In the village of Ogwugwu, there stood a mighty mountain. At its peak grew the fattest, juiciest yams anyone had ever seen—each one as big as a grown man’s thigh! The villagers called it "The Golden Farm," and for years, no one dared claim it… until Chief Okonkwo the Lion, a man with a voice louder than thunder and a pride bigger than the mountain itself, declared it his own. He pounded his chest and roared, "These yams answer to my name!" But Madam Ngozi the Iron Woman, a farmer whose stubbornness could bend iron, refused to agree. She marched up the mountain, her wrapper tied tight, and planted her own staff right in the middle of the farm. "This land belonged to my great-grandmother’s great-grandmother!" she snapped. The villagers held their breath—this was trouble. That very night, under a mischievous moon, Chief Okonkwo sneaked onto the farm and dug up three of Madam Ngozi’s yams, replacing them with tiny pebbles. When Madam Ngozi discovered the trick at dawn, she didn’t cry—she laughed. A laugh so sharp it scared the birds off the trees. That afternoon, she sent her clever granddaughter, Adanna, to sell "special yams" in the market. Adanna, grinning, sold Chief Okonkwo’s own yams back to him… for double the price! The chief, unaware, bragged about his "superior harvest" until his wife cooked the yams and found his own family mark carved into them. His face turned redder than a chili pepper! Meanwhile, the village gossip, Aunty Chidi, spread the news faster than wildfire. "War on the mountain!" she cackled, adding her own spicy details—like how Chief Okonkwo had challenged Madam Ngozi to a wrestling match (a lie) and how the yams themselves had started growing legs (a bigger lie). The village children, led by little Obi with his wooden sword, decided to "defend" the farm by building a wall of sticks and mud. It collapsed in two seconds, burying Obi’s friend, Kosi, up to his neck. Kosi blinked. "I live here now," he announced. Just as things couldn’t get crazier, a rogue goat named Gbam! (famous for stealing palm wine) wandered into the farm and ate Chief Okonkwo’s favorite hat. The chief, mistaking the goat for a "spy" sent by Madam Ngozi, chased Gbam! down the mountain, tripping over his own robe and rolling into a pile of cassava leaves. The village drummer, thinking this was a new dance, started a beat. Soon, everyone was dancing—except Madam Ngozi, who was busy tying Chief Okonkwo’s goats to a tree (revenge is best served with knots). Days passed, and the fights grew wilder: yam sacks swapped with snakes (harmless ones, but still!), fake "land deeds" written on banana leaves, and even a midnight "yam ghost" prank that sent three grown men running. The village elder, wise Eze Udala, shook his head. "Fools! The mountain laughs at your greed," he muttered. But no one listened—until the day the skies darkened, and the first raindrops of the season fell. Thunder rumbled, and the mountain groaned… then slid, carrying the Golden Farm—and the two fighting farmers—right into the village square! Covered in mud, yams, and shame, Chief Okonkwo and Madam Ngozi stared at the wreck. The villagers, arms crossed, waited. Finally, little Adanna spoke. "Share the farm… or the mountain will eat it all." Silence. Then, a chuckle. Soon, the whole village was laughing, including the former enemies. The next day, the Golden Farm was split, the harvest shared, and peace returned. The peace in Ogwugwu lasted exactly three market days. On the fourth morning, as the villagers swept their compounds and traders arranged their goods, a strange sound echoed from the mountain—thump… thump… THUMP! Everyone froze. Little Obi dropped his wooden sword. "Is the mountain angry again?" he whispered. Before anyone could answer, a giant yam—bigger than a canoe—rolled down the slope, flattening Chief Okonkwo’s new fence and crashing into the village square with a dusty BOOM! Madam Ngozi, arms folded, glared at Chief Okonkwo. "You planted giant seeds on my side, didn’t you?" The chief, still in his nightcap, sputtered. "Me? Your crooked shadow probably stretched across the boundary and stretched the yams!" As they argued, the children swarmed the monstrous yam, poking it with sticks. "We can live inside it!" Kosi declared, nibbling the skin. Just then, the yam shuddered—and let out a loud HONK! The villagers screamed. "It’s alive!" Aunty Chidi, never one to miss drama, sprinted through the village, banging a pot. "Yam monster! Run for your lives!" People tripped over chickens, overturned baskets, and—in the chaos—Gbam! the goat stole three roasted corn cobs and a wig. But the real trouble began when the village blacksmith, Bazu the Heavy-Handed, swung his hammer at the yam to "stop the curse." CRACK! The yam split open… revealing not seeds, but bees! A buzzing black cloud erupted, chasing the entire village into the river. Dripping wet and covered in leaves (courtesy of a hasty escape through the bushes), Chief Okonkwo and Madam Ngozi called a truce—temporarily. "This isn’t natural," Madam Ngozi muttered. "Someone wanted this chaos." Suspicion fell on the quiet palm-wine tapper, Oforka, who’d been seen whispering to the bees days earlier. When confronted, Oforka smirked. "Maybe the mountain prefers my wine over your greed." Enraged, Chief Okonkwo declared a village meeting under the ancient udala tree. But the meeting never happened. Midway through his speech, the ground trembled—not from the mountain, but from drums. A rival village, Ekulu, had arrived at Ogwugwu’s borders, their warriors painted in stripes, their leader, Chief Agbako, holding a staff wrapped in snake skin. "We’ve come for the Golden Yam!" he announced. The Ogwugwu villagers gasped. How did Ekulu know? Aunty Chidi’s gossip, it turned out, had reached their ears—with extra spice. ("The yams grow gold coins!" she’d allegedly said.) Panic set in. The children, led by Adanna, hatched a plan. "We’ll scare them with the ‘yam ghost’ trick again!" But little Obi had a better idea. That night, as the Ekulu warriors camped near the mountain, they heard eerie whispers. Shadows flitted between trees. Then—THUD!—a massive "spirit yam" (actually a painted gourd) rolled toward them, spewing smoke (thanks to Oforka’s palm-wine vapors). The warriors fled, leaving behind their spears… and Chief Agbako’s prized snake-skin hat. Victory! The villagers celebrated with a feast—until they realized the "smoke" had attracted real trouble: a swarm of fireflies mistook the glowing embers for mates and dive-bombed the food. Dishes flew. Gbam! the goat, high on stolen palm wine, headbutted the drummers into the soup pot. In the madness, the remaining giant yam mysteriously vanished. Only two people noticed: Chief Okonkwo and Madam Ngozi, who saw Oforka dragging it into the forest… with the help of the Ekulu warriors! Betrayal! The next dawn, the two rivals tracked Oforka to a hidden cave—where the giant yam sat beside a bubbling pot. "You planned this!" Madam Ngozi accused. Oforka laughed. "No. I cooked this." He lifted the lid—the "yam" was a clever mix of clay and honey! The "bees" were his trained swarm. "I needed everyone to stop fighting long enough to see." He pointed at the cave wall: ancient carvings showed Ogwugwu and Ekulu as one village, split by greed over—you guessed it—a yam farm. Silence. Chief Okonkwo scratched his head. Madam Ngozi sighed. Then, together, they did the unthinkable: they apologized. The villagers, once divided, now saw the truth. Even Chief Agbako, once he stopped running, agreed to peace. The giant "yam" was broken apart—revealing real yam seeds inside—and shared between both villages. As for Oforka? He became a legend.