This is a heartful story of a woman named Nnenna—a mother, a fighter, a cook whose food no one would touch, yet whose pots stayed full but not with blessings. Her suffering wasn’t ordinary. Her food was delicious, her hands were diligent, yet her business was dying. Not because of bad luck, but because something darker—something ancient—was eating before her customers ever arrived. They said it was a curse. She said it was a test.
This story will shake you. It will open your eyes to the things that walk beside us, unseen. It will show you how a woman stood between spirits and her children—and how she fought, not with fists, but with faith.
Let me take you to the edge of light and shadow. This is a story of spiritual warfare, family, sacrifice, and the God who still answers by fire.
Chapter One
It was 4 a.m., early morning in the city of Enugu. Darkness still pressed against the walls of Nnenna’s living one-room kitchen, except for the flickering orange glow coming from the charcoal stove in the corner. The sound of bubbling palm oil filled the silence, broken only by the occasional clink of her iron spoon against the pots. Nnenna stared distill slowly. Her eyes were heavy. Her back saw from long hours the day before, yet she moved with determination. Her children were still asleep. Uche, her 18-year-old son, lay curled up in one corner of the small room, while Rita, just 14, rested on the mats beside the stove, her face bathed in soft light. Nnenna looked at them both with love and the stabbing pain of worry.
For weeks now, her restaurant had been dying slowly. No one seemed to want her food anymore. Her pots always came back full, untouched, even though she cooked early and did everything right. Other women in the market, Ngozi, Mama Cheka, even the brash young Sandra, were always busy. Their tables filled with customers, plates clinking, money changing hands, but not Nnenna. Her two large aluminum pots, one filled with jollof rice and the other egusi soup with pounded yam, remained as full in the evening as they were in the morning. Even the aroma was there. She could smell it herself. So why did nobody want to eat it?
She turned to check the pepper soup boiling on the second stove. The scent filled the room, rich, spicy and inviting. God, please, she whispered. Yet would it be different?
By 6.30a.m, Uche had carried both pots to the handcart they used every day. It was an old, rusty wheelbarrow with a broken handle, but it did the job. Rita followed behind with a basin full of washed plates and spoons, wrapped in faded clothes. Nnenna, dressed in her worn-out yellow gown and faded scarf, pushed from the front, while Uche stared from behind. They made their way through the dusty road leading from their compound in Obiago to the busy Obote market.
When they arrived, Nnenna opened her stall and carefully set up. A small plastic table, two wooden benches and two silver pots now steaming in the morning sun. She smiled at the first passerby, then another one, then ten more. Nobody stopped.
By 9a.m, the market was alive and buzzing. Stores around her rang with laughter, voices, movement. Mama Cheka had already sold half her cooler of rice. Even the fish seller across the road was running low. But Nnenna sat still, her pots untouched. She opened the lid of the rice pot and frowned. The aroma was fading. She dipped her spoon into the stew and then into the soup, still hot, still delicious. She looked around, frustrated and afraid. Her stomach turned as a thought crept into her mind again. Am I cursed? This had been happening for months now. At first, she thought it was just bad luck or maybe poor packaging. But she had improved her cooking. She bought better ingredients, even borrowed to do so. Still, nothing changed. Some days, she sold two plates. Most days, nothing. And at night, they sat as a family, eating the untouched food, hot, fresh and perfectly fine.
Chapter Two
Maybe we should try another location, Uche suggested one evening. Nnenna shook her head. It’s not the location. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know anymore. She didn’t tell them everything. She didn’t tell them about the strange dreams. In one of them, she stood in her kitchen cooking and four dark shadows sat in a circle around the pots, eating greedily with their hands. One of them looked at her, its face blank and ancient, and whispered, You are feeding your father’s gods.
Fifteen years ago, Emeka, her husband, died suddenly. He had come down with a fever that wouldn’t break. Doctors couldn’t explain it. Everyone whispered it was a spiritual consequence. You see, Emeka was born into a lineage that worshipped four powerful ancestral deities, Oba, Ikechi, Wanyanunu and Odu Ocha. When he married Nnenna and became a Christian, he refused to carry on the family’s spiritual traditions. He even publicly burned some of the family’s shrine and artifacts. Two weeks later, he collapsed and never rose again. Back then, the elders from his village warned Nnenna saying, These gods do not forgive rejection. She didn’t believe them. She held on to her feet. Now fifteen years later, she wasn’t so sure anymore. It was now 1pm, still no customers. She packed her things in silence. Other sellers teased her. Madam Rice, na spirit they chop your food? One shouted. You dey put charm inside, nobody wan chop. Another laughed. Nnenna didn’t respond. She just folded her clothes and placed the untouched pots back in the wheelbarrow.
