Keywords: All of You, Tortoise, The Birds, and The Feast In The Sky, The Fablingverse, Igbo Folktale, Igbo Mythology, Tortoise Tales, Ekwensu, Igwe
Once upon a time in the animal kingdom, Igwe, the Arụsi of the sky, sat upon his throne of clouds and silence, bored. The stars shimmered like sleeping courtiers, and the wind refused to gossip. Even the thunder, his most dramatic servant, had grown lazy from disuse.
Then Ekwensu, the sly god of mischief and silver tongues, slithered into his boredom with that grin that could curdle wisdom, and found Igwe staring at the earth below. “You sit up here, high and hollow,” Ekwensu mocked. “Why not bring the world to you? Throw a feast. Let every creature that can climb, crawl, or conjure its way up join you in your loneliness.”
Igwe’s eyes brightened, like lightning trying not to strike. A feast. Music from thunder, wine pressed from rainbows, platters of cloud-birds, and roasted sky fishes. The sky itself would be the table, wide and blinding. He would call it Ọzụ Igwe—the Feast of Heaven.
So he sent out a call that rippled through the air like drumbeats over water. The winds carried his voice across the forests and rivers, whispering into every ear that could listen. “Come to the sky,” the message said. “Come and eat with the gods.”
When the news of the feast reached the forest, it came like thunder rolling through dry leaves. The parrots were the first to hear it; they always were. One bright morning, Parrot swooped down to the great tree where the birds gathered and shouted, his voice sharp as a drumbeat, “Igwe! The Sky King himself has called us! A feast in the heavens!”
The other birds froze, their wings half-folded, beaks open.
“Feast?” asked Hornbill, his heavy beak gleaming like polished wood. “The gods don’t share. They take.”
“Not this time,” Parrot said, fluffing his feathers. “Ekwensu told Igwe to invite us all. There will be palm wine made of lightning and fruits that grow on rainbows.”
At that, Weaverbird nearly fell off his branch. “Then what are we waiting for? I’m already hungry!”
Overhead, the wind carried the same words to every nest, hill, and hole. Soon, flocks darkened the sky like a moving storm. From the forest’s edge, the tortoise craned his neck, watching feathers whirl and flash.
“What’s happening?” he called.
“Igwe has invited all animals that can fly to the sky for a great feast!!” Sparrow chirped, wings trembling.
“The sky god?” Tortoise frowned, blinking his small eyes. “Why did he not invite us who walk?”
But Sparrow had already taken off, singing to anyone who would listen.
Down by the riverbank, the herons and cranes stretched their wings, testing the air. The vulture cackled and said, “At last! Maybe finally my stomach will be full, I’ll finally eat what the gods eat.”
“Your stomach can never be full.” Dove hissed. “Besides, It’s a holy feast.”
Vulture grinned. “Then I’ll eat holy meat.”
Above them, the air buzzed with wings and anticipation. Feathers brushed feathers. The great canopy shook as birds gathered, arguing, boasting, and comparing plumage.
Eagle, who ruled among them, rose on a high branch and called out, his voice deep enough to part the chatter. “We go to dine with Igwe himself. There must be order. No bird flies before me.”
“Always order, always pride,” muttered Crow, though softly enough not to be heard.
The smaller birds whispered to one another, trying to imagine what food the gods might serve. Maybe thunderberries, someone said. Maybe roasted stars.
Those who couldn’t fly watched the birds with jealousy simmering like yam forgotten on fire. The air was full of feathers and songs, and the ground, suddenly, felt heavier than ever.
Goat chewed grass too quickly, pretending not to notice. “Feast? Hmph. I have better things to do than eat among clouds.”
Monkey snorted. “Liar. You can’t even reach the clouds. If I had wings, I’d already be there.”
“Igwe never remembers us land folk,” muttered Antelope, pawing the dirt. “Always sky this, sky that. One day, the ground will rise up and swallow the heavens whole.”
Some nodded in agreement, others looked away, their envy too bitter to spit. Even the rivers whispered bitterly, the ripples carrying their resentment downstream.
But no one made a greater scene than Tortoise.
