Murithadoh Abdullahi Akorede

 

When the nest is broken, more Hens will not save the eggs.

 

Long ago, in the Land of Feathers, there were many schools where hens were trained. Each school had its own specialty: some hens were taught to dance gracefully, some to display their feathers with pride, some to crow at dawn with commanding voices, and some to build the finest nests.

 

But the most important of all were the hens trained to brood eggs, for without eggs, there could be no chicks, no life, no future.

 

At first, life in the School of Egg-Brooding was beautiful. The trainers admitted only as many hens as they could nurture, each hen had her own space, enough maize to eat, and trainers who guided her patiently. The hens grew strong, wise, and capable of protecting the eggs entrusted to them.

 

But as time went on, the society of feathers became extravagant. The people demanded that the hens who graduated should receive more maize, brighter feather dyes, and all manner of comforts. The cost of training a hen rose higher and higher.

 

The hens noticed something strange: in other lands, hens who brooded eggs were treated with honor, fed generously, and given warm, comfortable nests. So one by one, the hens of the Land of Feathers spread their wings and flew away to brood eggs in distant places.

 

The society panicked. “Our eggs! Who will brood our eggs?”

 

The great Controller of Hens gathered the people and declared:

“Do not fear. We shall solve this problem quickly. We shall admit more hens! If one hundred fly away, we will train three hundred more. If three hundred leave, we will admit six hundred. The solution is simple: admit more hens!”

 

“But, Great Controller,” one timid voice asked, “will more cages be built for the new hens?”

 

The Controller waved his wing. “Not now, just admit more hens.”

 

Another voice rose: “Will the trainers be given more maize for their hard work?”

 

The Controller frowned. “They can take loans if they are hungry, just admit more hens.”

 

A third voice dared to ask: “Will there be more classrooms and perches for learning?”

 

Silence. Then the Controller thundered: “Do not disturb us with details, the answer is clear, admit more hens!”

 

And so it was. Soon, the School of Egg-Brooding overflowed. Hens scrambled for space, feathers flying, maize scarce. Trainers grew weary, their pockets empty, their songs tired. Eggs were brooded in crowded nests, sometimes trampled before they could hatch.

 

Meanwhile, whenever the Controller had delicate eggs of his own, or even young hens needing training, he quietly sent them abroad, to the lands where nests were soft, food was plenty, and honor was given.

 

And so the Land of Feathers marched on, counting hens instead of building nests, shouting numbers instead of mending cracks. For they had forgotten a simple truth: when a leaking roof floods, the wise repair it, but the foolish only bring more buckets.

 

Thus, the Land became famous, not for the strength of its hens, nor the safety of its eggs, but for the loudness of its chant:

“More hens! More hens! More hens!”

Until one day, there were plenty of hens, and yet, no chicks.