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SHE SLAPPED AN OLD WOMAN – WHAT HAPPENED NEXT SHOCKED THE ENTIRE VILLAGE.#tales #africantales - AI Summary, Mind Map & Transcript | African Tales By Vera | YouTubeToText
YouTube Transcript: SHE SLAPPED AN OLD WOMAN – WHAT HAPPENED NEXT SHOCKED THE ENTIRE VILLAGE.#tales #africantales
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This story illustrates the destructive nature of excessive pride and arrogance, showing how humility and genuine change are necessary for healing and acceptance.
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Don't ever correct me. Old dirty looking
woman, don't ever correct me. Leave my
part before I push you to the ground.
The old woman looked at Ya and murmured
a curse, watching her as she walked away
with pride and arrogance. The villagers
watched in disbelief as she slapped an
old woman for no reasons. Ya lived with
her poor mother and father near the
village shrine. Ya was so rude and
arrogant. And not just arrogant, she had
a face that looks like someone who had
attempted a face surgery and didn't
finish it. The villagers never liked her
because of her behavior. They said the
spirit punished her for her parents'
crying. Whenever she passed through the
village square, the women would say,
"Who will marry this one?" Turning their
faces in disgust. The men were not nice
either. They would say, "I pity the man
who will marry this arrogant and ugly
thing." Some would even say, "If they
dash her for free with a plot of land,
they will still not marry her." Yeah.
Carried herself like she was the queen
of the village. She was never bothered
by what the villagers said. She saw
herself as the pride of the village.
Even when the maidens gossip about her,
saying, "We will all marry the good
men." Only the drunkards and mad people
will ask for your hand in marriage. Ya
would simply say marriage is not in my
dictionary who marriage helps. She just
told herself with confidence. Though the
villagers whispered behind her, their
words never sank into Ya's heart. Every
dawn she strutted across the dusty paths
as though the sun rose just to
illuminate her presence. Her mother
would call after her, begging her to
soften her tone, to humble herself, to
mend her ways. But Ya only waved her
hand dismissively. That morning, after
slapping the old woman without a hint of
remorse, she lifted her chin and kept
walking. Children scurried out of her
way, clutching their mother's clots. The
market women paused midsail, watching
her with a mixture of fear and
irritation. Even the goats stopped
chewing as though sensing the tension
that followed her like a shadow. Near
the shrine path, her father sat carving
a piece of wood. He looked up as Ya
approached, her steps loud, her pride
louder. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You
walk through the village today like the
gods owe you tribute." "And they do,"
she replied, brushing dust from her
rapper. "Look at me. I am not like these
villagers who have accepted mediocrity.
Her father sighed deeply. The kind of
sigh that carried both exhaustion and resignation.
resignation.
One day, yeah, the world will show you
that beauty of heart weighs more than
beauty of faith. She scoffed, "Father,
spare me the wisdom. If the world does
not value me, then the world is blind."
Later that day, the gossip grew louder.
At the well, the maidens gathered in a
tight circle, their voices hushed but
excited. Ya approached, bucket in hand,
her presence slicing through their
chatter. Ah, so you still stand there
talking about me? Yah said, staring them
down. Is my life feeding any of you? One
of the maidens, Abena, stepped forward.
We only say what everyone sees. You
behave as though you are above all of
us. And I am, Ya answered without
blinking. The maidens exchanged glances,
some fearful, some amused, others
annoyed, but none dead speak again. Ya
dipped her bucket into the well with
sharp angry movements, sending ripples
across the water. As she lifted the
bucket, she caught her reflection.
The unevenness of her features, the
roughness of her skin, the sharpness of
her jaw, it was all there. The villagers
often whispered that the gods had carved
her face in anger, leaving the work
unfinished. Boa refused to see flaws.
Instead, she saw uniqueness, something
that set her apart. When she returned
home, her mother was peeling cava.
"Yeah," her mother began softly. They
say you slapped old mom a cocko today
and so Ya replied, "She blocked my path.
