Mbe and Akidi (A Fablingverse Igbo Folktale)

Keyword: Mbe and Akidi (A Fablingverse Igbo Folktale about Tortoise) 

Once upon a time in the animal kingdom, Nwunye Mbe, the tortoise’s wife, had grown tired of him. He never paid attention, never listened, and only came home when he was hungry, leaving immediately after he’d eaten.

Once, while she was sweeping the house, Mbe barged in, tracking mud across the clean floor. When she complained, he ignored her and asked what was for lunch. Another time, she returned from the farm carrying a heavy load of firewood and harvest. She saw Mbe on the way and expected him to help, but he walked ahead, warning, “If food is not ready, I’ll send you back to your father’s house!”

At first, she wondered if his behavior had worsened after the “bird issue” — that time the bird tricked her into placing all her breakables outside because Mbe had called himself Allofyou and eaten all their food at the sky kingdom — She hadn’t known it was a trap.

But then again, this was Mbe.

After guessing her name and marrying her, he had neglected her, married another wife, and repeated the same pattern. One by one, his other wives had left him. Only she remained out of love, or maybe it was habit. But Tortoise never changed. He treated his wives like property. He never listened, never learned.

Now, he had started coming home drunk. She begged him to stop. Instead, he cursed her, threatening to run away if she didn’t stop “nagging.”

Not knowing what else to do, she visited the dibia for advice.

The dibia’s face was grave. “Mbe has a pending case with the gods. If you, the only soul left who loves him, were to present him, he may be erased from existence.”

She returned home, defeated.

Then one day, she asked Mbe to go to the market to buy a tuber of yam, hoping that since he loved food, he could at least manage that. He returned with a gourd of palm wine instead, claiming he thought she had said “gourd.”

After drinking, he cried, “Agu na-agụ m! I am hungry!”

She sighed, gave him more money, and pleaded, “Please, Mbe, this time, buy yam.”

This time, he returned with sweet potatoes, which were hard to peel. She spent the night peeling them while Mbe hovered nearby, asking, “Are you done yet?”



The next morning, as she was leaving for the farm, Mbe stopped her.

“What of the money for what we’ll eat when you return?”

Biting back her anger, she handed it to him. “Mbe, my husband, please buy tomatoes and pepper for rice.”

When she came home, he had bought a live chicken.

“Chicken?!” she screamed. “What are we supposed to eat with chicken?!”

“What? When you’re always nagging, how am I supposed to hear you when you say something important?” Mbe shouted back.

“Me?! I nag?!” Her head twisted in disbelief. She tied her wrapper tighter, stormed off, and marched straight to the dibia’s shrine.

At the shrine, she finally broke down. Her heart poured out all the pain she had carried in silence. The dibia waited patiently, then gestured for her to sit.

“I’ve had enough!” she sobbed. “Is it a crime to love Mbe? He never listens. I say ‘A’, he does ‘J. I complain, he sleeps off, leaves the house, and returns drunk. And I’m the nag?”

She began pacing. “I welcomed his other wives. I even made peace with them. But what did Mbe do? He chased them all away. Now it’s just me. I want the gods to know. I did everything I could!”

The dibia gently touched her shoulder. “I can call on the gods for you,” he said. “But… do you truly want Mbe to die?”

“Die?” Her anger wavered. “Why would he die?”

“He has offended every god,” the dibia said. “You are the last string keeping him alive. If you hand him over, he will be erased.”

“No, o,” she said quickly. “I don’t want him to die. I just want him to listen, to take me seriously.”

“Then,” the dibia said, “you must pray to Ekwensu.”

She paused. “Isn’t he the mischievous one?”

“He is much more than mischief. He is the god of cunning, strategy, petty justice — and the only god amused by Mbe.”

“But won’t it backfire?” she asked, unsure. “People say his blessings twist.”

“And have you heard of any good person who was truly hurt by Ekwensu’s gifts?” the dibia asked.

She thought for a moment. “No.”

The dibia handed her a small carved arushi. “Place this in your shrine. Offer two cowries. Then speak your heart.”

When she got home, Mbe was waiting by the gate of the compound. For a moment, her heart softened. Maybe he had changed.

“You this woman!” Mbe shouted. “Where have you been? You’re not even fine, but you throw tantrums like a queen! I’ve been hungry for three hours! Isn’t cooking the only decent thing about you?”

And in that moment, her love for him crumbled like dried yams.

“You think I’ll chase you?” he added. “You no fine reach.”

She entered her room, ignored him, and did exactly as the dibia instructed.

She placed the arushi, dropped the cowries, and poured her heart out.

The moment she whispered her final wish, a heavy sleep fell on her. In her dream, a red-haired man appeared. He was beautiful, and his hair was the colour of blood and camwood dye.

