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MUSTARD I – Ch. 6 | KT OLLA

THE travelling sons of Dada found themselves on a large harvest ground as they walked into a nearby farm.

They got there to see the farm settlers helping to sort out the harvested tubers. They were sorting the tubers into sizes and then gathering some for the barn and the other ones for sale.

They were still working that late dusk hour when the boys matched in.

‘Ah join us, boys; there’s still work!’

‘Did you come to help out?’

‘You definitely don’t come from this side, do you?’

Everyone found the wards a breath of fresh air. Just everyone wanted to chat them.

Just that moment, a man of about middle-age asked a thing. And everyone else stopped talking, and they listened for answer.

‘You came from one of those far villages, right? Your feet are dusty, so it must be far!’

That question caught the wandering group by surprise. Not for the fact that their case wasn’t exactly so. But that the question sounded so apt to make them belong already.

So, the three young men just stood there, dazed beyond words.

‘Why are you staring?’ shouted someone. ‘It is the Baalẹ talking to you!’

The speaker meant that the former one was the farm village head. Simply the ruler’s representative there.

So Moro bowed the head and said, ‘It is as you say, Baalẹ!’

The farm owner called from afar. ‘Over here, good boys! Come help us with this.’

The village head waved, smiling. ‘You can go work already. There is food and all. Then you can stay the night at my place.’

Moro wasn’t content. So he raised the stakes. ‘We plan to work through the harvest, Baalẹ!’

The man was surprised. ‘Where did you say you come from?’

‘Our village is a very far place!’ he replied.

‘In that case, stay with me through the harvest. I will provide you with food and clothes!’

The trio were quite delighted. ‘You have done very much! Thank you so much, Baalẹ!’

‘What have I done? Now go ahead, children. The man is waiting for you!’

That day three young wards who fled from a war, suddenly found peace in a place of cold war.

But this was still the first grace for a seed born in the heart of battles. In the core of darkness. In a time of more wastelands.

For God in Heaven looked to earth in the midst of that darkness. He saw nothing but desperate souls trying to stand out.

And one of those tales was Moro.

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