She is old enough to be your
grandmother. Then she should know better
than to stand in my way." Her mother
dropped the knife, frustration finally
breaking through her gentle nature. "Why
must you always fight the whole world?
Can you not live peacefully with
people?" Ya shrugged. "Let them learn to
accept me. I will not bend for anyone.
Even evening brought no calm. As the
village prepared for nightfall, whispers
continued to flow through the air like
drifting smoke. Men sitting under the
bowab tree joked loudly. Her mouth is
sharper than the hunter's blade. One
laughed. "And her heart colder than
river stones," another added. The third
man shook his head. "Imagine waking up
beside that face every morning. The gods
forbid. Their laughter echoed through
the square. But yeah, passing nearby,
pretended not to hear. She walked with
her head high, hips swaying with
confidence that bothered on defiance.
Inside her chest, however, a small
tightness formed a feeling she refused
to name. Still, she kept walking, dust
rising behind her like a small storm.
The shrine drums began to beat in the
distance as dusk settled. The smell of
burning herbs drifted into the air,
mixing with the scent of cooking fires.
The village slowly grew quieter, but
Ya's name still floated on the tongues
of many. Some spoke with irritation,
some with fear, some with curiosity, but
they all spoke. And yeah, returning home
with the last light of day, whispered to
herself again, "I am the pride of this
village. One day they will see it." She
repeated it like a chance, letting the
words wrap around her like ammo as the
shadows lengthened and the night crept
in. "That night, as Ya slept, the moon
hid behind a thick veil of clouds. The
wind whispered through the trees behind
their small compound, carrying with it
the faint echo of the words the old
woman had murmured after Ya slapped her.
No one in the village had heard what she
said, but the spirits had. Just before
dawn, Ya began to toss on her rafia mat.
Her breath grew heavy and a strange heat
washed over her body. She turned,
groaned, and felt her skin tighten and
prickle as though unseen hands were
shaping her in the darkness. When the
first rooster crowed, Ya jolted awake.
Her mother, already by the hearth, heard
a scream sharp and trembling. She rushed
into Ya's room. A Ya, what is it? What
is? But the words died in her throat.
Where Ya sat, clutching her face with
trembling hands. Her skin had changed.
Dark patches crept across her cheeks,
swelling into rough bumps. Her lips had
twisted, one side drooping unnaturally.
Her eyes, once sharp with arrogance,
were now mismatched, once swollen shut.
Mother. Yeah, cried her voice. What is
happening to me? Her mother staggered
back, covering her mouth. Yeah.
Yeah. The goats have touched your face.
By the time the song rose fully, the
news had traveled through the entire
village like wildfire. Ya's face had
transformed overnight. People gathered
outside her compound, whispering loudly,
pointing, craning their necks for a
glimpse. Some laughed openly. "Ah, she
thought she was queen. Look at her now."
She deserves it. Pride goes before
destruction. H the spirits have finally
humbled her. Others, especially the
older women, shook their heads with
pity. A my child, this is not ordinary.
Something strong has touched her. May
the god soften the hearts of whoever
cursed her. But Yah heard every voice,
every laugh, every whisper. It felt like
the whole village was squeezing her
heart in their fists. When her father
returned from the shrine path and saw
her, he froze like stone. "We must go to
the herbalist," he said shakily. "This
is beyond human understanding. The
herbalist hut was filled with a scent of
herbs and smoke. The walls lined with
jars containing leaves, powders, and
strange roots." As soon as he stepped
in, the old man looked up, eyes
narrowing as though he had been
expecting her. Ah, he said slowly. So,
it has begun. Ya's mother dropped to her
knees. Please, wise one, heal our
daughter. The herbalist shook his head.
This sickness is not one leaf, one
medicine, or one man can cure. Her
father swallowed hard. Then what can
kill her? The ebalis picked up his
calories, shook them in both hands, and
spilled them onto a goat skin mat. He
stayed at their pattern for a long
moment before speaking. It is the old
woman she slapped, he said. She laid a
curse on Ya. Ya's eyes widened. "That
dirty looking old woman, me, beg her.
