How A 24-Year-Old Man Fulfilled An 85-Year-Old Virgin Woman’s Last Wish
Once upon a time in a quiet rural village in Oo state, Nigeria, there lived an old woman named Funk Aimobi. The villagers affectionately called her Mama Funk, though she had no children of her own. At 85 years old, her back was slightly bent from years of carrying firewood and drawing water from the stream. Her eyes still shone sharp, framed by wrinkles that told the story of survival through wars, famines, and political coups.
Yet, what most people did not know, what she hid deep inside, was that she had lived her entire life as a virgin. Funk’s neighbors often whispered about her. Some said she was cursed, others claimed she had made a vow to God. But Funk herself knew the truth. Her life had been swallowed by poverty and sacrifice. She had spent her youth raising her siblings after their parents died, working in people’s farms instead of going to school, cleaning compounds instead of dancing at festivals. By the time she was old enough to marry, the young men in her village had already looked past her.
As the years stretched on, Funk sat every morning on her bamboo stool outside her mud-walled hut, peeling cassava with shaking hands. The smell of wood smoke and fried akara drifted through the air, while chickens clucked around her feet. She hummed an old Yoruba hymn, though her voice was now raspy. It was her little ritual, a way to remind herself that she was still alive, still part of the village’s rhythm. But inside her heart lived a secret ache. At night, when the wind carried the sounds of young lovers giggling under mango trees, Funk would press her head against her raphia mat and cry quietly.
She had no children to fetch water for her, no grandchildren to sit at her feet. Her womb was as silent as her compound. She felt invisible, forgotten. One evening, as heavy rain poured, Funk whispered aloud to herself, “Before I die, I want to know what it feels like to be held, to be touched, even if just once.” The storm outside beat against her hut, the thunder rolling like drums, as though the heavens had heard her confession.
A Stranger’s Kindness
The next day, at the village market, a stranger appeared. He was tall, slim, with smooth, dark skin, no more than 24 years old. His name was Sei. He had just returned from Lagos after finishing his apprenticeship as a mechanic. His hands were strong, his smile bright, but his eyes carried the hunger of a young man searching for purpose.
Sei helped Mama Funk carry her heavy basket of cassava. He noticed her trembling hands, the way she struggled with her load. “Mama, let me help you,” he said gently. Funk looked at him, surprised by his kindness. Most young men in the village ignored her, rushing past with their girlfriends. But this one, this boy, carried her basket all the way to her hut.
When he set it down, rain began to drizzle again, the drops pattering softly on the thatched roof. “You remind me of my grandmother,” Sei said. “She also sits and peels cassava like this, but she has people around her. You look so alone here.” The words cut deep. She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. The image of the young man lingered in her mind. His voice, his hands, his youth stirred something inside her that she had long buried. For the first time in many years, she felt the pull of a dangerous longing.
A Growing Bond
The following week, Sei visited her again. He brought palm oil, firewood, and groundnuts. “Mama, eat well. You need strength,” he said. He sat with her, listening to her stories about the old days. He laughed at her jokes, even when her voice cracked. Slowly, Funk’s hut became alive again with conversation, but the whispers in the village grew louder. Women at the stream muttered, “Why is that boy always in her house? Has the old witch bewitched him?”
Children laughed, running past her compound, singing, “Mama Funk has a boyfriend.” One afternoon, as the sun burned hot and the earth cracked under its heat, Funk finally broke. Her voice shook as she told Sei, “There is something I must say before death comes for me. Something I have never told anyone.”
Sei leaned closer, curiosity in his eyes. “Mama, you can tell me anything.” Her lips trembled. “I have never known a man, not once. 85 years and I am still a virgin.” The words hung heavy in the air. The birds in the trees went silent as if even nature paused to listen. Sei’s eyes widened, shock written across his face.
The Weight of a Secret
Funk gripped her wrapper tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Before I leave this world, I want to know, even if only once, what it means to be touched by love.” The young man’s chest rose and fell quickly. His throat went dry. He had not expected this. He looked at the old woman before him, her wrinkled face wet with tears, her soul laid bare, and in that moment, he realized he stood at the edge of a decision that could change both their lives forever.
The wind howled outside, the leaves trembling in the trees. The village seemed to hold its breath. Sei sat frozen on the small wooden stool, his mind racing. He had heard many things in his young life, but never something like this. His gaze drifted to Funk’s trembling hands, to the sorrow etched deep into her wrinkled face.
