When the sun finally set behind the Red Mountains, the tired travelers reached Grandfather Kwame’s camp. It was no ordinary camp: instead of tents, there were piles of stones that looked like small huts, and instead of a fire, a glowing crystal burned, resting in a niche of rock.
Grandfather Kwame sat in front of the crystal holding a small bird in his hand. The bird was asleep, and Kwame softly sang a melody that sounded like water flowing over stones.
“Welcome," he said without opening his eyes. “The wind told me you were coming. And it said: Bring lots of chocolate."
“CHOCOLATE?", Bongo exclaimed happily. “WE STILL HAVE SOME PIECES LEFT!"
“Only one slice!", Aunt Nala warned sternly.
Kwame finally opened his eyes. They were old – as old as the mountains themselves – but bright like young stars. “Ah," he said smiling. “The journey through the mudhole. I can smell it."
“Look at me," said Bongo turning around. “I still smell muddy!”
“That’s good," Kwame said calmly. “Mud means life. Life means adventure. Adventure means story."
Professor Pimbua rummaged for his notebook. “Historical evidence: Mud = story. I will write that down!”
“But first," said Kwame rising slowly, his joints creaking like old tree wood, “you must explain to me why you are here. Without detours."
“About the Cave of Old Wishes," said Kofi stepping forward. “Professor Pimbua told us about it. We want to understand the pictures."
“I know," said Kwame nodding slowly. “But do you know what these pictures really are?”
“Pictures?” Felix asked confused. “Painted drawings?”
“No," said Kwame. “Memories. Each picture is a memory of the savanna. Memories that must not fade. Because they are important.”
“Important for what?” asked Lamu.
“To show who we were. So we know who we can be," said Kwame. “But beware: Not all memories are joyful. Some are pain. Some are warnings.”
“Warnings?” Zahara repeated worriedly.
“Exactly," said Kwame. “The cave shows you the way. But it also shows you the traps. Because someone has... changed the pictures.”
“Changed?” asked Kofi. “How can you change a memory?”
“With words," said Kwame. “If you say something is true long enough, it becomes true for many. Even if it is false.”
Silence spread. Even the bird on Kwame’s hand kept its eyes open.
“Who changed the pictures?” Aunt Nala asked quietly.
“Someone who wanted power," said Kwame. “Someone who believed some voices are more important than others. Like Professor Pimbua said earlier.”
“ME?” Pimbua shouted shocked. “I didn’t say anything!”
“You thought it,” Kwame said calmly. “And thoughts sometimes become loud.”
Pimbua lowered his head in shame. “Oh...”
“But there is hope," Kwame continued. “In the cave lies a mirror. Not made of glass. Made of water. When you look into it, you don’t see your face. But your intention.”
“Intention?” Felix repeated.
“Yes. Why are you here? What do you really want? The mirror sees that.”
“And what happens then?” asked Kofi.
“Then the cave decides if you are ready," said Kwame. “And if you are ready, you see the truth. Not the distorted version. The real one.”
“Can we go now?” Lamu asked impatiently. “The full moon is almost there!”
“No," said Kwame seriously. “First you must fulfill a task. Before you enter the cave.”
“A task?” Bongo asked excitedly. “Should I dance?”
“No," said Kwame laughing – a sound like an old river flowing again. “You must tell each other something. Something you have never said before.”
“What?” Kofi asked confused.
“Something important," said Kwame. “Something that is in your heart but never spoken. Because before you see the pictures of the past, you must understand your present.”
Everyone looked at each other. It was quiet. The wind gently rustled over the rocks.
“I’ll start," said Lamu. “Kofi... thank you. For never laughing at me when I lost my laughter.”
Kofi smiled. “Thank you, Lamu. For always being so brave, even though you are so small.”
“Felix," said Zahara. “Your donut jokes aren’t always funny... but they make me laugh.”
“THAT’S A COMPLIMENT!” Felix shouted excitedly.
“Gustav," said Bongo. “You are often loud... but you always have good ideas.”
“I’ve always said that!” Gustav shouted.
“Professor Pimbua," said Kwame. “Your task is to write. Not to write down. But for the others.”
Pimbua blushed under his skin. “I... I understand.”
“Aunt Nala," Kwame continued. “And your task?”
Aunt Nala smiled mysteriously. “My task is to wait. And to see if the children have learned their lesson.”
“Good," said Kwame. “Now you are ready.”
He stood up and took a small stone from his pocket. The stone glowed faintly, like a star in the palm. He threw it into the air. The stone did not fall. Instead, it opened into a portal – a gate of light and shadow.
“Go," said Kwame. “The full moon is now. The cave waits. But remember: Not everything you see is meant for you. Some memories belong to others. Respect that.”
“What must we do when we are done?” asked Kofi.
“Return," said Kwame. “And tell no one what you have seen. That belongs to you alone. But do something good with it.”
“Understood," said Kofi.
The group stepped into the portal. The path led them through a tunnel of light, past pictures they had never seen before – old elephants dancing; lions playing with rabbits; birds singing together.
And then they arrived.
The cave. With its walls that looked like living books. With its pictures that breathed. And in the middle – a small pond that shone like a mirror.
“Here," said Kwame’s voice from outside, now sounding like an echo. “Look inside. See your own path.”
And one by one they gazed into the water...
(To be continued in Part 7...)