“I have heard your desire,” he said. “And I have granted it. Tomorrow, go to Anansi’s third wife. Buy some Akidi. As long as you cook it, it will be irresistible. Serve it to Tortoise. The rest will fall into place.”

She awoke with the words ringing in her ears. The cowries had vanished. For a second, she thought Mbe had stolen them, but her dream told her otherwise.

When she stepped outside, she saw Mbe already causing a scene.

“Come and see o!” he cried. “My wicked wife starved me all through yesterday!”

Neighbours gathered. Not because they believed him. But because Mbe’s drama was a part of their regular show. Everybody thought he was a nuisance.

Still, they came.

They always did.

But Mbe’s wife walked past them all, her head held high, like she didn’t know who Mbe was.

When she arrived at Anansi’s third wife’s stall, she asked, “Nwanyi Anansi, do you have Akidi beans?”

Anansi’s third wife looked up, surprised. “You want to buy Akidi from me?” she gasped.

“I heard yours is the sweetest,” Mbe’s wife replied.

“Yes o,” the woman beamed. “How much will you be buying?”

“Just one cup.”

The beans were measured, packed, and the two women exchanged brief pleasantries before parting ways.

Back home, Tortoise was already waiting outside. For once, his wife had ignored his tantrums, and during her absence, Anansi had asked him if she, too, was preparing to leave him like the others.

When he saw her, Tortoise rushed forward. He wanted to embrace her, to say sorry. But instead, what came out was:

“So you’ve started ignoring your husband? I’ll send you back to your father’s house. Try me!”

She said nothing, entering the kitchen to clean and prepare the Akidi. Tortoise followed, pacing. Half-anxious, half-suspicious.

When the food was ready, she served it and took it to his obi. Tortoise followed, sniffing the aroma with reverence.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Akidi,” she said.

He tasted it. “Delicious! Wow. Where did you get it?”

“Anansi’s third wife.”

Before she was halfway through her meal, Tortoise’s plate was empty.

“I need more,” he begged.

“I only bought one cup,” she replied.

“Only one cup for two people?!” he shouted.

She calmly handed him her plate. He grabbed and finished it in moments.

Then he looked up again. “Can’t you go to the market and buy some more?”

“Mbe, it’s getting late,” she replied, gathering the plates. He was still licking his.

“Please now,” he said, voice softening. “I promise I’ll behave.”

She blinked. So he knew he had been misbehaving?

She took a breath, remembering her prayer to Ekwensu. “If you can get to the market now and buy it, I’ll cook it again.”

Tortoise bolted out of the compound.

But at the market, he stood frozen. He knew he’d asked her the name, and she had even said who sold it, but… he hadn’t listened.

Just then, Anansi passed with his wife.

“Ha ha, Mbe,” Anansi laughed. “Why are you standing like a lost tortoise?”

Mbe looked up. Annoyed at first. Then hopeful. “My wife was here earlier. She bought some kind of beans, not regular beans. Do you know what it’s called? Or who sold it?”

Anansi looked at his wife, then at Mbe. He knew exactly what it was. But… he enjoyed messing with Mbe.

“No idea,” he shrugged. “Besides, the market’s closing. Maybe ask your wife tomorrow. This time… listen.”

Tortoise ran from stall to stall, hunting for the beans, but he couldn’t find them. And finally, the last stall closed.

He returned home, defeated, only to find his wife seated calmly in front of his obi.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked.

“Weren’t you going to buy the beans for me to cook?” she replied, arms folded.

Tortoise scoffed, unwilling to admit he hadn’t listened when she told him the name. For a moment, he considered blaming her for not saying it at all, but he knew his wife. She’d remind him throughout the night how he never listens.

“I lost interest in it,” he muttered.

“Okay. Kachifo.” She turned and walked into her hut.

Tortoise watched her go, then slowly sank to the ground, defeated.

That night, he dreamt of Akidi beans, bowls and bowls of it, just out of reach.

By morning, as his wife was heading to the farm, he dashed out.

“Will you buy the beans today?” he asked eagerly.

“Beans ke?” she blinked. “I’m going to the farm. When I return, I’ll make eba and egusi.”

Tortoise’s face fell. He liked egusi, but what he wanted was the beans.

She felt a little pity. “You know what? If you buy it today, I’ll cook it.”

“Thank you!” he beamed, already turning to leave. Then he paused. “Wait. What’s the name of the beans?”

“Akidi!” she shouted.

“Who sells it?”

“Anansi’s third wife!”

Tortoise stopped in his tracks. Anansi’s third wife? His eyes burned. So Anansi tricked me!

Fuming, he marched to Anansi’s compound.

At the entrance, Anansi’s third wife was leaving for the market. Tortoise ignored her and stormed into the obi.

