Mama leave matter, I'm your grandson - anything in this house belongs to me. You’re just overreacting.
Some things are not ordinary. My sister, my brother… Sometimes what people are suffering today didn’t start today.
Some battles did not begin with you. Some tears you see are older than the person crying.
This life no balance but everything has meaning.
There is something many people don’t understand about life, karma does not forget address. It doesn’t matter if it takes one day or one hundred years… it will still knock. That is where this story begins.
Growing up, Dumebi was like every other village boy, restless, wild, stubborn and full of youthful fire. There was something dark about his choices, something that people around him didn’t pay attention to, something that would one day return, stronger than he ever imagined.
His grandmother, Mama Uzo, was an old, gentle woman with hands hardened from years of farming and a heart filled with love. She raised Dumebi with everything she had: food, love, warmth and sacrifice but life is sometimes strange. The people you love the most are the ones that hurt you the deepest.
It started slowly.
A missing chicken.
A basket of cassava that mysteriously disappeared.
Cooking oil that reduced faster than normal.
At first, she thought it was rats or thieves from outside.
Until one day, she caught Dumebi himself.
Not only did he steal her cassava and sell it… he used the money on alcohol and women but that was not the worst part.
One day, Mama Uzo, being one of the respected elderly women in the village, was entrusted with meeting money for the contribution for the women’s association. Money she kept carefully because the community trusted her.
Dumebi stole that one too.
That broke her.
Not because of the money but because trust is more fragile than glass.
The day they confronted him, Mama Uzo knelt down before Dumebi, crying, begging him:
“Nwam, biko, return the money. This disgrace is too much for me to carry.”
Pride is a dangerous spirit and Dumebi was full of it.
He hissed and said:
“Mama leave matter. I’m your grandson. Anything in this house belongs to me. You’re just overreacting.”
Those words cut her more than the theft itself.
That night, in tears and heartbreak, Mama Uzo lifted her trembling hands and spoke words she didn’t plan to speak but pain forced out:
“Dumebi… as long as you refuse to repent, you will cry because of your own children.
You will toil and see no fruit.
Peace will run from you.
Happiness will be far away from you.
You will feel what you made me feel.”
People begged her to reverse the curse.
Everyone begged Dumebi to kneel and ask forgiveness but pride held his neck like a chain.
Days later, the old woman died heartbroken, disappointed and wounded.
Her grave closed but her words did not.
Time moved on.
Dumebi grew older.
He claimed he had “changed”.
He entered church… raised hands… shouted “I am born again!”
Sometimes, people enter church because their sins are chasing them.
He married and had children—three of them.
Then it began.
The same tears he caused his grandmother became his daily bread.
His first son stole from him repeatedly.
His daughter lied to him, insulted him and ran away from home.
The last child? Worse than all of them combined.
They sold his things.
They mocked him.
They disgraced him publicly.
Everything he touched failed.
His business collapsed every time it rose.
Nothing worked.
It was then realization struck him like thunder:
He wasn’t just suffering, he was reaping.
The same bitterness he gave to his grandmother, life gave back to him… multiplied.
Before you pity someone crying today, first ask:
“Did this suffering start with them? Or is it something their parents planted long ago?”
Some children are carrying battles that are not theirs.
Some destinies are fighting curses they know nothing about.
Some tears are generational.
An igbo adage say that:
“Ife obuna onye metalu na uwa, o ga eji anya ya na abuo fu ya, maka Chukwu abaana ime obi kpochite uzo ebere”
(Whatever one does in this life, they will see its repercussions with their own two eyes, for God the Supreme Spirit has irrevocably entered his chamber and locked its door of mercy).
And again:
“Kalma kalma ka oku Jili hapu ite gbuo ife di ite na ime”(It is because of karma that the fire left the pot and killed what is inside the pot).
The wicked forget their deeds but karma remembers.
There are families today dealing with things done 30–50 years ago.
Some parents offended people carelessly in their youth, stealing, lying, breaking homes, mocking the poor, insulting the helpless and now their children are paying the price.
That is why you must pray certain prayers intentionally and loudly.
PRAYER POINT:
“Whatever my parents did that is speaking against my life…
Father, let it stop with them.
It will NOT rest on my head.
It will NOT enter my own destiny.
Amen.”
Ezekiel 18:20
“The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father…”
God has given you the right to break free.
You are not tied to the mistakes of your bloodline.
You can start a new chapter.
Karma does not forget addresses.
Every action is a seed. It must grow somewhere.
Generational battles are real.
Parents are humans too, they make mistakes.
Some suffering did not start with you but it can end with you.
Forgiveness, repentance and prayer can break cycles.
MORALS
Be careful how you treat people, life keeps receipts.
Clear your conscience while you are still alive.
Break harmful cycles with humility and repentance.
Pray away negative inheritance.
Treat your elders with respect.
Teach your children kindness through your actions.
Above all, never let pride destroy your future.
If this story touched your heart:
Share it
Comment “AMEN” and Pray for your family not to inherit any parental curse.
©️ Elizabeth Akudo All Rights Reserved
Follow @Elizabeth Akudo for more inspirational stories that heal, teach, and bless. #LifeLessons #KarmaIsReal #GenerationalCurses #NigerianStories #InspirationDaily #Truth #Faith #Healing #ElizabethAkudo #StoryTeller #Motivation #AfricanWisdom #BibleTruth #Grace #NewBeginnings #Forgiveness #FamilyHealing
Some things are not ordinary. My sister, my brother… Sometimes what people are suffering today didn’t start today.
