By: Chioma Madonna Ndukwu
Africa’s Talking Drum: The Man Who Repaired Every Roof Except His Own
In the old town of Egbema lived a man called Baba Tayo. If rain troubled your house, you called him. If wind removed your zinc in the middle of the night, people shouted: “Find Baba Tayo!”
His ladder was older than gossip. His toolbox had dents deep enough to tell stories. Yet somehow, the man understood roofs the way fishermen understand rivers.
And Baba Tayo worked hard, very hard. From sunrise till evening, he climbed rooftops under angry sun, patched leaking corners, nailed stubborn wood into place and returned smiling to grateful customers.
“Ah, Baba Tayo!” people praised. “Your hand carries blessing.” He would laugh modestly. “Rain and roof are old enemies,” he liked saying. “I only settle quarrels.”
But there was something strange. For a man who repaired roofs across the whole town, Baba Tayo’s own house suffered quietly. His ceiling leaked. The sitting room smelled of damp clothes during rainy season.
His children shifted buckets from corner to corner each night whenever rain came knocking. His wife, Mama Bisi, complained often. “My husband,” she would sigh, “must the whole town sleep dry while your own children swim indoors?”
Baba Tayo always laughed it off. “I will fix it,” he promised. Tomorrow, always tomorrow. But tomorrow behaved like market debt, always arriving with another excuse.
There was always another customer. Another emergency, another payment to chase, and so his own house waited.
One rainy afternoon, the sky darkened suddenly. Thunder rolled like quarrelling elders. Before Baba Tayo could return home, heavy rain burst open above Egbema. The kind of rain that arrives angry.
Inside his house, water poured through the ceiling as if somebody had overturned a river. Mattresses soaked. Cooking pots floated across the floor. Even the children climbed stools laughing nervously at the confusion.
By the time Baba Tayo arrived, Mama Bisi stood outside with folded arms and tired silence. Sometimes silence speaks louder than insult. He entered the house slowly. Looked up and looked down.
Everything wet, embarrassed. An old neighbour passing by shook his head gently. “Tayo,” he said, “the broom that sweeps the market must still know its own doorstep.”
Nobody laughed. Not even Baba Tayo. That night he slept badly. Rainwater dripped beside him like stubborn reminders.
The next morning, before touching anybody else’s roof, Baba Tayo climbed his own. For hours he worked quietly. No excuses, no postponing.
And afterwards, whenever young men praised him too loudly, he smiled and told them: “Do not become a lantern for the whole street while your own room sits in darkness.”
Because in Egbema, people learned something simple: A person who solves everybody’s problems but neglects his own house may one day discover trouble waiting patiently at home.
Moral: You cannot pour endlessly into others while ignoring what is falling apart in your own life.
Comment Hook:
Why do people sometimes care for everyone else’s problems while neglecting their own?
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