That evening, the oldest man in the village, Papa Onwuachi, called Chidi to his hut. The old man was carving a wooden bird.

But on the third week, a strange yellow blight spread across his farm. The very speed of the growth had weakened the roots. In one night, half his crop rotted.

Chidi scoffed. “Easy for a song to say,” he muttered. “But my farm is struggling. My wife weeps at night. Where is this ‘step of God’ I keep hearing about?”

“But Papa, I prayed! I sowed! Where is God’s step?” Chidi cried.

Chidi went home and apologized to his wife, Nkechi, for the stress he had caused. Together, they decided to do things the slow, faithful way. They cleared a small plot. They planted native seeds. They watered by hand. They sang Ukpe Chukwu as they worked, not as a complaint, but as a prayer.

He sat in the ruined field, head in his hands. The village children walked past, singing Power Nancy’s song: “Ukpe Chukwu… olu oma na-abịa n’oge ya.”

In the small, bustling village of Nkwoegwu, there lived a young farmer named Chidi. Chidi was known for his strong back and his weak heart—not a sickly heart, but an impatient one. He wanted things now . He wanted his yams to sprout the day after planting. He wanted the market prices to rise the moment he arrived. And most of all, he wanted a son.