Finally, he whispered, “Mama Funk, you mean in all these years?” She nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. “Not once, my son. Not once. I have lived, but I have never lived. Do you understand?” Her voice cracked, carrying decades of swallowed pain. “My body will return to the earth without knowing warmth. My grave will carry only silence.”
A Dangerous Longing
Sei swallowed hard. He was only 24 with a life ahead of him. Yet here he was, staring at a truth that demanded something from him. His hands trembled. His heart pounded. “Mama,” he began, but his voice failed him. He looked at her again. Truly looked beneath the wrinkles was a woman who had carried the weight of an entire family who had sacrificed her youth for others.
She was not just an old woman; she was someone who had loved in silence, waited in vain, and endured the scorn of the world. Funk wiped her eyes roughly, embarrassed. “Forgive me, Sei, I should not have told you. What can a young man like you do about such foolishness? Forget I ever said it.” She turned away, pulling her wrapper tightly around her frail body, but her words burned in Sei’s ears.
He could not forget that night as he lay on his raphia mat in his mother’s hut, the rain drumming steadily on the roof, her confession echoed inside him. “Before I leave this world, I want to know what it means to be touched by love.” He tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling. Questions tormented him. What is my duty here? Am I just to walk away? Or am I to give her the gift she seeks, even though it will bind me to her story forever?
A New Resolve
By morning, the rain had stopped, and the earth smelled fresh and alive. Sei decided to visit her again. He found Funk sitting in front of her hut, roasting yam over a small fire. Smoke curled upward, carrying the sweet scent. She looked smaller than before, her shoulders hunched as if she carried the weight of her confession.
Still, Sei greeted her. “I am here, Mama.” Her eyes flicked up, guarded. “Ah, Sei, you came again.” Yes, he said simply, sitting down beside her. For a long time, they sat in silence, the fire snapping between them. Finally, he said, “Mama, every person deserves joy before they leave this world. I don’t know what I can give you, but I want you to know your secret is safe with me.”
The Gathering Storm
But just as that fragile smile lit her face, a loud voice cut through the moment. “And what is this?” It was Mama Bezy, a sharp-tongued neighbor who always carried gossip like market goods. She stood at the entrance of the compound, hands on her hips, eyes wide with suspicion. “So it is true. This young boy has been coming here. Mama Funk, have you no shame?”
Funk’s face drained of color. Her hands shook violently as she tried to cover the roasting yam. “It is not what you think, Bezy,” she whispered. But Mama Bezy had already turned, shouting so that half the village could hear. “Come and see. The old woman has caught a small boy in her net. She wants to finish him before his life begins.”
Within minutes, people began to gather. Children peered curiously. Women murmured to one another. Men shook their heads. Funk sat frozen, humiliated, unable to defend herself. Sei rose to his feet, anger burning in his eyes. “Respect yourselves. This woman has done nothing wrong. She is only my friend.”
But his voice was drowned out by laughter and jeers. Someone called out, “Friend indeed. We know what you are hiding.” Another shouted, “Abomination! What kind of friendship is this?” Funk buried her face in her palms, tears slipping through her fingers. The weight of shame pressed down heavier than ever before.
A Stand Against Judgment
Sei stood in front of her like a shield. His voice rang out. “Have you people no shame? This woman raised half of you when your parents were gone. She cooked for your weddings. She carried your babies on her back. And now you stand here mocking her?”
The words struck some like a slap, but the hunger for gossip was stronger. Mama Bezy’s shrill voice cut through the air. “You are the one who should be ashamed. You are a young man. Why are you always here? What does an 85-year-old woman have to offer you if not?”
Funk’s hands shook violently now. She struggled to rise, but her knees buckled and she nearly fell. Sei caught her arm, steadying her. He could feel her bones trembling under his grip. “Enough,” he thundered. His eyes burned as he faced the crowd. “You laugh at her because she is old. You mock her because she is alone. But one day, every single one of you will grow old, too. And when that day comes, will you want to be mocked the way you mock her now?”
The words silenced some voices, but others hissed. “He is bewitched,” one man muttered. “The old woman has tied his destiny.” Another woman spat, “This is disgraceful. The ancestors will not be pleased.”
The Village Divided
Then slowly, the village head, Bale Akin Whale, emerged from the back of the crowd. His agatada swayed with authority, his walking stick striking the ground with each step. The murmurs fell quiet as he approached. He stopped in front of Funk’s hut, his eyes moving from the old woman to the young man.
The weight of his presence pressed the crowd into silence. “Mama Funk,” he said, voice deep and deliberate. “Is what they say true? Has this boy been visiting you?” Funk’s lips quivered. She could not speak. Tears pooled in her eyes. Sei stepped forward. “Yes, Baba. I have been visiting her. She is lonely. She needs someone. I help her with firewood, with food, with company. Is that a crime?”