Never." Her father turned sharply. Yeah,
this is not the time for such talk. But
Yah shook her head stubbornly, her
swollen face tightening with anger. I
will not kneel before that woman. Let
these villagers laugh. I will not beg
her. She is beneath me. Her mother
grabbed her hands, tears streaming. My
daughter, your face, your body is
changing. This is no ordinary sickness.
Please swallow your pride. Beg her
before it becomes worse. But Ya pulled
her hands away. No, I said no. The
healer sighed deeply, looking at her
with a mixture of sorrow and warning.
Then may your heart be strong, child,
because this curse does not stop here.
Her parents looked at each other in
terror. Already the patches on Ya's face
were spreading. Her breathing grew
heavier. And a strange ache crawled into
her bones. Even standing became
difficult. Her sickness was getting
worse, and the entire village watched,
waiting to see what would become of the
girl who refused to bend. Ya's sickness
worsened with each passing day. The
swelling spread down her neck. Her skin
tightened painfully, and sharp aches
shot through her joints whenever she
moved. Sleep became a battle. Eating
became a struggle. Even breathing felt
like a punishment. For the first time in
her life, Ya, proud, fearless. Ya felt
fear settle inside her like a heavy
stone. The laughter in the village
softened over time, replaced by mummos
of pity. Yet Ya still refused to seek
the old woman. She clung to her pride
like a shield, even as her body
weakened. But pride crumbles quickly
under the weight of suffering. One night
the pain became unbearable.
Y lay curled on her mat, tears streaming
silently as her mother wiped her face
with trembling hands. Yeah, her mother
whispered, voice breaking. You will die
if you do not humble yourself. Her
father sat beside her, his head bowed.
My daughter, we cannot lose you. Please
beg her. Even stones soften when the
hammer strikes enough. Ya looked at
their faces tired, frightened, full of
love, and something inside her cracked.
At dawn, before the sun rose fully, Ya
wrapped a cloth around her head, covered
her disfigured face, and left the house.
She did not tell her parents. She did
not tell the villagers. She simply
walked. She walked past the shrine path,
across farmlands, through dusty roads,
and into the forest paths where the old
woman was rumored to leave. Her legs
trembled. Her breath came in painful
gasps, but she kept walking 1 mile, 2
mi, then three. By midafter afternoon,
she saw a small hut made of mud and palm
frrons, smoke rising from its roof. The
old woman was sitting outside, grinding
herbs with slow, steady movement. Ya's
heart pounded. Her knees shook. The
words tasted bitter in her mouth, but
she forced her legs to move. She stepped
forward and fell to her knees. "Mother,"
she whispered. "Forgive me. Forgive me
for my pride. Forgive me for
disrespecting you." The old woman did
not look surprised. She gazed at Ya with
calm, knowing eyes. "I knew you would
come," she said. "Pain teaches where
words fail." Ya bowed her head, tears
dripping down her swollen cheeks. "I am
sorry. I was wrong." The old woman
reached out and lifted Ya's chin gently.
"Go home," she said. "And change your
ways. Respect those older than you.
Treat people kindly. Let humility dwell
in you. When your heart changes, your
body will follow. She did not give her
herbs. She did not chant incantations.
She simply turned away and entered her
hut. And strangely, Ya felt something
loosen within her like invisible chains
falling away. She returned home
exhausted but hopeful. Her parents
rushed to her, embracing her with relief
when she whispered. I begged her. From
that day onward, Yah began to change.
She greeted elders with respect. She
helped her mother fetch water. She
apologized to people she had wronged.
She no longer walked with her chin high
and her heart filled with arrogance. And
slowly, very slowly, the swelling faded.
The patches on her skin softened. Her
breathing eased. Her face regained its
shape. Not perfect, but peaceful. The
villagers watched in amazement as the
once arrogant Ya transformed into a
humble, respectful young woman. Little
by little, their whispers changed from
mockery to admiration. Even the old
woman passed through the village one
evening, and when Ya greeted her with a
deep bow, the woman smiled, "You have
learned." And yet smiled too genuine,
gentle, healed from the inside out. Life
lesson. Pride blinds the heart and
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