Ego-feni: The Eagle Who Saw Beyond the Clouds by Linda Somiari-Stewart
Long ago, when animals and humans could still speak to one another and the wind carried secrets from ancestors long gone, an eagle named Ego-feni lived in Akuma-Piri. Ego-feni had eyes that were the color of storm clouds.
Ego-feni was unlike the other eagles. While his kin were content to circle above the plains—proud, cautious, and satisfied—Ego-feni was restless. At night, he would perch atop the tallest iroko tree, staring past the horizon as if searching for something only his spirit could feel.
"Why do you always look to the distance?" asked Parrot, his feathers shining like ripened fruit.
"The sky is vast," Ego-feni replied. "And I feel it hides a truth beyond what we know."
The other animals laughed.
"Look too far, and you’ll lose your way," snorted Hyena.
"Dream too high, and the wind will scatter your feathers!" mocked Monkey, hopping in circles.
But Ego-feni only smiled. He had heard the whisper of the wind. He remembered tales of the sky’s highway, where only the brave dared soar—tales his grandmother told before her feathers turned to dust.
Then came the storm.
It rolled in from the north without warning, like a herd of angry elephants. The sky darkened. The rivers hissed with lightning. The wind howled like an unchained spirit. Birds scattered, animals fled, and even the lions crouched low in silence.
But Ego-feni spread his wings.
"Where are you going?!" cried Parrot, flapping wildly.
"Into the storm," Ego-feni answered.
"Mad bird! MAD bird!" squawked Parrot.
"That sky’ll eat him alive," Hyena muttered, shaking his head.
"That’s lightning-chasing madness!" Monkey shrieked, covering his eyes.
But Ego-feni was already rising.
He climbed, wings slicing through the rain. The wind slammed against him. Thunder cracked…like the talking drum of a champion Olotu.
The storm pushed him down, again and again—but he rose. Higher and higher he flew, heart pounding like the big drum of a Nwaotam Carnival ensemble.
The clouds thickened. Rain blurred the world. Yet still, he climbed.
And then—
Silence.
The clouds parted like curtains drawn back by unseen hands, and Ego-feni soared into a sky so golden, it swallowed thought. Below him, the storm raged—lightning flashing like angry spirits. But up here, above the fury, all was calm. Vast. Endless. Peaceful.
The sun kissed his feathers. The air was sweet and still. And for the first time, Ego-feni understood:
The storm was only a veil. True vision lies beyond fear.
He lingered in the golden hush, basking in the silence, until a gentle breeze called him home.
His return was smooth—he rode the breeze like a royal canoe on still waters, gliding down toward Akuma-Piri. Soaked but shining, he landed on the old iroko. The animals stared in awe.
"Where are you coming from?" whispered Monkey.
"What happened?" asked Parrot.
"What did you see?" Hyena finally murmured.
Ego-feni smiled.
"I saw the face of courage," he said softly, "and the sky smiled back at me."
From that day, no eagle feared the storm. Instead, Eagles taught their young: "When trouble rises, do not flee. Rise higher, like Ego-feni, and find the golden sky."
It is known as "Bere toru, Bere da " in the Wakirike and several other dialects of the ijaw language in Nigeria's Niger Delta.
And that, my dear,
is why the eagle does not run from the storm—
He dances with it, climbs through it, and comes out shining.
Keep soaring!