As she turned to leave, an old woman walked past slowly. Her eyes were milky with age and her feet bare. She paused in front of Nnenna’s store. She didn’t smile. She didn’t blink. She leaned forward and said softly, The food you are bringing here is already eaten before you arrive. But you don’t know who you are feeding. Then she walked away. Nnenna stood frozen. A chill ran down her entire body. That night, Nnenna couldn’t sleep. The old woman’s words rang in her ears over and over. You don’t know who you are feeding.
She woke up at 2am, lit a candle and knelt down on the floor. She began to pray, slowly at first, then with growing desperation. God, if there’s any curse, any spirit eating my food, I reject it. I cover my business with the blood of Jesus. I don’t know who they are, but I know you are stronger. Please fight for me. Tears rolled down her face. She prayed for almost an hour before she slept off with her head on the stool. The next day, she didn’t go to the market. She went to church. It was a small prayer ministry at the edge of her neighborhood. Pastor Miriam, a soft-spoken woman in her late 40s, greeted her warmly. Nnenna didn’t hold back. She poured out everything: Her husband’s death, The untouched food, The family gods, And the old woman’s words.
Pastor Miriam looked at her quietly for a while, then said, You are under a household curse. The spirits your husband rejected are angry. They are feeding spiritually on your labor, and unless they are broken, they will keep feeding. Nnenna’s hands trembled. So what do I do? You need prayers, but you also need to make a physical sacrifice to counter their spiritual one. You must cook with faith, then feed the poor, children, beggars, not to sell, but to give. Nnenna blinked. Even when I’m struggling? Pastor Miriam nodded. That is when it matters the most. But start with prayer, serious prayer.
Chapter Three
For three nights straight, Nnenna fasted and prayed. She would wake up at midnight, pour anointing oil on her pots, kneel down before them and pray out. Whoever you are, whatever gods you are, I am not yours. You didn’t give me this food. I break this covenant in Jesus’ name. Put your hand, Rita joined her. They didn’t fully understand, but they saw their mother’s pain and stood by her. On the fourth day, Nnenna woke early, filled with a strange peace. She cooked her best dishes: Fried yam with beef sauce, Greasy soup with goat meat and pounded yam, A few boiled eggs, Fried plantains and sachets of water.
This time, she didn’t head to Ogbote market. She took her cart and walked to the nearby roundabout, where homeless children often gathered. Some were shoeless, some looked sick. She opened the pots. Come and eat, she said. At first, they were shy. Then one boy stepped forward, followed by a little girl in torn clothes. Within minutes, they were eating and smiling. Some passersby stopped to watch. A woman even gave Nnenna 500. Nnenna kept serving. She didn’t cry. She didn’t laugh. She just served. By the end of the afternoon, both pots were empty. For the first time in months, truly empty.
That night, she slept like a baby. Until 2am, she woke up to a strange sound in the kitchen. She walked in carefully and froze. Her biggest pot, the one she hadn’t used today, was boiling. By itself, no fire, no stove, just bubbling on the floor. Then she heard it. A voice, low, gravely, angry. You fed strangers. We are still hungry. You will pay. Nnenna screamed with a loud voice. Nnenna didn’t sleep the rest of that night. The image of her pot boiling without fire refused to leave her mind. The voice that followed, cold and invisible, still echoed in her head. You feds strangers, while we are still hungry, you will pay. She sat on the floor of the small kitchen until dawn, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, rocking back and forth like a frightened child. Every sound, every creak on the wall made her jumpy.
By 6 a.m, Uche walked into the kitchen and stopped when he saw her. Mama, what happened? Nnenna looked up, her eyes were swollen and red. I saw them, I heard them, she whispered. Uche sat beside her, concerned. The gods? She nodded. He held her hand. I believe you now, and I am going to the village today. What village? She asked sharply. Papa’s place, uche shouted. Nnenna froze. No, you will not go there. I have to, Uche replied. Uche, you don’t understand. You don’t understand what you’re talking about. But Uche stood up and said to her, I can’t just watch them torment you. I’ll go and see if there’s something they want. Maybe there’s a way to beg them. God forbid! Nnenna shouted, standing now, her voice rising. You will not kneel before those spirits. That’s what killed your father. Uche didn’t respond. He walked out.