He came clattering into the village square at noon, his shell gleaming. “It is injustice!” he shouted, stamping his stubby feet. “A feast for all, they said! Does ‘all’ not include me? Am I not a creature of this world?”
The goats glanced at each other. The monkeys chuckled. But Tortoise wasn’t done. He climbed onto a rock, waving his short arms like a town crier gone mad.
“I have shared this earth with the birds since the world was young! I have endured their songs at dawn, their droppings on my shell, their arrogance in the sky! And now, when the gods open their tables, I am left to watch from the dust?”
“Go home, Tortoise,” Dog barked lazily. “You’ll only slow them down.”
“I’ll crawl to the sky if I must!” Tortoise wailed, throwing himself dramatically on his back. “Let the gods see me suffer! Let them know injustice still lives beneath their clouds!”
A few hens stopped scratching the ground to stare. Even Vulture tilted his head, amused.
Soon, the entire animal village gathered—beasts, reptiles, and even insects buzzed around to hear him. “I only ask for one thing,” Tortoise continued, his voice trembling with sorrow. “One kind bird, with a generous heart, to carry me upon its wings. Is that too much for the gods to allow?”
He sighed like a dying poet. “If I had wings, I would share them. But alas, I am grounded—cursed by creation itself!”
The animals murmured, almost feeling guilty. The hare whispered, “Maybe he’s right. Shouldn’t one of us represent the land at least?”
“Yes,” said Deer softly. “Let the birds take him. One land animal for all.”
And so the pleas began. One by one, the animals turned to the flock of birds.
“Please,” Goat said, bowing slightly. “Carry him with you. He speaks for all of us.”
The birds exchanged uneasy glances. Parrot fluffed his feathers. “Carry him? To the sky? That’s no small burden.”
“Please!” Tortoise begged, wiping his fake tears. “I am small! Light as a feather when joy fills my heart. You’ll hardly feel me.”
Crow cackled. “You? Light? The only thing heavier than your shell is your greed.”
But Tortoise clasped his claws together. “Crow, my friend, must you wound me so? Think of it—not as a favor to me, but to the land that birthed us all. Let me witness the glory of Igwe and return to tell the tale. Would you deny your brothers and sisters such a story?”
The birds hesitated. The animals kept pleading. The square filled with sighs and mutters, and finally, the sound of pity.
Eagle, tired of the commotion, stepped forward. “If it will silence this endless noise, let him come. But he must not delay us.”
Tortoise sprang up, joy shining through his pretend humility. “Ah, noble Eagle! True king of the skies! The gods themselves will sing your praises!”
“Fine,” Eagle said, glaring down at Tortoise. “If this will quiet you, then let it be done. But no bird will carry you. Instead, each bird shall give you one flight feather; this way you can fly up on your own.”
Tortoise dropped to his knees, clutching his chest like a widow at a funeral. “Oh, noble creatures of the sky! The kindness in your hearts is brighter than the sun itself! You shall not regret this, I swear by the yams of my ancestors!”
The birds rolled their eyes, but one by one, they plucked a feather each. The parrot’s bright green, then the dove’s white and soft. The crow’s feather glowed like oil. Soon, there was a pile of feathers so dazzling that even the peacock felt envious.
Tortoise, eyes wide with greed, began gathering them. “Ah! I shall never forget this generosity!” he said, stuffing them into a woven leaf pouch. “You have lifted not only me, but all of creation!”
They followed him to the base of a mighty ụdara tree, whose trunk oozed a sticky white sap the locals used as glue. Tortoise scooped the sap in his short hands and smeared it over his shell, humming to himself.
“Careful with that,” said Hornbill. “Too much and your feathers will clump.”
Tortoise nodded distractedly, sticking on the first feather. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmured, though sap was already dripping down his neck. He pressed another, then another, until his whole back shimmered in a patchwork of colors—green, gold, blue, black, and red.
He spun around proudly, preening like a bride. “How do I look?”
Crow snorted. “Like the sky coughed on you.”
“Jealousy,” Tortoise said, admiring himself in a puddle. “That’s the problem with you, Crow. You can’t stand beauty when it isn’t yours.”
He flapped his makeshift wings and gave a testing hop. The feathers trembled but held. “It works!” he cried, hopping again, this time higher. “It really works!”
