A monk unlike any other resides in the heart of Eastern Nigeria, nestled between gently swaying palm trees and rolling green hills. He wears a basic white cloth, casually fastened on his waist, not saffron robes. Standing at the edge of a quiet village, his home is a modest hut constructed of clay and thatched palm fronds, not a grand monastery.
Nna Mmụọ is his name; he's the father of spirits. Not because he walks a way hardly anyone else would venture, the path of stillness, intelligence, and surrender, but because he does. While some people pursue riches and influence, he rests under the great udara tree with eyes shut, hearing the wind whispering old Igbo proverbs.
His mornings start with the rooster's cry. He drags water from the stream, his uncovered feet sinking into the cold ground. Practicing mindfulness in every stroke, he uses a palm frond broom to clean not only the floor but also his own spirit. He eats little—roasted yam with palm oil, bitter herbs from the forest, a sip of fresh palm wine when the elders visit.
He is sought after by those with loads greater than a peasant's basket of cassava. Young male, ungain and aimless, asks how to find meaning. Weary grief-weight old widow seeks solace. A trader worried about debt prays for relief. Nna Mmụọ speaks little but his words are parch, sharp, and purifying when said, like the Harmattan wind.
"Nwoke came to chase the wind will never find it. “Still let the wind find you.
"Tears of the land of the heart, Nwanyị; you have to sow fresh happiness.
" Ego? Money is a river. Let it flow across your hands, but do not drink too greedily, or you will choke."
Although he does not work wonders, his disciples experience something unseen lifted off their backs when they go away from him.
He sees the orange sky melt into night at dusk, the fireflies waltzing like spirits in the air. Hands folded, heart open, his soul melds with the ancestors, the landscape, the river, the Earth. And he murmurs a prayer as the village sleeps—not for wealth, not for power, but for peace.
For he knows that true wealth is not in what a man gathers, but in what he learns to let go.