Chapter Four
That same afternoon, Uche boarded a motorcycle to Umuduru, his late father’s village. It was over an hour away. An old town nestled between two hills, quiet and surrounded by thick forests. He arrived at the family compound just as the sun was beginning to set. Some old men sat around under the ogbono tree sipping palm wine. When they saw Uche, silence fell. Are you Emeka’s boy? One of them asked. Uche nodded. I knew it, the man said. You have his eyes. You came for answers? Uche nodded again. My mother, my family, we are suffering.
An older woman with grey hair and white chalk on her forehead stepped forward. The gods are hungry, she said. When your father broke the covenant, the gods waited. But now, you carry his blood. They want to eat through you. Uche’s heart pounded. What do they want? A sacrifice. Bring something. Fowl, ram, something alive. Or they’ll keep eating from you until your name disappears. Uche left without saying another word.
That night, Nnenna sat at home, staring at her children’s plates. The power was out. Rita sat quietly, coughing softly. Her temperature had risen earlier in the day, and now she was too weak to eat. Outside, the wind howled unnaturally. Suddenly, one of the kitchen pots fell over, loud, violent. Nnenna rushed in. Nothing. No rats, no one. Then the second pot tipped on its own. Rita screamed from the room. Nnenna ran back to find her daughter shaking uncontrollably.
Mama, the man, he stood by the door with red eyes. I saw him. Nnenna cried out, held her daughter close and began to pray, her voice trembling but firm. Any strange man, any spirit, any force, you have no place here. As she prayed, she didn’t see the shadow pass across the window behind her.
The next morning, things got worse. Nnenna took Rita to the market clinic. The nurse said she had a fever, but her blood work was unusual. The white blood cell count was abnormally high, yet there was no sign of an infection. It might be spiritual, the nurse said gently. You might want to take her to a prayer house. Nnenna nodded humbly. She returned home to find a group of neighbors gathered in front of her compound.
She’s a witch, someone whispered. I heard her food was full of blood last week. She cursed her husband, now it’s her children. Nnenna didn’t respond. She walked past them, holding Rita gently, but her ears burned with shame. Inside, she saw Uche, seated on the floor, staring into space. She closed the door behind her and asked quietly, Where did you go? He didn’t look up. I went to the village, he nodded. Did you kneel before them? . Uche! Did you knew before them? Still no response from uche. Uche. Did you knew before the gods? He finally looked up. His eyes were blank. Cold. They won’t read her next.
Nnenna gasped. That evening, Nnenna returned to Pastor Miriam’s church. She carried Rita on her back, wrapped in a faded wrapper, and walked barefoot the entire way. As soon as she entered, the pastor looked at her and said, “The boy went to the altar of his father’s people.” Nnenna fell to her knees. “Help us.” The pastor brought out a bottle of anointing oil. “We’ll pray. But understand this, your son has touched what should not be touched. The gods have tasted him.”
Nnenna prayed like a woman on fire. Her voice stole through the church like a scream from the depths. The small prayer team joined hands and called heaven down. For over two hours, they prayed and battled, laying hands on Rita, pouring oil, rebuking spirits. Finally, Rita stopped shaking. She opened her eyes, confused, weak, but awake. Nnenna burst into tears. “Thank you, Jesus.” But their relief was short-lived.
That night, at 3 a.m., Nnenna woke up to the sound of heavy breathing. She turned slowly towards Uche’s mat. He was sitting upright, eyes wide open, pupils dilated. “Uche,” she whispered. He didn’t blink. Then he spoke, but it wasn’t his voice. It was deep, rough, like stones grinding together. “You broke our altar. You fed the unworthy. You rejected the covenant.” Nnenna screamed. Rita woke up and began to cry.
Uche slowly stood up, walked towards the window. His feet didn’t sound normal. It was like something was dragging with him. Then he turned back, smiled unnaturally, and said, “Now we will feed from within.” Nnenna couldn’t sleep. Not that anyone in the house could. Uche’s voice had changed. His eyes were no longer his, and every time she looked at her son, it felt like staring at someone else, something else.
She lit the lantern in the corner and whispered to herself, “This cannot be my son. This is not my boy.” Uche then lay on the mat, still as death, but his chest rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. His finger twitched now and then, like something was crawling through his veins. Beside her, Rita slept fitfully, her little body exhausted from fever and fear. Nnenna placed a hand on her forehead. It was cool. The fever had broken. But Uche, She turned towards the window. The wind outside had started again, low, humming, almost like chanting.
