The sun had just slipped behind the rolling hills of West Nile when little Arikoko hurried along the dusty footpath that led from the millet fields to his village. The night was young but the shadows were already gathering, thick and watchful, as if the world itself was holding its breath. This was the hour when the Adroanzi awakened.
Arikoko had heard stories about the Adroanzi since he was old enough to walk. They were the silent night followers who walked behind any traveler on the road after dusk. If the traveler kept walking without turning around, the Adroanzi would protect them from harm. But if the traveler mocked the spirits, or stepped into sacred places without permission, disaster would follow. Every elder warned the same thing. Never look back when you feel a presence behind you at night. Walk with humility. Respect the road. Respect the ancestors.
Arikoko believed the stories the way all children do, halfway with wonder and halfway with fear. Yet tonight he was alone, his basket full of millet stalks, his heart beating fast as the night grew deeper. He quickened his pace, avoiding the tall grass where snakes liked to hide. The crickets had fallen strangely silent. Even the wind seemed to pause.
That was when he heard it. Soft footsteps behind him. Slow. Even. Unhurried.
Arikoko froze for a moment. The footsteps stopped too. He resumed walking. The steps resumed as well. His grandmother’s voice rose in his memory. If the Adroanzi follow you, keep your eyes ahead. They will not harm the respectful.
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But fear is a stubborn thing. Arikoko clenched his basket and kept walking, whispering to himself that he would be fine. The footsteps behind him matched his rhythm with perfect patience. They were not human footsteps. Humans stumble. Humans breathe loudly. Humans speak. This was something else entirely, something older, something that did not need breath or speech.
Ahead, the path divided. One route led straight home. The other curved around the edge of the sacred grove, the place no one was allowed to enter after dark. Even the bravest hunters avoided it, for it belonged to the Adroanzi and other ancestral forces that did not welcome nighttime visitors.
Just as Arikoko approached the fork, a rustle from the bushes startled him. A wild goat burst through the undergrowth and dashed across his path, scrambling toward the sacred grove. In his panic, Arikoko stepped backward, almost stumbling. His heel brushed against a mound of earth. The footsteps behind him stopped again, and this time he felt something else. A presence, like a shadow leaning close, neither warm nor cold, simply aware.
His voice trembled. Please. I am going home. I do not mean any disrespect.
The night accepted his words without reply. Only the steady chorus of insects returned, as if the world had regained its breath.
Arikoko took the path toward home, but curiosity pushed against his fear. Everyone said never to look back. Everyone said the Adroanzi disappear the moment the traveler reaches safety. But Arikoko wondered. What if he just glanced over his shoulder to see if the footsteps belonged to a friend playing a prank? After all, children sometimes hid behind banana trees and followed each other home to cause mischief.
The temptation grew until it felt like a weight on his neck. He slowed his steps. The footsteps slowed behind him. He stopped. The footsteps stopped. All he needed was one look. One quick turn.
But another memory surfaced. The story of Aduku, the boy who once looked back on a night road. The elders never described what he saw. They only said that he fainted and woke three days later unable to speak for a whole season. His hair had gone white at the edges. The Adroanzi do not like being seen, the elders said. The respectful live. The curious suffer.
Arikoko hurried forward again. The footsteps continued behind him, loyal and patient. The presence felt almost protective now, like an elder watching over a child who needed guidance.
The village lanterns soon flickered ahead. Warm light spilled through the tall wooden gate. As Arikoko stepped into the first ring of firelight, the footsteps behind him faded. Not slowly but all at once, like a shadow swallowed by dawn.
He turned only when he knew it was safe. The path behind him lay empty and undisturbed. Only the whisper of wind passed through the tall grass.
Arikoko entered the village, breathless and shaken but unharmed. His grandmother was waiting by the cooking hearth. She took one look at him and nodded knowingly. You walked the night road well, she said. The Adroanzi follow the respectful to keep them safe. They only punish those who believe they are bigger than the spirits.
Arikoko slept deeply that night, dreaming of footsteps that walked behind him without malice, keeping him safe through the darkness. And in the morning, he understood what every Lugbara traveler learned with time. Humility lights the night better than any lantern.
Author’s Note
The Adroanzi stories teach that the night is not empty. It holds spirits that respond to the character of travelers. Respect keeps the path safe, while arrogance invites danger. These tales remind us that humility is a shield even in unseen places.
Knowledge Check
1. Who are the Adroanzi?
The silent night guardians who follow travelers after dusk.
2. Why must travelers avoid looking back at night?
Because the Adroanzi dislike being seen and may bring misfortune.
3.What protects a traveler on the night road?
Humility and respect for ancestral paths.
4. Where are the sacred places travelers must avoid?
The sacred groves and restricted ancestral areas after dark.
5.What happens when a traveler mocks the spirits?
They face misfortune or punishment.
6. What lesson does Arikoko learn?
Respect and humility guide travelers safely through the night.
