EXCERPT
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a happy Farmer and Baker, who, like many, lived off of the land. Their family was known for providing the heartiest and sweetest yams for miles and miles. People came from villages far, far away to buy some of the famed yams and the family did well for themselves. The family was very content to meet people from distant lands and share stories over yam stew, or the now-famous sweet yam cakes that the Farmer’s wife, the Baker, would bake. They had a son and a daughter with shining brown, sun-kissed faces. They were happy and healthy and always excited to hear a new tale from distant visitors as they shook the dust from their shoes and sat to have a bowl of sweet yam stew.
The Farmer was very firm with how many visitors they could have, and sometimes travelers who had come a long way were disappointed, or the family was disappointed because the visitor looked particularly interesting. But this never affected the flow of good people with interesting stories coming to get some yams.
The firmest household rule was that there would be no more visitors allowed after dinner.
One cold night, when the full moon was dancing with dark clouds, there was a knock at the door, right after the family had finished dinner. Upon opening the door, the family beheld a mysterious and striking old woman with dark grey, wrinkled, splotchy skin. She was covered from head to toe with a dark fabric, from under which piercing, unblinking eyes gleamed. She looked at the children, then back at the parents and said these words:
My name is Xange.
And if you embrace me,
I will embrace you.
All I ask is for some hot stew
stirred by the finger of the youngest of you.
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