“You knew I was looking for something your wife sells, and you didn’t say anything?! You watched me roam the market like a mad tortoise!”

He lunged to strike Anansi, but Anansi ducked and with four of his hands he sent four quick jabs into Tortoise’s face.

“Calm down,” Anansi said, helping him up. “Reflex. Sorry.”

Mbe slapped the hand away.

“Look, I have many wives,” Anansi continued. “And if I recall, you never mentioned your wife bought anything from my wife.”

Tortoise scowled. Anansi was right, but gods forbid he acknowledged it. He hissed and stomped off.

On the way to the market, he spotted the Princess riding an Elephant, fawning over him. Tortoise scoffed. She chose Elephant over me. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.

He hissed and moved on, determined. But by the time he got to the market… he had forgotten both the name of the beans and which wife sold them.

Grumbling, he returned home.

His wife had just arrived, arms full of firewood and yams.

She looked at him and sighed. “I’ll go and prepare the eba.”

“No! Wait!” Tortoise shouted. “What’s the name of the beans again?”

“Akidi.”

“Who sells it?”

“Anansi’s third wife.”

Off he ran again, singing as he went:
“Akidi, kilidi, kilidi, Akidi!”

But when he stood in front of Anansi’s third wife… he forgot the name.

“I want to buy…” he hesitated, staring at her. She really was beautiful. He wondered why Anansi’s wives hadn’t left him.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Tortoise looked around, confused. There were no black beans in her stall.

Anansi had passed by earlier and told his wife to hide the beans. He was enjoying the tortoise’s punishment.

When Tortoise tried to enter her stall to search, Anansi showed up again.

“Why are you harassing my wife?” he asked, arms crossed.

Defeated, Tortoise returned home and ate the eba and egusi his wife had prepared.

The next day, he begged again. But his wife said she had to attend the umu ada meeting and visit her people.

“Just tell me again. What’s the name of the beans?” he asked.

“Akidi.”

He dashed out singing:
“Akidi, kilidi, kilidi, Akidi!”

But on his way to the market… he hit a stone and immediately forgot.

He hurried back home to wait for his wife.

“Mbe, they served fufu and oha at the meeting. I brought some for you,” she said as she entered the compound.

Tortoise looked at her, tears forming in his eyes. “Please, I want to eat the beans,” he begged.

She sighed. “Okay. But I won’t tell you the name again. If you can remember and buy it, I’ll cook it.”

“Please!” Mbe pleaded, nearly kneeling.

“I’m exhausted, my legs hurt,” she said, rubbing her ankles.

Tortoise dragged a stool for her and started massaging her legs. “How are they now?”

“Getting better,” she replied. “But my neck hurts too.”

Tortoise rushed behind her to massage her neck.

“And my hands,” she added with a sly smile. “It’s what I cook with, after all.”

He massaged her hands with care. When he was done, he begged again, “Please, what’s the name of the beans?”

She smiled. “Akidi.”

“Akidi!” he shouted, then began to sing:
“Akidi, kilidi, kilidi, Akidi!”

As he reached the door, he froze. If he forgot again, he’d have to beg all over. The thought alone made him shudder. He grabbed a scrap of cloth and, using burnt charcoal from the house lamp, scratched a symbol to help him remember — thus, unknowingly inventing the ancient Igbo script of Nsibidi.

He rushed to the market, still singing his song.

When he got there, he had forgotten the name again. But he took out the cloth and handed it to Anansi’s third wife.

She glanced at it, instantly understanding, but deciding to tease him. “What’s this?” she asked with feigned confusion.

Tortoise panicked, eyes wide. He snatched the cloth back, looked at it again, and suddenly remembered.

“AKIDI!” he shouted.

Anansi’s third wife smiled. “You’re lucky. I was just about to close my stall.”

Tortoise stood stunned for a second. He had finally remembered. “I got the name right?”

“Yes, you did.” She smiled. “How much do you want to buy?”

“One basin!” he declared.

She blinked. “An entire basin?”

“Yes!” Tortoise replied, pulling cash from beneath his shell and handing it to her.

She gave him the basin full of Akidi, and he balanced it on his head, walking home like a victorious warrior carrying his spoils.

His wife smiled when she saw him. She cooked the Akidi, and Tortoise ate till his heart was full, never seeming to tire of it.

“If you keep acting more loving, I’ll keep making Akidi for you,” she said.

Tortoise nodded, promising to be a better husband.

But we all know Mbe. He couldn’t keep that promise.

After the pot finished, he was back to his old ways. When his wife refused to cook the beans again, he tried making it himself, but it never tasted the same. So he repented, begged, did the laundry, and massaged her feet until she forgave him and cooked it again.

And so the cycle continued.

Till today, Mbe is still trying to discover the secret behind his wife’s Akidi.

The End

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