27/04/2026
Every morning before the first rooster crowed, Mama Ifunanya would rise from her worn raffia mat, tie her wrapper tightly around her waist, and begin grinding beans for her akara.
The aroma of fresh pepper, onions, and hot oil would fill the dusty market square as she carefully fried each golden ball.
“Hot fresh akara! Come and buy!” she would shout, her voice filled with hope.
But day after day, people passed her stall.
Some glanced at her food and quickly turned away.
Others whispered,
“Let’s go to Mama Ngozi’s stand instead.”
Even when her akara was cheaper, customers ignored her.
From sunrise till sunset, Mama Ifunanya would sit beside her fire, watching tray after tray go unsold.
At the end of each day, tears would fill her eyes as she packed leftovers home.
Her children cried from hunger.
Her landlord threatened her over unpaid rent.
And her heart slowly hardened with desperation.
One evening, after another painful market day, an old woman leaned close and whispered:
“If you truly want your akara to sell… visit Dibia Nnanna in the evil forest.”
At first, Mama Ifunanya resisted.
But hunger can push even the strongest soul into darkness.
So under the cover of night, she traveled deep into the forest to meet the feared spiritualist.
Dibia Nnanna’s shrine was hidden beneath twisted trees, surrounded by skulls, red cloth, and strange chants.
The old dibia looked into her eyes and said:
“You seek customers… but every blessing has a price.”
Desperate, she agreed.
He handed her a strange black powder and warned:
“Mix this with your bean paste, and your akara will draw people like ants to sugar. But never look too closely at what you fry.”
From that day, Mama Ifunanya’s business changed overnight.
Crowds gathered around her stall.
Long lines stretched across the market.
People fought to buy her akara.
“This is the sweetest akara in the whole village!”
“No one cooks like Mama Ifunanya!”
Her tray emptied within minutes.
Money poured in.
She built a bigger shop.
Bought expensive wrappers.
And her children finally ate like royalty.
But unknown to her customers…
The akara they craved was no longer ordinary food.
Inside the frying pan, beneath the golden crust, the charms transformed the bean cakes into wriggling maggots fat, white larvae disguised as delicious akara.
Yet whenever customers looked, they saw only golden perfection.
They ate greedily, unaware of the horror.
One market day, a little child buying akara accidentally dropped one on the ground.
Before everyone’s eyes…
The akara burst open.
Maggots spilled out, twisting in the dust.
Screams filled the market.
Women fainted.
Men vomited.
Children cried.
“Mama Ifunanya is feeding us ev!l!”
The truth spread like wildfire.
Her customers vanished.
Her shop was destroyed.
And the same wealth she gained mysteriously disappeared.
Some say the spirits came for payment.
Others say she wandered into m@dness.
But till today, elders still warn:
“Beware of desperate wealth, for not every fast blessing comes from God.”
And so Mama Ifunanya’s story became a fearful lesson in the village.