Bale’s sharp eyes lingered on him. “And is that all?” Sei opened his mouth, then hesitated. For a moment, the entire village seemed to lean in, waiting. Funk’s breath caught in her throat. Finally, he said, “Yes, that is all.” But the pause was enough. The suspicion was already planted in the minds of everyone watching.
Bale tapped his stick on the ground. “The honor of this village must not be stained. Mama Funk, you are old, respected, but your closeness with this boy has become a matter of shame. From today, Sei must no longer enter your compound.” Gasps rose from the crowd. Funk’s heart dropped. Her only companion, her only comfort was being stripped away in front of her eyes.
“No,” her cry pierced the silence. “Bale, please. He is the only one who sees me as human. The only one who makes me laugh. You cannot take him from me.” But the old man shook his head. “Respect must be preserved. What the eyes see, the mouth will speak. And what the mouth speaks becomes the curse of the land. We cannot allow suspicion to grow into abomination.”
The Final Decision
Funk fell to her knees, clutching the hem of Bale’s agada. “I beg you, do not take him from me. He is all I have.” The crowd gasped again. For an 85-year-old woman to kneel and beg publicly was beyond humiliating. Children whispered. Women shook their heads. Men turned away. Sei’s jaw clenched as he tried to lift her up. “Mama, don’t do this. Stand.”
But she clung to the Bale’s garment, sobbing uncontrollably. “If you take him away, I will die. Let me have him. Let me have this one joy before my eyes close forever.” The Bale looked down at her, his face unreadable. Then he pulled his garment away, turned his back, and struck his walking stick into the earth. “It is settled,” he declared. “From today, Sei must not step into this compound again.”
The villagers cheered his verdict, their whispers now swelling into triumphant laughter. Funk lay collapsed on the ground, her tears soaking into the red earth. Sei bent down, lifting her gently. His voice shook as he whispered, “Mama, I will not abandon you, no matter what they say.” But as he spoke, a figure appeared at the edge of the compound.
A Mother’s Fury
His mother, Isei, her eyes blazing with fury. “You,” she shouted, pointing at him. “Come home at once. You will not disgrace me with this madness.” The air grew thick again. Funk froze in his arms. The storm of shame was not over. It was only just beginning. Sei’s mother stormed into the compound like a whirlwind.
Her voice tore through the air, louder than the crickets, louder than the rain still dripping from the roofs. “Sei, have you lost your senses?” she cried. “Do you want people to say my son is sleeping with his grandmother? Do you want to bury me alive with shame?” The few villagers who had lingered behind snickered. Their gossip fed like firewood. Funk tried to rise from the ground. Her face streaked with tears, but her knees buckled.
She looked at Sei with trembling lips. “Sister, please. It is not as they say.” Silence. Isei snapped her eyes like daggers. “You have lived 85 years in this village. You want to end your days by dragging my son into ruin?” Funk gasped. The word hitting her chest like a slap. Her frail fingers dug into the earth as if searching for strength beneath the soil.
Sei stepped between them. His jaw set. “Mama, stop. You don’t understand. She is lonely. She has no one. I am only helping her.” “Helping?” his mother hissed. “Helping how? Carrying cassava, fetching water, or warming her bed?” The cruelty in her words sliced the air. The villagers gasped again, some covering their mouths, others nodding as though she had spoken the very thought they feared.
The Weight of Judgment
Funk cried out, clutching her wrapper. “No, it is not like that. I have never touched him. I only want to feel human before I die.” Her confession burst out again, heavier, raw, each word trembling. Sei closed his eyes, the ache in his chest deepening. He wished she had kept quiet, but she could no longer bury her truth.
Aaya spat on the ground. “You see, she admits it. This is not about kindness. This is about sin. This is about abomination.” “You, my son, will not step foot here again.” Her hand shot out and gripped his wrist, pulling him toward the path. But Sei resisted, planting his feet firmly in the earth. “Mama, I cannot abandon her. Do you not see her pain? Do you not hear her cry? She has given everything and received nothing. How can I leave her now?”
His mother’s eyes widened at his defiance. For the first time, she realized her son was not just helping an old woman. He was bound to her by something deeper, something dangerous. Funk raised her trembling hand, her eyes wet, voice breaking. “Please don’t fight because of me. Let the boy go. If the world says it is abomination, then let me carry the shame alone.”
