In the ancient town of Osogbo, where the sound of talking drums filled the air every evening and the beautiful Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove stood proudly beside the river, there lived a young couple named Adewale and Morounkeji.
They were loved by many because of their humility and respect for tradition. Adewale was a hardworking palm wine tapper, while Morounkeji sold akara and pap in the busy Oja-Oba market. Though life was not easy, they were content with each other.
But there was one thing missing in their home the laughter of a child.
For eight years of marriage, Morounkeji could not conceive. Every festival season, when women danced proudly with their children tied on their backs, her heart would ache deeply. Some people in the neighborhood mocked her quietly. Others advised Adewale to marry another wife.
But Adewale refused every suggestion.
“My wife is enough for me,” he would always say. “God’s time is the best.”
Every month, Morounkeji visited the river side near the sacred grove to pray silently. She would kneel close to the flowing water, tears rolling down her cheeks as she begged heaven for a child.
One afternoon, during the annual Osun festival, an elderly woman dressed completely in white approached her. The woman looked at Morounkeji carefully and smiled gently.
“Daughter,” she said softly in Yoruba, “your sorrow will soon turn to celebration. The house that has been quiet will soon hear the cries of children.”
Morounkeji was surprised, but before she could speak again, the old woman disappeared into the crowd.
Months later, Morounkeji began feeling weak and sleepy often. She could barely stand long in the market. Her neighbors advised her to visit the health center in Osogbo town.
When the nurse checked her, she smiled brightly.
“Ẹ ku orire,” she said happily. “You are pregnant.”
Morounkeji could not hold back her tears. Adewale danced around the compound immediately after hearing the news. That evening, neighbors gathered in celebration, singing Yoruba folk songs deep into the night.
As the pregnancy grew, everyone in the community became excited. Morounkeji’s stomach looked unusually big, and the old women in the compound would laugh among themselves.
“This woman is carrying royal blessings,” one of them said jokingly.
One stormy night, shortly after midnight, Morounkeji went into labor. Rain beat heavily on the roof while the local midwife worked tirelessly inside the small room. Adewale waited outside nervously, praying and pacing around the compound barefooted.
After many painful hours, the cry of a baby suddenly echoed through the house. Before Adewale could even smile fully, another loud cry followed immediately.
The midwife opened the door with excitement shining on her face.
“Adewale!” she shouted joyfully. “Your wife has delivered twins a girl and a boy!”
The compound erupted in celebration. Women danced despite the muddy ground while drummers played loudly in the rain.
The baby girl was named Osunfunke,meaning Osun has given me someone to pamper.
The baby boy was named Osunwale,meaning Osun has come home.
People believed the twins were special gifts connected to the blessings of Osogbo and the river itself. The same people who once mocked Morounkeji now praised her patience and faith.
As the years passed, Osunfunke and Osunwale became the pride of the community. Their laughter filled the compound every morning, and Adewale would often sit outside at night smiling proudly at his children.
Whenever people asked Morounkeji how she survived the years of pain and waiting, she would simply smile and say:
“In life, tears may last for years, but joy can arrive all at once.”