The birds clapped their wings half-heartedly. “Be ready at dawn,” Eagle said. “We fly as soon as the sun touches the hills.”
Tortoise nodded furiously. “At dawn,” he repeated. “Yes, yes. I’ll be ready.”
When he got home, his wife was pounding cocoyam. She glanced up as Tortoise burst in, feathers gleaming and chest puffed.
“My wife!” he said, twirling clumsily. “Do you see? Do you see what your husband has become?”
She wiped her hands on her wrapper, staring at him. “Chineke me, what have you done to yourself?”
“Don’t you see?” he said, stepping closer. “The birds—the birds!—have given me their feathers. I am to fly with them to the feast of Igwe himself! I’ll be the only land creature to dine in heaven. Me! The great Mbe!”
His wife stared, speechless. “You’re going to the sky?”
“Yes!” he said, already imagining himself on golden clouds. “To eat with the gods, to speak with them as equals. The whole earth will know my name after this!”
She frowned, her pounding stick resting against the mortar. “You and your pride again. Have you forgotten the famine incident? How your greed nearly got you killed?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, woman, must you spoil every good thing with your worrying? This is not like before.”
She folded her arms. “You said that last time. Remember? You tried to climb the ladder to the moon before Dog, just to get to his mother’s store first. You fell, remember? That’s how your shell cracked.”
Tortoise winced, but quickly masked it with a grin. “Old stories. I have learned since then.”
“Learned?” she repeated softly. “Or just gotten better at deceiving yourself?”
He scowled. “You sound jealous. You can’t stand that I, your husband, will dine among the gods.”
Her voice hardened. “No, Mbe. I just don’t want to sit alone, mourning your foolishness again.”
But Tortoise was already turning away, admiring his reflection in a metal mirror. “Enough of this nagging,” he said. “Serve me some palm nuts and dry fish. When I return from the sky, the gods themselves will bless this house.”
She sighed, watching him strut toward the door with his assorted feathers rustling. “You never return the same way you go, Mbe,” she murmured. But he didn’t hear her. He was already halfway gone.
The morning of the feast broke bright. The air was cool and sweet, the kind that makes even lazy wings itch to rise. From every corner of the forest came birds dressed in their finest feathers, but none shone brighter—or louder—than Tortoise.
He strutted into the clearing like a masquerade at a funeral, his patchwork of feathers catching the sunlight: peacock green, parrot red, vulture gray, dove white. Every step he took seemed rehearsed.
“Ah, good morning, children of the sky!” he called out, his voice rolling across the field. “What a glorious day to dine with the gods! Don’t I look divine?”
The animals who had been left behind gathered at the edge of the clearing, watching with a mixture of awe and irritation. Goat chewed his cud bitterly. “So he really did it,” he muttered. “That stubborn shell has found his way into the clouds.”
Monkey folded his arms. “Hmm. Just wait. That shell will fall back down soon enough.”
But Tortoise didn’t care. He spread his makeshift wings dramatically and turned in slow circles for them to see. “Don’t envy me too much,” he said, puffing up his chest. “It’s not every creature that can rise above his limitations.”
“Nor every fool who wins.” Dog growled, but Tortoise was too busy admiring his reflection in a puddle to hear.
When the birds gathered, ready to take off, Tortoise cleared his throat. “My dear friends,” he began, raising a claw. “Before we ascend to Igwe’s realm, there is one small matter to settle.”
Eagle frowned. “What now, Mbe? We’re already late.”
“Ah, no, no, not Mbe,” Tortoise said quickly, wagging his finger. “That name is far too common for such an occasion. Today, I will use my true name—the name my spirit carries among gods.”
The birds blinked at him. “True name?” asked Sparrow. “Since when do you have one of those?”
“Since always,” Tortoise said solemnly. “My name—my real name—is AllOfYou.”
The birds exchanged glances. Parrot tilted his head. “All of… who?”
“All Of You,” Tortoise repeated, enunciating like a teacher correcting a stubborn child. “When Igwe welcomes us, he will ask who has come. You will all say, ‘AllOfYou has come.’ It will show our unity—our togetherness. It will show that I represent the unity between the land and sky animals!”