But Sei turned to her, his voice fierce. “No, Mama Funk, you will not carry it alone. If they call it shame, then I will share it with you.” The words shook the air, bold and reckless. The few villagers who still lingered gasped, their whispers exploding again. One woman muttered, “The boy is gone. The old woman has tied his spirit.”
The Gathering Storm
Isei’s hand trembled as she pointed at Funk. “Witch, you will not use your dying body to destroy my son. If he does not leave you, I will curse this hut with my own mouth.” Funk flinched. Sei stepped forward, shielding her again. “Enough. If you curse her, you curse me too.” Thunder cracked suddenly in the distance, rolling over the village. The sky darkened as if echoing the storm of words. Everyone froze. The atmosphere electric, uneasy.
Finally, Isei dropped her son’s wrist. Her voice turned low and dangerous. “You have made your choice, Sei, but remember this. A man who spits against the wind will have it return in his face. When the consequences come, do not run to me.” She turned sharply, her footsteps echoing against the hard ground as she disappeared into the night. Silence settled again. Only the sound of frogs croaking by the stream filled the air.
Sei helped Funk to her stool. Her hands were icy cold, her breathing uneven. She looked at him with haunted eyes. “You should go. If you stay, they will destroy you.” But Sei shook his head. Determination etched across his young face. “No, let them talk. Let them curse. I will not abandon you. Not now, not ever.”
For the first time, Funk felt a strange mix of fear and relief. Fear of the fire that gossip could burn. Relief that someone at last was standing beside her. But deep inside, she knew this was not the end. The whispers would grow louder. The shame would spread further, and soon the entire village would be forced to choose: protect tradition or let an old woman’s last wish be fulfilled.
The Night of Reckoning
As the night deepened, a shadow of destiny loomed over them both. The following morning, the village stirred with whispers heavier than hermitan dust. Women at the stream bent close as they washed clothes, muttering. They say Aladipo himself was outside her hut last night. At the market, traders whispered between selling yams and peppers. The story of Mama Funk and the young man had spread like wildfire.
Some laughed, some spat, some shook their heads in pity. No one was silent. By midday, Sei walked openly toward Funk’s hut. His head was held high, though he felt dozens of eyes on him. Children followed at a distance, singing cruel songs. “Mama Funk’s husband is young, young, young. She tied his spirit with tongue, tongue, tongue.” The words cut like blades.
Sei clenched his fists but kept walking. When he reached her compound, he found her outside, bent over her fire, roasting yam. She looked smaller, shrunken, like the world had pressed its weight on her shoulders overnight. He greeted her softly. “Mama.” Her eyes lifted, red and swollen from crying.
“Sei, why did you come? Do you not see? They are killing me slowly with their tongues.” Sei sat beside her, his face steady. “Then let them talk until their tongues dry. I will not leave you. If I leave, you will die of sorrow. And if I stay, they say we bring shame. Then let me carry that shame. But I will not abandon you.”
Her tears spilled again, but this time they were mixed with something else. Gratitude, she whispered. “My son, you do not know what it means to be seen after so many years of being invisible.”
The Gathering Storm
As they sat together, a shadow fell across them. It was Pastor Teayo, the leader of the village church, his Bible tucked under his arm, his stern eyes sweeping over them. “Mama Funk,” he said, voice heavy with authority. “The elders have called a meeting. They say your closeness with this boy is bringing disgrace upon the village. They demand answers.”
Funk’s heart lurched. Her hands shook, the yam falling into the fire. Smoke rose sharply, stinging her eyes. “Pastor, I have done nothing wrong. Is it wrong to want company in old age?” But Pastor Teo’s gaze did not soften. “Come to the square at sunset. If you refuse, they will come for you, and their judgment will not be gentle.”
He turned and left, his footsteps echoing like drums of doom. Funk sat frozen, the fire crackled angrily beside her. A meeting? They want to shame me before everyone. Sei placed his hand over hers. “Then we will face them together.”
The Village Square
By evening, the entire village had gathered at the square. The elders sat in a line, their white beards catching the last rays of the sun. The bale sat in the center, staff in hand, face carved in stone. The villagers circled, eager for spectacle. Funk was led forward, her frail frame trembling.
Sei walked beside her, his jaw tight, refusing to step back. Whispers rippled through the crowd like waves. The bale struck his staff. “We are gathered because of shame. An old woman, 85 years, and a boy, 24, have given this village a story that spreads like plague. We must decide if this is friendship or abomination.”