Chapter Five
Nnenna reached under her bed and pulled out a worn-out Bible. Her hands trembled as she flipped to Psalm 91 and began to read aloud. “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” Her voice was weak at first, but as she read, it grew stronger, firmer, deeper. She moved from Psalm to Psalm, then to a warfare prayer she had written down in an old paper. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she cried in the middle of the night. “God, I have nothing left but you. No husband, no money, no name, no help. If you won’t answer me now, I’ll die with my children in this house. But I believe you are stronger than any shrine. So show me, show me your power, Lord.”
She prayed until morning, and just before dawn broke, she fell asleep at the foot of Uche’s mat. That morning, she woke up with one word ringing in her spirit. “Obedience.” She sat up quickly. It was very clear. Not her own thoughts, something divine. “Obedience. Sacrifice. Faith.” She remembered what Pastor Miriam had said. “Cook. Feed. Pray.” The last time she cooked and gave it all away, the spirits were enraged. That meant it touched something spiritual.
She had no money, not a grain of rice left. But she stood up, washed her face, and told Rita, “Today, we fight.” Rita blinked. “But Mama, there’s no food.” “There will be,” Nnenna replied. She went to her neighbors, women who once laughed behind her back. “I need ingredients. Anything. I’m not cooking for sale. I’m cooking for God.” Some mocked her. Some shut their doors to her face. But one old woman, Mama Nkechi, gave her gari, melon seeds, dry fish, and a few tubers of yam. I don’t know what you are doing, but I believe in you, she said. Nnenna returned home with shaking hands and prayers under her breath. She started cooking. This would be her last pot, her final act of war. She sang as she cooked, hymns, prayers, psalms. Even as the soup boiled, she danced barefoot across the floor, sweat pouring down her face, lips trembling with prophecy.
By 2pm, she wheeled the food to the roadside slum where beggars and orphans lived. Rita followed behind, holding bags of sachet water. They began to serve. The same faces from the last time came, more this time, some limping, some with sick children, some barefoot, all hungry. Eat, Nnenna said. God sees you. They ate and smiled and said thank you with cracked voices. And as the last spoon was served, Nnenna lifted her hands to the sky. I have nothing left, so I give you my all.
Chapter Six
When they returned home, the house was silent. Uche still lay on the mat. Nnenna walked to him slowly, knelt beside him, placed both hands on her chest and whispered, Whatever is not from God, leave my son immediately. Then she laid flat on the floor beside him, arms outstretched, facing the ground, and she waited. Five minutes, ten, thirty minutes. Suddenly, Uche gasped, sat up, his eyes darted around sharply. Mama, Nnenna sat up, stunned. Uche, Mama, what happened? Why are my hands dirty? My chest, ah, it burns. She held him close, cried, laughed. You came back to me. You came back.
That night, all three of them sat quietly in the candlelit room. No one spoke, but peace, thick quiet peace, wrapped around them like a blanket.
Two days later, Nnenna returned to the market, same pot, same corner, same yellow gown. She opened her stall and waited. By 9a.m, her first customer came. By 10a.m, she had sold out rice. By noon, the other market women stared in disbelief as a line of customers formed in front of Nnenna’s stall. By 2p.m, she had no food left and no strength to speak, only tears in her eyes and a grateful heart.
The curse had been broken, but not everyone rejoiced. That night, as she slept, a final dream came. Nnenna stood inside her kitchen again. This time, the tall figures appeared, four of them, taller than before, black, faceless and heavy. They didn’t speak, but they bowed, then they vanished like smoke into the floor. She woke up panting, sweating, but unafraid. She knew it was over.
Months passed, Rita’s health improved and Uche got an apprenticeship in town. And Nnenna, her restaurant was now called Oluwa’s Kitchen. People came from far to eat her food. Some said it healed them. Others said it felt like home. She never charged much. She never forgot the struggle. And every month without fail, she cooked a pot just for beggars. Quietly, without fanfare. Because she knew what it meant to be spiritually hungry. And because she would never forget the night the gods spoke to her, but God answered louder.
Moral Lesson’s
The moral lesson of this story reminds us that faith in God, strong faith in God, is stronger than ancestral curses. Even when evil forces tried to destroy Nnenna’s life and her family’s future, she overcame them not by fear or compromise, but by persistent prayer, faith and trust in God.
Spiritual battles require spiritual solution. Never forget where you came from. Even after success, Nnenna continued to cook for beggars because she remembered her struggle. Gratitude and humility after breakthrough helps us sustain blessings. No matter how big a problem is, strong faith, consistent prayer and kindness to others can break every curse, heal broken families and change destinies.