Crow squawked out a laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
But Dove, soft-hearted as always, smiled. “He means well. Unity is a good thing. We’ll call him that, just for the day.”
“Yes, yes!” Tortoise said eagerly. “Only for today.”
Eagle shrugged. “Fine. But make it quick. The sky doesn’t wait for chatter.”
“Wait, as the only representative of the land, should I not also be the leader?” Tortoise asked. “This way Igwe doesn’t feel guilty like he did not acknowledge the land animals as living beings.
“That’s true, Dove said, and the other birds agreed.
And with that, the birds leapt into the air, wings slicing through the morning sun. The forest shrank below them, rivers coiling like silver snakes, mountains melting into mist. For a moment, Tortoise flapped wildly, wobbling under his patchwork wings—but soon, the wind caught him, and he rose, laughing.
“Look at me!” he shouted. “I fly! I, who was bound to the earth, now sit upon the wind like royalty!”
The birds ignored him, though a few grinned despite themselves.
As they climbed higher, the blue of the sky deepened into a shimmer. Then, with a sudden burst of light, they broke through the final veil of cloud and entered Igwe’s realm.
Everything glowed. The clouds below their feet were firm as ground, soft yet solid, stretching endlessly. The great hall of Igwe rose before them, carved from mist and thunder, its columns flashing with streaks of diamond lightning. The walls hummed with divinity, every echo a hymn.
The table itself was a wonder—long as a river and wide as a dream. Its surface was made of pure cloudstuff, yet upon it stood plates of gold, cups that sang when touched, and bowls filled with food that shimmered between forms—fish one moment, fruit the next, each bite promising to melt into joy on the tongue.
The air smelled of rain and roasted sunbeams.
Igwe sat at the head of the table, radiant and calm, his robe flowing like a storm given shape. Beside him stood Ekwensu, smiling that sly, knowing smile.
“Welcome, children of the earth and sky,” Igwe said, his voice like thunder softened by distance. “You have traveled far.”
The birds bowed low, wings spread in reverence.
“Who among you leads this noble gathering?” Igwe asked.
And as they had agreed, the birds lifted their heads and said in one voice, “AllOfYou has come.”
Tortoise straightened proudly, smiling.
They all took their places around the great table, eyes wide with awe. The spread before them shimmered like a living dream — plates of gold filled with food that smoked and glowed in colors no one had seen before. Steaming bowls of yam the size of stones, rivers of honeyed palm wine, roasted fish that refilled themselves once touched. Even the air tasted sweet.
Tortoise could barely keep still. He rubbed his palms together, eyes darting greedily from platter to platter. “Ah, Igwe truly knows how to host,” he whispered, his tongue wetting his beakless mouth.
“Wait,” Dove said gently. “Let’s give thanks first.”
“Yes, yes,” Tortoise said, though his gaze lingered on a mountain of jollof rice still puffing steam.
Igwe rose from his seat, towering over them like sunlight wearing a crown. “Eat,” he said warmly. “You have flown far, and the sky does not forget those who brave the wind.”
Before anyone could lift a claw or beak, Tortoise sprang up, wings flapping for attention. “Ah! Great Igwe!” he called, voice booming across the hall. “Before we begin, might this humble servant ask a question of reverence?”
Ekwensu’s grin twitched in the corner; he leaned in, whispering something only the god could hear. Igwe chuckled, amused. “Speak,” he said.
Tortoise straightened his feathers and masked his face in pious humility. “Your Eminence, this—” he gestured dramatically at the endless banquet “—this feast of glory, this wonder of creation—tell us, to whom does all this belong?”
The hall went still. Even the wind paused to listen.
Igwe laughed. “It is for All of You!” he declared, spreading his hands grandly.
And that was all Tortoise needed. He spun toward the birds, eyes glinting with mischief. “You all heard, didn’t you?” he shouted in triumph. “What did the Great Igwe say?”
Confused murmurs rose. “He said it’s for all of us,” Parrot replied, frowning.
Tortoise’s grin widened. “No! He said it’s for All of You! And what is my name?”
The birds, still not catching on, chorused obediently, “All of You?”
