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The Lazy River

In the peaceful land of Cross River State, where mangroves breathe into rainforests and the earth is always wet with memory, there flows a river the elders call Idim Inyang — the Lazy River. The river is not lazy because it is weak. It is lazy because it moves slowly, deliberately, as if it is thinking. It begins from the distant Cameroonian mountains, travels through forests older than names, and finally empties itself into the Atlantic Ocean, where all waters return to silence. Along its banks lived a small community. Fishermen. Traders. Families whose lives depended on the river. But the river was cruel to them. Canoes would capsize. Goods would sink. Children drowned. Strong men vanished beneath the surface. The river gave them water, yes. Fish, yes. But it also gave them death. The people said: “The river is cursed.” “The river hates us.” “The river is evil.” Until one man refused to accept fear as an answer. The Man Who Spoke to Water One evening, after another drowning, the man walked alone to the riverbank. He knelt. He touched the water. And he cried: “You are supposed to give us life. You are supposed to bring us wealth. You are supposed to carry us, not bury us. Why do you take from us?” And for the first time, the river answered. Not with sound. But with understanding inside his spirit. The river said: “If you honor me, I will honor you. If you disrespect me, I will disrespect you. We do not beg humans to remember us. We only respond to those who come willingly.” The man said: “We did not know. You never told us.” And the river replied: “Spirits do not announce themselves. They reveal themselves only to those who listen.”