Long ago, in the dense, green heart of the Liberian forest, where the wind whispered secrets through the palm leaves and the drums of distant villages echoed like gentle thunder, there lived a humble palm wine tapper named Karmo. He was wiry, strong, and known across three villages for his skill in scaling the tallest palm trees without fear.
Every morning before dawn, Karmo would rise, sling his raffia gourd over his shoulder, grip his climbing rope, and disappear into the thickets. He respected the forest, spoke to the trees before climbing them, and always poured a little of his first harvest on the roots in gratitude.
“Good morning, wise tree,” he would whisper, patting the bark. “Thank you for your gift today.”
Karmo lived a simple life. He had a small mud house with a roof thatched from palm fronds, a loyal dog named Siba, and a widowed mother whom he cared for with all his heart. Though poor, he had a generous spirit. Children loved him, elders blessed him, and even the chief smiled when Karmo passed.
But one year, the rains came late. The sun grew angrier with each passing day, baking the earth till it cracked like old clay pots. The trees drooped. The streams vanished. And the palm trees, once overflowing with sweet sap, grew bitter and dry.
One morning, Karmo climbed his favorite tree and tapped it gently. Nothing. Not a drop. He tried another. And another. The entire grove was silent. The forest, once buzzing with life, now seemed asleep.
Troubled, he returned home, his gourd empty. That night, as he sat outside, watching stars blink in the dark sky, he whispered to himself, “How will I feed Ma? The chief’s feast is in two days. He’ll want palm wine.”
Just then, an old man passing by asked for water. Karmo fetched his last calabash of water, gave it without hesitation.
“You are kind,” the stranger said, sipping slowly. “But troubled.”
Karmo nodded. “The trees no longer speak.”
The old man smiled, toothless. “There’s one tree that still flows. But she is deep in the forbidden grove. And she does not give her gift to just anyone.”
Karmo leaned forward. “Where?”
The old man pointed toward the mountain path. “Beyond the three rivers. She is old, wise, and guarded.”
Before Karmo could ask more, the man had vanished into the shadows, as silently as he had arrived.
The next morning, with only dried yam and a small pouch of kola nuts, Karmo set out. His mother watched him with worried eyes, but he smiled and said, “I’ll return with sweet sap, Ma.”
He journeyed for hours, crossing the bone-dry riverbeds, braving thick vines and unseen eyes watching from the trees. Birds called warnings, monkeys shook branches, and yet he pressed on.
By dusk, he found it: the forbidden grove. The trees there were taller, darker, older. They creaked even without wind. In the middle stood a giant palm tree, her bark silvered with age, her crown like a queen’s crown against the orange sky.
Karmo approached, heart pounding.
He bowed. “Great Mother Tree, I come in peace.”
A sudden gust of wind roared through the grove. The tree shimmered. And then she spoke.
“Why do you disturb my slumber, child of men?” her voice echoed, soft and deep, like drums in a cave.
Karmo fell to his knees. “Great Tree, I seek your sap. My people thirst. My mother hungers. The forest sleeps. You are our last hope.”
The tree was silent.
Then she said, “I do not give freely. But I will set three tasks. Complete them before moonrise tomorrow, and I shall give you my sap. Fail, and you shall join my roots forever.”
Karmo swallowed hard but nodded. “I accept.”
“First,” said the tree, “bring me the egg of the red eagle who nests on Thunder Rock.”
Karmo gasped. That eagle was fierce, sacred, and guarded her eggs with deadly talons.
Without pause, he raced. He climbed the rocky hills till he reached Thunder Rock. There, high in a cliff crevice, was the nest. The eagle circled above, her cries slicing the air.
He waited, hiding, heart racing. When the eagle flew to hunt, he climbed swiftly, like only a tapper could. With trembling hands, he took one egg and whispered, “Forgive me, Mother Eagle.”
He returned to the grove just as the moon began to rise.
The tree accepted the egg. “Second,” she said, “fetch water from the hidden spring beneath the hill that walks.”
The hill that walks was legend—a mound said to shift its shape and entrance each night. But Karmo did not hesitate. He remembered tales from his childhood.
He reached the hill as clouds danced over the moon. He walked around it, singing softly a lullaby his mother used to hum:
“O sleeping hill, I seek your tears,
Open your heart, calm my fears.”
Suddenly, a hole appeared at the base. Karmo crawled in, found a pool glowing blue in the darkness. He filled his calabash and returned.
The tree drank. Her bark shivered with pleasure.
“Your heart is true,” she said. “Last task: answer my question—Why do men take and rarely give?”
Karmo was silent. He sat beneath her, thinking.
Then he stood. “Because we forget the trees breathe, the rivers cry, and the earth listens. We think we own what we borrow. But I have learned. To give is to live.”
The tree sighed, long and low.
“You may have my sap.”
She bent one long arm, letting golden liquid drip into his gourd. It glowed like morning light.
He bowed. “Thank you, Great Mother.”
“Do not forget me,” she whispered.
He ran all night. By dawn, he reached the village. He gave his mother food. Then he presented the golden palm wine to the chief.
The chief sipped, eyes wide. “This… this is from the gods!”
Karmo told the tale. The villagers wept, danced, and sang praises.
But Karmo, he planted three young palm trees near the grove, and every year, he returned to the Great Tree, pouring a little wine at her roots, whispering, “I remember.”
And from that day, the forest never slept again.
✧ Commentary
This Liberian folktale retold through Karmo’s journey teaches deep respect for nature, ancestral wisdom, and the bond between humans and the earth. It shows how courage, humility, and generosity lead to blessings, even when the odds seem impossible. The sacredness of trees and spiritual guardians in African storytelling shines through this tale.
✧ Moral
True wisdom comes from giving back, not just taking.
✧ Questions & Answers
1. Q: Who is the main character in this story? A: Karmo, a humble and kind-hearted palm wine tapper.
2. Q: What problem did Karmo face at the beginning of the story? A: The palm trees had stopped producing sap due to a long drought.
3. Q: What three tasks did the Great Tree give him? A: To bring a red eagle’s egg, fetch water from a hidden spring, and answer a question about human nature.
4. Q: How did Karmo answer the tree’s question? A: He said humans take because they forget nature is alive and sacred.
5. Q: What reward did Karmo receive from the Great Tree? A: A gourd of golden palm wine that revived his village.
