He dug around it carefully, and to his surprise, he found a large black plastic bag. His heart beat fast with curiosity. He pulled it out. It felt heavy.
With shaky hands, he untied the knot and looked inside.
He was stunned.
The bag was full of money. Large bundles of brand-new banknotes. More money than he had ever seen in his life.
“Money,” Obie whispered. “So much money. Is this real?”
He looked around to make sure no one was watching. Was this a dream?
He quickly tied the bag again. He was filled with excitement and a little fear. This was a fortune. He knew he could not leave it there. Someone else might find it.
He searched for a safer place deeper in the forest, far from any path. He found an old baobab tree with roots twisting across the ground, creating the perfect hiding spot. He dug another, deeper hole there. Carefully, he placed the plastic bag inside and covered it with soil, leaves, and branches until it was completely hidden.
He memorized the spot, every tree and bush around it.
Obie was wise beyond his years. He did not think first about buying useless things or fine clothes. His only thought was of his father. He had money now, enough to change a life.
But something made him want to return home. He thought of his father, sick and alone. He had to go back and see whether he was all right.
With a new purpose, Obie began the long journey back to the village.
When he finally arrived, tired and dusty, the sun was setting. His stepmother was sitting in the garden, looking as proud as ever. When she saw him, her eyes narrowed.
“Well, well, look who decided to come back,” she sneered. “The lazy boy returns—and just in time for more bad news.”
Obie stood his ground. “What bad news, Mother? What are you talking about?”
“Your poor, useless father,” she said with a cruel laugh. “He’s sick, very sick, in the hospital. And don’t even think about asking me to go. No one is going to waste time or money on a poor old man like him.”
Obie was horrified. His father in the hospital.
He did not wait to hear another word. He turned and ran toward the village hospital.
Obie burst into the hospital and rushed to the front desk.
“Please, my father, Mr. Raymond—is he here? How is he?” he begged, out of breath.
The receptionist, a kind woman, looked up. “Mr. Raymond? Yes, he is in room three. Are you family?”
“I’m his son, Obie,” he said, already moving in the direction she pointed.
He found his father’s room. His father lay on the bed with his eyes closed. Obie felt both joy and sorrow as he looked at him again. He gently touched his father’s hand.
“Father, it’s me, Obie.”
Just then, a doctor walked in, a woman with a serious face. She looked at him.
“Are you related to this man?” she asked gently.
“Yes, I’m his son, Obie. How is he, Doctor? What’s wrong with him?” Obie asked, his voice full of worry.
The doctor sighed.
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