The sun was harsh over Olorun Village. The air was dry and heavy. It had not rained for months. Wells were almost empty. The fields had stopped growing food. People were weak from hunger.
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Baba Tunde, the village baker, was in his tiny bakery. His racks had no goods on them. Just one bread was waiting at the counter. It looked pretty and was nice and warm. He had not eaten since the previous night. He took the bread. He was shaking. Part of him wanted to keep it. He was hungry, after all. However, he then thought of little Musa.
Musa was a skinny and quiet eight-year-old boy. That day Baba Tunde saw Musa's mother crying at the well. She was trying to conceal her sobs, but he could still see the tears. He understood that her family had no food. "One loaf of bread can't feed everyone," Baba Tunde mumbled to himself. "But maybe it could be a little light for someone."
He took off the bread from his pocket and went outside. The earth was dry and cracked. The children were playing in the dirt without any energy. People looked at him as he walked. Some glanced at the bread in his hands. There was hunger in their eyes.
At Musa’s house, Halima opened the door. Her face was pale. Her lips were dry. When she saw the loaf, she froze.
“This is for Musa,” Baba Tunde said.
Her voice shook. “No, Baba. You need it too.”
He gave her a small smile. “He has many years ahead. I have lived many.”
She held the bread, tears filling her eyes. “God bless you,” she whispered.
Baba Tunde had already turned and left before she could say more. His legs were weak, but his heart was lighter. The story had the round that evening. Some would be ashamed for having hidden food in the times of hunger, while others would be inspired to take action.
Aisha, a widow with two kids, brought a jar of honey to Baba Tunde's house. "You sacrificed your last loaf of bread," she said, "take it, please."
Soon Bayo the fisherman arrived with a thin fish. Then Fatima brought three small onions. Before long, Baba Tunde’s table was full.
He looked at the food and whispered, “I gave one loaf, and the village gave back a feast.”
The next morning, villagers gathered in the square. Chief Oladele spoke. “We cannot survive like this,” he said. “But Baba Tunde reminded us to share. If we give what little we have, we can last until the rains return.”
One after another, people brought what they had. A man contributed a small sack of rice. An elderly woman came with some corn. Children carried berries they had gathered. Even the poorest gave something small.
They planned to cook as one. The dishes were modest, but each night there was someone who ate a little bit more than usual and so no one had to go to bed with an empty stomach. At night, they could be found around the fire, sharing stories, and singing old songs. Slowly but surely, their spirits started to soar.
Weeks later, dark clouds gathered in the sky. Thunder rumbled. Then, at last, rain fell. Children ran outside, laughing and dancing. Women raised their hands to the sky. The ground drank deeply. Soon, green shoots appeared in the fields.
Many months went by. People were back lining up in the bakery. Bread by the dozen was everywhere on the shelves. Baba Tunde saw Musa going by the window, looking fit and happy.
Halima arrived with a basket of eggs. "Take this," she said.
Baba Tunde declined with a smile. "You have given me more than enough already."
On the counter, the basket was placed by her. “we will always remember what you taught us about giving.”
The village came together that night to honor the harvest. They cooked corn over the fire, shared their food, and sang their songs. Baba Tunde smiled as he watched their dance, love filling his heart.
Musa came over with a new loaf of bread. “For you,” he added.
Baba Tunde knelt and took the bread. “Thank you, my son.”
“You gave me your last loaf,” Musa said. “Now I can give you this.”
Once, the seasoned baker was sitting on a bench outside. He fractured the bread and sampled it. It was the best bread he had ever consumed. Not because of the crust or the flour. Because of what it signified. He glanced at the universe above and whispered a grateful prayer.
Long after, the story of Baba Tunde's final bread was still recounted. Mums and dads talked about it with their kids when they were struggling. Wanderers caught the story and spread it to distant places.
Baba Tunde wrote down elementary words on the bakery window:
“One bread can nourish beyond a stomach, it can nourish hope.”
When people were reluctant to share, he used to tell them, “Do not wait till you have a lot. Even your last bread can turn into a feast.”
Olorun Village never forgot. Hunger and hardship could break them. But giving even when it hurt could bring them together.
Sometimes, the smallest act of kindness is enough to keep hope alive.
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STOPThat was a lasting memory to the people of Olurun. Giving is good. Our leaders can learn from this story.