Before the last word left their beaks, Tortoise gave a whoop and launched himself onto the table. “Then it is mine!” he cried, and fell upon the feast.
He tore through platters, scooping clouds of rice into his mouth, stuffing roasted sky-fish between his jaws, gulping down bowls of thunder stew that cracked with lightning in his belly. Gold plates clattered, fruits burst under his claws, and palm wine splashed over his shell.
The birds gasped, wings flaring in disbelief.
“Stop him!” shrieked Parrot.
“Have you no shame?” cried Dove.
But Tortoise only laughed, face smeared with honey and grease. “Don’t blame me!” he shouted between bites. “You all heard the god! The feast is for AllOfYou!”
Crow hissed, “You tricked us, shell-brain!”
Ekwensu chuckled softly beside Igwe. “Well,” he murmured, “the trickster’s child never forgets his blood.”
The feast turned to chaos. Birds fluttered and argued, unsure whether to fight or beg, while Tortoise rolled from plate to plate, shoveling divine food into his mouth as if he’d been starving since creation.
Tortoise belched as the table emptied into his belly, round-bellied and glimmering in his patchwork of borrowed feathers, wiped his beak with the back of his hand and smirked. “Ah-ah, all of you are just staring? You forget your manners before royalty?”
Igwe laughed, then clapped his hands, and the food on the table was immediately replenished by his servants.
He turned toward the sky god, chest puffed out like a peacock. “Igwe, your Eminence!” he called, voice booming with mock humility as he asked again. “Tell us, great one, who does all this—” he waved a feathered hand dramatically over the golden platters—“belong to?”
Igwe leaned back on his throne of lightning and chuckled, the sound deep as rolling thunder. “It’s for All of You!”
The words had barely left his mouth before Tortoise sprang up like a drumbeat. “You all heard it!” he shouted, eyes wide and gleaming. “He said it’s for AllOfYou—and what is my name?”
The birds now catching up with his trap, echoed hesitantly, “AllOfYou?”
With that, Tortoise dived once again into the table. Platters spun, clouds burst into mist, and he began to eat with the ferocity of famine. He scooped up shimmering soups, swallowed grilled river beasts whole, and licked melted gold from his stubby fingers.
The birds froze—beaks open, feathers quivering—as Tortoise feasted alone.
He looked up mid-bite, cheeks bulging, and asked again, mouth glistening with grease, “What’s my name?”
“AllOfYou,” they murmured, their anger clawing its way to the surface.
He grinned, wiped his mouth, and let out a thunderous belch that made the diamond curtains tremble.
Igwe clapped again, and more food came out.
Before the feast could even settle, Tortoise was back on his feet. “Igwe, your Eminence!” he called again, louder this time, “Who is this food for?”
Igwe chuckled, indulging him, “For All of You.”
“You all heard that!” Tortoise cried and lunged forward—but this time, the birds screeched in protest.
“Not again!” one shouted. “This greedy beast will finish us all!”
Wings flapped in chaos as they grabbed him, pinning his stubby arms, dragging him backward.
“Leave me!” Tortoise yelled, wriggling and snapping his beak. “The food is mine—mine by divine decree!”
But their feathers tightened around him, furious and trembling.
“Your deceit has gone far enough, Mbe,” the parrot hissed. “Don’t you know shame?”
Tortoise only grinned through the struggle. “Who shame help?” he said. “Opportunity comes once in a lifetime.”
The sky cracked open with cries and fluttering wings. What had started as a feast now turned into chaos—feathers spiraling, clouds shattering into wisps under their weight.
Nza, the small brown bird with the shrill voice and sharper pride, stepped forward, wings flaring in righteous fury. “You deceitful shell-wearer!” it screeched, hopping before Tortoise. “You think wisdom is trickery? You think we are fools?”
Tortoise, panting, still clutching the remnants of his stolen meal, tried a nervous laugh. “Ah, my friend Nza, don’t be so serious! It was all a joke, you see—”
But Nza hissed and yanked its borrowed feathers from his shell. “I will not give wings to a creature whose belly is wider than his heart.”
The feathers shimmered once in the sunlight before flying back to Nza’s body, fitting perfectly as if they had never left. Tortoise stumbled, his body suddenly heavier.