The square fell silent. All eyes burned into Funk. The evening breeze carried the smell of palm oil and dust, but she felt only the weight of judgment. Her lips trembled as she spoke. “Bale, elders, people of this village, I have nothing to hide. Yes, this boy comes to me. Yes, he sits with me. Yes, he helps me. But never has he touched me in sin. I am 85 years old and still a virgin. That is the truth.”
A Moment of Truth
Gasps shot through the crowd. Some women clutched their rappers. Men muttered in disbelief. Sei stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise. “She speaks truth. She has lived alone all her life with no husband, no children. Is loneliness now a crime? Is kindness now abomination?”
But the bale’s eyes narrowed. His staff struck the ground again. “Truth or lie, it does not matter. What matters is perception. What the eyes see, the mouth will say, and what the mouth says can destroy a village’s honor. That is why tonight we must decide.”
The crowd buzzed again, torn between sympathy and condemnation. And as the sun sank into darkness, Funk’s heart pounded. She knew that whatever judgment fell tonight would seal her fate forever.
The Decision
The square was thick with expectation, the kind that made even the air feel heavy. Flames from kerosene lanterns flickered against the faces of the villagers. Every eye fixed on the trembling figure of Mama Funk. The Bale’s staff pressed into the earth like the weight of judgment itself.
He raised his hand and silence fell. “Let each elder speak,” he declared. The first elder, Pa Detila, cleared his throat. His voice was rough like gravel. “In my 70 years, I have never heard such a thing. A boy of 24 and an old woman of 85. Even if no sin has been done, suspicion alone is poison. If we do not stop this, shame will cling to this village forever.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Funk’s chest tightened. The second elder, Mama Adunni, adjusted her head tie and spoke sharply. “I do not trust silence. A woman who kept her virginity for 85 years. Why break it now? Something unseen is at work. This is spiritual. If the boy is not careful, his destiny will vanish into the grave with her.”
Gasps echoed. Someone whispered, “Witchcraft.” Another hissed, “Agbange.” Funk’s tears burned down her cheeks. Finally, Pastor Teayo stepped forward, Bible in hand. His deep voice carried across the square. “The word says, ‘There is a time for everything. A time to be born, a time to die. Mama Funk’s time is for reflection, not desire. If she has needs, let her bring them to God, not to a boy who could be her grandson.’”
The Confrontation
The crowd roared in agreement. Some clapped, others shouted, “Amen.” The tide of judgment rose higher. Sei clenched his fists, stepping forward until he stood at the center of the square. His young voice rang out, defiant against the weight of elders. “So because she is old, she no longer has the right to feel human, to want company, to wish for joy? You call it witchcraft because you cannot understand it. But I tell you, what you call shame is nothing but loneliness crying out.”
The crowd erupted. Some shouted support, others hurled insults. “Foolish boy,” one man barked. “Bewitched,” another spat. But somewhere in the crowd, a few voices murmured softly. “He is right. She is human too.” The bale’s staff struck the ground again, silencing the noise. His voice was calm, but final. “Enough. We have heard. Now I will speak. In this village, we respect age, but we also respect order. A young man must not be seen tied to an old woman in such a way. It is not our way.”
The Verdict
“Therefore, I decree from this night Sei must not step into Mama Funk’s hut again. If he disobeys, he will be cast out of this village.” The words fell like stones in water, sending ripples of shock. Funk’s cry pierced the night. She fell to her knees, clutching the hem of Bale’s agada. “I beg you, do not take him from me. He is the only one who sees me as human. The only one who makes me laugh. You cannot take him from me.”
But the old man shook his head. “Respect must be preserved. What the eyes see, the mouth will speak. And what the mouth speaks becomes the curse of the land. We cannot allow suspicion to grow into abomination.” Funk fell to her knees, clutching the hem of Bale’s agada. “I beg you, do not take him from me. He is all I have.”
The crowd gasped again. For an 85-year-old woman to kneel and beg publicly was beyond humiliating. Children whispered. Women shook their heads. Men turned away. Sei’s jaw clenched as he tried to lift her up. “Mama, don’t do this. Stand.” But she clung to the Bale’s garment, sobbing uncontrollably. “If you take him away, I will die. Let me have him. Let me have this one joy before my eyes close forever.”
The Chief’s Threat
The Bale looked down at her, his face unreadable. Then he pulled his garment away, turned his back, and struck his walking stick into the earth. “It is settled,” he declared. “From today, Sei must not step into this compound again.” The villagers cheered his verdict, their whispers now swelling into triumphant laughter. Funk lay collapsed on the ground, her tears soaking into the red earth.
Sei bent down, lifting her gently. His voice shook as he whispered, “Mama, I will not abandon you, no matter
