Only the widow understood the echoes of their loud silence. It happened in the small village of Idogun, nestled between rolling hills and whispering streams. There lived a widow named Ireti. She had been a woman of vibrant energy, her laughter like the morning sun that pierced through the misty air. But since the death of her husband, Adewale, the once lively glow in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by the shadows of grief and the heavy burden of silence.
Her home, now a lonely hut, sat at the edge of the village, where the rustling wind was her only companion. The people of Idogun were kind enough—they would greet her warmly and offer assistance when they could—but no one could fill the gaping void left by Adewale. Ireti felt her silence echo louder than any words ever could.
One evening, as the golden rays of the setting sun bathed the village, Ireti sat outside her hut, staring at the distant horizon. The quiet was overwhelming, yet oddly, it seemed alive. It was as if the silence carried voices—unspoken words from the past, long-forgotten laughter, and the faint melody of Adewale’s favourite tune.
Surely, silence speaks, doesn’t it?” she whispered to the wind, her voice cracking from lack of use.That night, she had a dream. In it, she stood in a vast field where the wind carried voices—soft murmurs, cries, and songs. Among them, she heard Adewale’s voice calling her name. ‘Ireti,’ he said, ‘silence can be your teacher, not your prison.’
Awaking with a start, Ireti felt an odd sense of purpose. The next morning, she took a walk through the village and noticed things she had ignored in her grief—the playful laughter of children, the rhythmic pounding of yam in mortar, and the melodious calls of market women. The world, she realised, was never truly silent.
She began to visit the village square daily, sharing stories with the elders, helping the women with their chores, and teaching songs to the children. Slowly, her laughter returned, blending with the voices of Idogun.The villagers, noticing her transformation, often asked her what had changed. She would smile and say, ‘I learned to listen to the echoes of my silence. They told me life does not end with loss; it changes shape, waiting for us to embrace it again.
‘Ireti became a symbol of resilience in Idogun. The once-quiet widow turned her loud silence into a melody that inspired the entire village. Though the memories of Adewale lingered, they no longer weighed her down—they lifted her, reminding her that even in silence, there is a story waiting to be told.
So, in the echoes of her loud silence, Ireti found life again, proving that healing often begins where words fail.