“Wait—wait!” he shouted, but the other birds were already circling, furious.
The bluebird yanked its glimmering blue plumes from his back. The parrot snapped its red tail feathers from his rear. Even the hummingbird zipped forward and tugged the last tiny shimmer from behind his ear.
Each tug stripped away a bit of his arrogance. Each flutter of reclaimed wings made him smaller, duller, slower.
By the time the last feather left him, he was trembling on a bare patch of cloud, his smooth shell glinting under Igwe’s pale light.
The wind picked up. He looked down—the ground below was miles away, a quilt of forest and river far beneath his dangling feet.
“M-my friends!” he stammered, voice breaking, “don’t leave me! I only wanted to taste heaven’s food! Please—please go to my house and tell my wife—tell her to bring out all the pillows, all the soft things—to break my fall!”
But Nza was already in the air, wings beating hard, a wicked grin splitting its beak. “I will deliver your message,” it said.
It darted through the clouds, the others trailing behind, leaving Tortoise alone with the sky and his fear.
Down below, Tortoise’s wife was pounding yam in the courtyard when Nza burst through the air, panting dramatically.
“Tortoise!” it cried. “Your husband is throwing food from the heavens! He says you should bring out every pot, every calabash, every bowl you own—quickly, before the feast falls to the ground!”
Her eyes widened. “Food from the heavens?”
“Yes, yes!” Nza urged, hopping excitedly. “Hurry, before others come to steal it!”
Without hesitation, she ran inside and began dragging out every pot and plate she had. Clay, bronze, wood, gourd—one after another clattered across the yard.
“Hurry, Nne Mbe!” Nza cried again, pretending to look upward. “The food is coming!”
She stacked them high, hands trembling with excitement, every vessel wide open and gleaming under the sun.
Meanwhile, high above, Tortoise teetered at the edge of the clouds, muttering desperate prayers to any god that would listen.
The wind screamed as Tortoise plummeted, spinning in the air. The clouds tore past him in silver streaks. He kicked and flailed, shouting, “Nza! Move aside! Let me through! I need to land soft!”
But Nza swooped in front of him, wings cutting the air. “Soft? After eating what wasn’t yours?” it jeered. “You’ll land where the gods decide.”
Tortoise’s heart pounded. “Nza, biko! I’ll make it right! I’ll share next time! I’ll—”
“Share my foot,” Nza spat, circling him.
Below, his wife looked up at the sky, eyes wide. “It’s coming!” she shouted, thinking the feast was finally dropping from heaven.
Then came the sound. A high, shrill whine that grew into a scream.
And before she could move, crash!
Tortoise slammed into the yard, smashing into the pots and calabashes. Clay burst into shards. Iron dented. Calabashes cracked open like coconuts. The air filled with dust and the sharp scent of broken earth.
She ran to him, horrified. His shell—once smooth and proud—was splintered, cracked into uneven plates.
“Mbe! Nwoke m! Oh Chineke…” she gasped, gathering him in her arms. His voice was weak, a low groan.
“I told you… to bring pillows…” he wheezed.
She didn’t answer. She rushed into the hut, fetched a gourd of sticky resin from the ụkwa nkụ tree and began patching his shell together piece by piece. Her fingers trembled as she worked, pressing the cracks tight, whispering apologies and prayers.
“Stay still,” she murmured. “You’ll live, but you’ll never look the same.”
From the trees above, the birds watched in silence. Some hid their faces behind their wings. Others fluttered their half-feathered bodies, trying to fly but tumbling instead.
When Tortoise fell, many feathers had been ripped loose, and some scattered in the wind. Some drifted far away, never to be found again.
And that is why, to this day, some birds soar with grace while others remain trapped on the ground—because they once fell for tortoise crocodile tears and lost their flight wings. To be fair, though, at least tortoise shell became forever cracked.
The End
If you enjoyed reading All of You – Tortoise, The Birds, and The Feast in The Sky, you may love the folk song Lyrics to Ka Esi Le Onye Isi Oche (Gwo Gwo Gwo Ngwo) Gentleman, Mike Ejeagha that tells the story of how Mbe, the tortoise, sold Enyi, the Elephant