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her chest felt heavy like someone poured sand inside it. She kept blaming herself.

Why did I trust her? Why did I drink that thing? Why didn’t I listen to my spirit?

She stood up slowly, wiped her face, and turned to sit again. Then she froze. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest.

On her small wooden table—right there in front of her—was the white native pot.

Joy stared at it like she was dreaming. She moved closer slowly, touched it lightly, and pulled her hand back again as if it would disappear.

“No… how?” she whispered.

Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time it was shock and relief.

She was still looking at the pot when the air in the room changed gently and a voice came—soft but clear, like it was inside her ears and also inside her heart.

“My child, be careful with Tracy,” the voice said.

Joy’s whole body shook.

The voice continued, “She is on her way to your house. Forgive her, but stay away from her. Do not be close to her again.”

Joy swallowed hard, trembling. “Who… who is speaking?” she whispered.

But the voice did not answer that question. It only repeated, “Forgive her, but stay away.”

Then the room became normal again, quiet like before.

Joy stood there breathing hard, staring at the pot as if it was alive.

A few minutes later, there was a fast knock on the door—urgent, like someone chasing mercy. Joy’s heart tightened. She walked to the door and opened it slowly.

Tracy was standing there.

Tracy did not look like the Tracy that left the village with pride. Her eyes were red. Her face was swollen from crying. Her body looked weak, like she had been through something terrible.

The moment she saw Joy, she fell to her knees immediately.

“Joy,” she cried. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry.” Her voice was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks like rain. “I was blind. I was blinded by greed. I don’t know what came over me. Please, my friend, forgive me.”

Joy stood still, watching her quietly. Her heart was hurt, but the voice she heard earlier was still fresh in her mind.

Tracy crawled closer, still crying. “I swear I’m sorry,” she begged. “I did a terrible thing. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.”

Joy’s eyes were calm but firm. “Tracy,” Joy said slowly.

Tracy’s face lifted with hope.

“I forgive you,” Joy said. Tracy’s breathing sped up like someone who just got life back.

“Yes, I forgive you,” Joy repeated. “But we can never be friends again.”

Tracy’s mouth opened in shock. “Joy, please,” she cried.

Joy shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “I wish you good luck. I pray you change. I pray you become a better person. But you can’t be close to me again. You betrayed me. You used me, and I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

Tracy started crying louder. “Joy, please, I beg you. We’ve been friends since childhood.”

Joy’s voice stayed steady. “That’s why it hurts. But my decision is final.”

Tracy tried to hold Joy’s hand, but Joy stepped back gently.

“Go, Tracy,” Joy said. “Please go.”

Tracy’s shoulders shook as she cried. She wanted to talk more, to beg more, to force Joy’s heart to soften. But Joy did not move. Joy did not shout. Joy did not insult her. She just stood there—strong and quiet—like a door that would not open again.

Tracy finally stood up slowly, wiped her face, and nodded like someone accepting punishment. She looked at Joy one last time, full of regret, then turned and walked away from the compound—sad and empty.

Joy watched her go, and even though tears entered her eyes again, she did not call her back. Because forgiveness does not always mean access, and some friendships must end to protect a good heart.

Joy continued her life quietly in the village, using the white pot only to help people who truly needed help. She paid school fees for children who were about to drop out. She helped sick people buy medicine. She supported widows and old people with food and rent. She never showed off. She never made noise. She remembered the warning and kept her heart clean.

One day, news spread through the village that the prince had returned home from overseas. He had heard stories about a young woman in the village who helped people without pride, who changed lives quietly. Curious, the prince asked to see her.

When Joy was told, she was shocked and scared. The first day they met, something gentle happened between them. There was no pride, no force—just peace. They talked like two people who had known each other for a long time. The prince admired her kindness and wisdom. Joy admired his humility and calm spirit. From that first meeting, love grew naturally between them.

Just days into their friendship, the prince spoke clearly. “Joy,” he said, “I have seen many women, but I have never seen a heart like yours. Will you marry me?”

Joy’s eyes filled with tears—not tears of fear, but of gratitude. She nodded with a smile. “Yes,” she said softly. “I will marry you.”

But far away, Tracy heard the news. The moment she heard that Joy was going to marry the prince, anger entered her like poison.

“Joy again?” she shouted. “She always gets the best things. Who the hell is she? That prince is mine.”

Her heart burned with jealousy. She took money. She took respect. Now she wants to take my man too.

Tracy’s eyes became dark. “I can’t watch her marry him. The prince is supposed to be mine.”

Blinded by hatred, she went to a native doctor deep in the bush. She told him everything and demanded a charm to kill Joy. The man looked at her carefully and said, “This path is dangerous. If you take this charm, don’t look back. Even if someone calls your name, don’t turn. If you do, your life will change forever.”

Tracy nodded quickly. “I won’t look back,” she said. “Just give it to me.”

The man gave her the charm, and Tracy left with her heart full of darkness.

As she walked through the bush path, fear and excitement mixed inside her. Suddenly, she heard a male voice behind her.

“Tracy, how are you doing today?”

Her heart jumped, but she remembered the warning. She did not look back. She kept walking.

Then the voice came again, softer, sweeter. “It’s me, my queen,” the voice said. “It’s the prince—your prince—the man you want.”

Tracy’s heart exploded with hope and desire. The prince?

Forgetting the warning, forgetting everything, she turned back.

The moment she did, her eyes changed. She screamed. Her mind broke like glass. Tracy ran wildly, shouting and laughing at the same time. She ran straight to the palace, burst into the king’s presence, and fell to the ground crying. She confessed everything—how she planned to take Joy’s place, how she went for a charm to kill her. It was greed. It was the devil.