Some battles did not begin with you. Some tears you see are older than the person crying.
This life no balance but everything has meaning.
There is something many people don’t understand about life, karma does not forget address. It doesn’t matter if it takes one day or one hundred years… it will still knock. That is where this story begins.
Growing up, Dumebi was like every other village boy, restless, wild, stubborn and full of youthful fire. There was something dark about his choices, something that people around him didn’t pay attention to, something that would one day return, stronger than he ever imagined.
His grandmother, Mama Uzo, was an old, gentle woman with hands hardened from years of farming and a heart filled with love. She raised Dumebi with everything she had: food, love, warmth and sacrifice but life is sometimes strange. The people you love the most are the ones that hurt you the deepest.
It started slowly.
A missing chicken.
A basket of cassava that mysteriously disappeared.
Cooking oil that reduced faster than normal.
At first, she thought it was rats or thieves from outside.
Until one day, she caught Dumebi himself.
Not only did he steal her cassava and sell it… he used the money on alcohol and women but that was not the worst part.
One day, Mama Uzo, being one of the respected elderly women in the village, was entrusted with meeting money for the contribution for the women’s association. Money she kept carefully because the community trusted her.
Dumebi stole that one too.
That broke her.
Not because of the money but because trust is more fragile than glass.
The day they confronted him, Mama Uzo knelt down before Dumebi, crying, begging him:
“Nwam, biko, return the money. This disgrace is too much for me to carry.”
Pride is a dangerous spirit and Dumebi was full of it.
He hissed and said:
“Mama leave matter. I’m your grandson. Anything in this house belongs to me. You’re just overreacting.”
Those words cut her more than the theft itself.
That night, in tears and heartbreak, Mama Uzo lifted her trembling hands and spoke words she didn’t plan to speak but pain forced out:
“Dumebi… as long as you refuse to repent, you will cry because of your own children.
You will toil and see no fruit.
Peace will run from you.
Happiness will be far away from you.
You will feel what you made me feel.”
People begged her to reverse the curse.
Everyone begged Dumebi to kneel and ask forgiveness but pride held his neck like a chain.
Days later, the old woman died heartbroken, disappointed and wounded.
Her grave closed but her words did not.
Time moved on.
Dumebi grew older.
He claimed he had “changed”.
He entered church… raised hands… shouted “I am born again!”
Sometimes, people enter church because their sins are chasing them.
He married and had children—three of them.
Then it began.
The same tears he caused his grandmother became his daily bread.
His first son stole from him repeatedly.
His daughter lied to him, insulted him and ran away from home.
The last child? Worse than all of them combined.
They sold his things.
They mocked him.
They disgraced him publicly.
Everything he touched failed.
His business collapsed every time it rose.
Nothing worked.
It was then realization struck him like thunder:
He wasn’t just suffering, he was reaping.
The same bitterness he gave to his grandmother, life gave back to him… multiplied.
Before you pity someone crying today, first ask:
“Did this suffering start with them? Or is it something their parents planted long ago?”
Some children are carrying battles that are not theirs.
Some destinies are fighting curses they know nothing about.
Some tears are generational.
An igbo adage say that:
“Ife obuna onye metalu na uwa, o ga eji anya ya na abuo fu ya, maka Chukwu abaana ime obi kpochite uzo ebere”
(Whatever one does in this life, they will see its repercussions with their own two eyes, for God the Supreme Spirit has irrevocably entered his chamber and locked its door of mercy).
And again:
“Kalma kalma ka oku Jili hapu ite gbuo ife di ite na ime”(It is because of karma that the fire left the pot and killed what is inside the pot).
The wicked forget their deeds but karma remembers.
There are families today dealing with things done 30–50 years ago.
Some parents offended people carelessly in their youth, stealing, lying, breaking homes, mocking the poor, insulting the helpless and now their children are paying the price.
That is why you must pray certain prayers intentionally and loudly.
PRAYER POINT:
“Whatever my parents did that is speaking against my life…
Father, let it stop with them.
It will NOT rest on my head.
It will NOT enter my own destiny.
Amen.”
Ezekiel 18:20
“The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father…”
God has given you the right to break free.
You are not tied to the mistakes of your bloodline.
You can start a new chapter.
Karma does not forget addresses.
Every action is a seed. It must grow somewhere.
Generational battles are real.
Parents are humans too, they make mistakes.
Some suffering did not start with you but it can end with you.
Forgiveness, repentance and prayer can break cycles.
MORALS
Be careful how you treat people, life keeps receipts.
Clear your conscience while you are still alive.
Break harmful cycles with humility and repentance.
Pray away negative inheritance.
Treat your elders with respect.
Teach your children kindness through your actions.
Above all, never let pride destroy your future.
If this story touched your heart:
Share it
Comment “AMEN” and Pray for your family not to inherit any parental curse.
©️ Elizabeth Akudo All Rights Reserved
Follow @Elizabeth Akudo for more inspirational stories that heal, teach, and bless. #LifeLessons #KarmaIsReal #GenerationalCurses #NigerianStories #InspirationDaily #Truth #Faith #Healing #ElizabethAkudo #StoryTeller #Motivation #AfricanWisdom #BibleTruth #Grace #NewBeginnings #Forgiveness #FamilyHealing
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