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It started with a stolen goat and a dare.
"I swear on my left slipper, Emeka," Nkem whispered, eyes wide with excitement, "we will return the goat before anyone even notices it was missing. We just need it for the video." Nkem assured Emeka, smiling. "What could possibly go wrong?" He grinned widely.
The plan was simple—record a prank video for Tiktok, rack up a million views, become internet-famous, and finally prove to their parents that their dreams of digital stardom were not completely foolish. But this was Arondizuogwu, a town where elders of the community believed that goats carried ancestral spirits and secrets were as rare as rain in harmattan.
The goat in question belonged to Mama Uzo, the neighborhood's undisputed queen of gossip and the keeper of thirty-seven cats. She called the goat Chief, and no one dared question her why.
Emeka adjusted the camera strapped to his chest. "Let's make this quick. Grab the rope. I will distract Mama Uzo." He told Nkem.
The compound was silent and perfect for mischief, apart from the occasional 'meow' of distractions from the numerous cats. The air smelled of palm oil and impending doom.
Nkem crept into the enclosure like a war movie extra. The goat blinked at him lazily. He whispered sweet nothings, looped the rope, and—
"EEEEHHHHEEEEE!" The goat let out a blood-curdling scream that could have resurrected a sleeping masquerade. Nkem froze. Cats scattered like gossip at a naming ceremony. What's worse, Mama Uzo's door slammed open.
"Who's touching my Chief?!" She yelled as she walked out.
"Run! Run! Run! No, no, no, dodge! Dodge! Dodge! no, no, don't dodge! Run, run, run!" Nkem whispering to Emeka in a confused state, as he carried the goat.
Emeka hissed at Nkem as he made him run to and fro, confused about which direction to go while carrying the goat. He was already half way down the alley, camera bouncing wildly.
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The next morning, the video had gone viral. Their plan had worked—but not quite the way they intended it.
"I told you not to use the title 'Stealing a Witch's Goat in Broad Daylight,'" Emeka muttered as they scrolled through the numerous comments. "You made it look like we were sacrificial lamb." He said angrily.
"You were the one who said clickbait brings clicks, remember?!" Nkem snapped.
By noon, they had already become legends— and not in a good way. Mama Uzo had stormed into their homes with a placard that read: RETURN CHIEF IMMEDIATELY OR FACE COSMIC CONSEQUENCES.
DELAY IS DANGEROUS. PERIOD!
Their parents were furiously angry. Nkem's father almost smashed his phone in righteous fury. Emeka's mother started calling her fellow prayer group members. The community and neighboring town buzzed with speculation: "Were they cursed? Had the goat actually revealed secrets to them? Was this a sign of the end times?" They quietly muttered and whispered among themselves.
Actually, Mama Uzo retrieved her goat that day but was leaving their house seething.
"You boys must go and beg her," Emeka's mother declared, holding a bottle of anointing oil like a weapon. "You have insulted a woman who speaks to cats!" she added as she gestured, feeling worried for the boys.
The walk to Mama Uzo's compound was the longest of their lives.
She sat on her bamboo chair, petting one of her cat named Sergeant. Chief was beside her, chewing cassava leaves with smug satisfaction and swag.
"Well?" she said, without looking up and still betting Sergeant. "Have you both decided to actually come to confess?!" She yelled out in anger, but still looking down.
"We are very sorry, ma," Nkem began, swallowing his pride and panic in equal measure.
"It was just a silly joke, ma." Emeka added, shaking.
Mama Uzo raised an eyebrow. " You think spirits are jokes?!" she exclaimed.
"No, ma!" Nkem and Emeka squeaked.
She stood up slowly, and the cats gathered like an army. "You embarrassed me online. You made me a laughing stock. The spirits are not happy at all. But..." She paused, stroking her chin. There is actually a way you can both restore balance by appeasing the spirits." She smirked.
The boys perked up. "We are ready! Anything!" they said, holding their hands in anticipation.
"You must film a new video," she said. "But this time, it will be my story." she chuckled scornfully.
Emeka and Nkem exchanged a look. "Your story?" They asked in disbelief.
"Yes. About how I single-handedly saved this town from a pack of python spirits in Owerri forest, and how I cured Chief of his speech impediment." She praised herself, grinning.
"Chief... talks?!" Emeka and Nkem echoed at the same time, looking very surprised.
"Metaphorically!" she snapped. "So boys! Now, do we have a deal?" she asked, looking the other way.
"Oh! hmmm! oooookay, ma!" The boys stuttered.
An hour later, they were filming again. This time, Mama Uzo sat regally on a throne of plastic brown chair, wearing a gele that looked like the size of a satellite dish. The chief wore beads around its neck, a T-shirt, and jeans, then garnished it with dark sunglasses and posed like royalty too. Emeka narrated with an overly dramatic flair. Nkem edited in a slow-motion effect and added thunderclaps.
The video was posted as "The Witch of Arondizuogwu: Legend and Hero."
Boom!
It hit 2.9 million views in a day.
Mama Uzo was thrilled. She printed customized T-shirts with her face and her animal friends on them, with the caption: Queen of Cats and Goats—Respect it.
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Tourist from the neighboring towns started showing up at Mama Uzo's house to take selfies. Even the local council gave her an honorary title: The protector of the ancestral spirits.
Chief (the goat) even has its own fan club.
Every time they were about to try something new, Nkem would say, "What could possibly go wrong?"
Emeka would reply, "Everything. But it will definitely make a great story."
And it usually did.
THANKS A LOT FOR READING ME.