“My Stepmother Beat Me for Helping a Filthy Madman, Unaware He Was the King”
In the heart of Africa, where the sun kisses the earth with a fiery intensity and the whispers of ancient spirits linger in the air, there lies a small village called Umoda. It is here, amidst the rustling palm trees and the rhythmic beats of talking drums, that a tale of resilience, kindness, and destiny unfolds—a tale that begins with a young girl named Adogo and a madman who changed her life forever.
Adogo was no ordinary girl. Despite her beauty, with skin as smooth as cocoa and eyes that sparkled like stars, she was the saddest soul in the village. Her father, a kind and hardworking man, had passed away two years prior, leaving her in the care of Beti, his second wife. Beti was a woman with a heart as dark as the night, and her cruelty knew no bounds. She had her own daughter, Ugotchi, who was as lazy and entitled as her mother was wicked.
While Ugotchi lounged on soft mattresses and feasted on eggs and fresh fruit, Adogo was relegated to the cold, ash-covered floor of the kitchen. Her days began before the first rooster crowed, fetching water from the stream, sweeping the compound, and cooking meals for the household. Despite her tireless efforts, she never received a word of gratitude—only scorn, slaps, and insults.
One scorching afternoon, the sun blazed mercilessly in the sky, baking the earth and sending lizards scurrying for shade. Adogo had just returned from the stream, a heavy clay pot of water balanced precariously on her head. Her neck ached, her arms trembled, and her throat was as parched as the desert. She hadn’t had a sip of water all day because Beti had forbidden her from drinking until every pot in the house was filled.
As she set the pot down to rest for a moment, a foul stench filled the air. It was a smell so putrid, it made her stomach churn. She turned to see a figure shuffling into the compound. It was a man, but not like any man she had ever seen. His hair was matted with sand and leaves, his clothes were nothing more than filthy rags, and flies buzzed around him in a relentless swarm. His cracked lips and sunken eyes told a story of suffering and thirst.
This was the madman of the forest, a figure of fear and loathing among the villagers. Rumors swirled about him—that he ate children, that his touch could drive a person mad. When Ugotchi, Adogo’s stepsister, saw him, she screamed in terror and hurled a mango at him. The fruit struck his chest, leaving a sticky stain on his tattered clothing. But the man didn’t retaliate. He simply looked at the mango on the ground with eyes full of hunger and whispered, “Water.”
Beti stormed out of the kitchen, her face contorted in fury. “You filthy animal!” she shrieked, grabbing a broom and striking the man. “Get out of my house before I scald you with hot oil!” The madman cowered under her blows, his trembling hands shielding his face. “Water,” he croaked again, his voice barely audible.
Adogo watched from the shadows, her heart pounding. She saw the desperation in his eyes, the humanity beneath the grime and madness. Her gaze shifted to the pot of water she had just fetched. It held the last bit of clean, cool water in the house—water she had saved for herself after a long day of labor.
She hesitated, knowing the consequences of defying Beti. Her stepmother’s punishments were harsh and unrelenting. But then she remembered her mother’s words, spoken long ago: “Never let a person suffer if you have the power to help.”
Summoning her courage, Adogo grabbed a calabash and dipped it into the pot. “What are you doing, you foolish girl?” Beti screamed, but Adogo didn’t stop. She knelt before the madman, holding the cup to his cracked lips. “Drink, papa,” she said softly. “Drink gently.”
The madman drank the water in one gulp, and as he did, something remarkable happened. His eyes, once clouded with madness, cleared for a brief moment, revealing a sharp intelligence. He reached out and touched Adogo’s hand with his dirty fingers. “The hand that gives shall never lack,” he whispered. “The heart that sees the poor shall see the throne.”
Before Adogo could make sense of his words, a sharp blow landed on her back. Beti, furious, had struck her with a stick. “You wretched girl!” she screamed. “You gave our water to a filthy madman! You’ve cursed this house!” Beti continued to beat her, and Ugotchi joined in, laughing and throwing sand at the madman.
The madman fled, disappearing into the forest, while Adogo lay in the dust, her body aching but her heart light. She had done what was right, and that was enough for her.
Two weeks later, the village of Umoda buzzed with excitement. The royal gong echoed through the streets, announcing the annual New Yam Festival. This year, however, the festival carried an extra significance: King Obina was searching for a wife. Every maiden in the village was required to attend, for the king would choose his queen from among them.
In Adogo’s household, preparations were in full swing. Beti had spared no expense, adorning Ugotchi in the finest lace and jewelry. “You will be the queen,” she declared, brushing her daughter’s hair. “When the king sees you, he will have no choice but to choose you.”
Adogo stood silently in the corner, her heart heavy. She didn’t dare ask if she could attend. But to her surprise, Beti turned to her with a cruel smile. “You will go too, Adogo,” she sneered. “You’ll carry Ugotchi’s umbrella and fan her when she gets hot. And you’ll wear your rags. I want the king to see the difference between a diamond like her and a stone like you.”
On the day of the festival, the palace square was a sea of color and sound. Drummers beat their drums with fervor as maidens danced, their beaded waists swaying to the rhythm. King Obina, a young and handsome ruler, sat on his golden throne, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Ugotchi pushed her way to the front, her mother cheering loudly from the sidelines. “That’s my daughter! The next queen!” Beti shouted. Meanwhile, Adogo stood at the back, hiding behind a mango tree. She was too ashamed of her tattered dress and bare feet to join the other girls.
Then, something unexpected happened. The king rose from his throne, silencing the crowd. He descended the steps and began walking through the throng, his piercing gaze searching for someone. He passed by the rich and the beautiful, ignoring their attempts to catch his attention.
Finally, he stopped at the mango tree. There, cowering in fear, was Adogo. She tried to run, but the royal guards blocked her path. Falling to her knees, she pleaded, “Please, my king, I did not mean to offend you with my rags. I will leave.”
But the king did not scold her. Instead, he smiled—a smile that lit up the entire square. “Do not kneel, my queen,” he said, extending his hand.
The crowd gasped in shock. Beti pushed her way forward, shouting, “My king, this is a mistake! She is a slave, a cursed nobody! Look at my daughter, Ugotchi. She is the one for you!”
The king’s smile vanished, replaced by a steely glare. “Silence, woman!” he thundered. “I know you and your daughter. Two weeks ago, I walked through this village disguised as a madman, seeking a wife—not one with a beautiful face, but one with a beautiful heart. You threw stones at me. You called me a devil. But this girl,” he said, turning back to Adogo, “gave me her last cup of water. She treated a madman like a king. And for that, she shall be my queen.”
The crowd erupted in cheers as the king placed his royal cape around Adogo’s shoulders. Beti and Ugotchi were dragged away by the royal guards, their cries drowned out by the joyous celebration. From that day forward, Adogo ruled alongside King Obina with wisdom and kindness, never forgetting the lesson her mother had taught her: Kindness to a stranger is kindness to God.
And so, my dear readers, remember this: no condition is permanent. Life has a way of rewarding those with pure hearts, and you never know who among us might be a king in disguise.
