How the Cheetah Got His Speed

Come, children, and gather close to the warmth of our fire as I tell you the tale of Ɔsebɔ, the cheetah, and how he became the fastest runner in all of creation. This is a story of dedication, humility, and the rewards that come to those who never give up on their dreams, even when others doubt their abilities.

In the Time When All Animals Ran the Same

Long ago, when the world was still young and the spirits walked openly among mortals, all the animals of the savanna could run at exactly the same speed. The antelope bounded no faster than the buffalo, the hare scurried no quicker than the elephant, and even the mighty lion moved at the same pace as the smallest field mouse.

In those days, there lived a young animal named Ɔsebɔ who would later become the cheetah we know today. But in that time, he was neither the fastest nor the strongest of creatures. His coat was plain yellow without the distinctive spots that would later mark his kind, and his build was lean but unremarkable among the animals of the great grasslands.

What set Ɔsebɔ apart was not his appearance or natural abilities, but his dream. From his earliest days, he had been fascinated by the concept of speed. He would watch the wind racing across the savanna, bending the grass in great waves, and dream of moving with such fluid grace and power. He observed the flight of birds, the darting of fish in streams, the way lightning split the sky, and longed to understand the secret of swift movement.

While other young animals played games or rested in the shade during the heat of the day, Ɔsebɔ would practice running. Day after day, season after season, he would sprint across the grasslands, pushing himself to his limits and then trying to go just a little bit further, just a little bit faster.

The Mockery of Others

The other animals found Ɔsebɔ’s obsession with speed both puzzling and amusing. After all, they reasoned, what was the point of trying to run faster when Nyame had created all animals to move at the same pace? Why exhaust oneself pursuing an impossible dream when that energy could be spent on more practical pursuits?

Temba the buffalo would laugh whenever he saw Ɔsebɔ practicing his sprints. “Young fool,” he would snort, his massive head shaking with amusement, “you will wear yourself out with all this running and still be no faster than the rest of us. Better to build strength and size like I have done. Speed is for the wind, not for earthbound creatures.”

Kesi the lion, proud and golden, would watch Ɔsebɔ’s training with condescending tolerance. “Speed is not the way of the noble hunter,” he would declare majestically. “Stealth, patience, and power—these are the qualities that matter. A true predator does not need to chase his prey across great distances. He waits, plans, and strikes with precision.”

Even Adanko the hare, naturally quick and nimble, mocked Ɔsebɔ’s dedication. “You run like one possessed by spirits,” he would chatter, his nose twitching with apparent concern. “But what is the purpose? We all run at the same speed that Nyame gave us. Your efforts change nothing except to make you tired and thin.”

But perhaps the cruelest mockery came from Gyata the leopard, Ɔsebɔ’s own cousin, whose spotted coat and powerful build made him respected among the predators. “Cousin,” Gyata would say with false sympathy, “you embarrass our family with this obsession. Accept your limitations as the rest of us have done. There is wisdom in knowing one’s place in the order of creation.”

The Persistence of Dreams

Despite the constant ridicule and doubt from his community, Ɔsebɔ continued his training. In the pre-dawn darkness, when the world was quiet and the air was cool, he would run. Under the blazing heat of midday, when other animals sought shade, he would run. In the golden light of evening, when the grasslands glowed like honey, he would run.

His grandmother, Nana Ɔsebɔ, was the only one who supported his dream. She was ancient and wise, her spotted coat silver with age, her eyes deep with the knowledge of many seasons. When Ɔsebɔ would return from his training sessions, exhausted and discouraged by the day’s mockery, she would comfort him with gentle words and ancient wisdom.

“My grandson,” she would say, her voice like the whisper of wind through dry grass, “the others see only what is, but you see what could be. This vision is a gift from the spirits, and gifts from the spirits should never be ignored, no matter how difficult the path they reveal.”

She would tell him stories of legendary creatures who had achieved impossible things through dedication and faith—of the first bird who had learned to fly when all creatures were earthbound, of the first fish who had learned to swim when all animals lived only on land, of the spider who had learned to weave webs when no creature knew the art of creating with silk.

“Every great gift,” Nana Ɔsebɔ would explain, “begins with a dream that others cannot see and continues with work that others will not do. The spirits watch those who pursue visions beyond the ordinary, and sometimes—just sometimes—they choose to make the impossible possible.”

The Year of the Great Drought

It was during the season when the rains failed completely and the great drought came to test all living things that Ɔsebɔ’s training would prove its worth in ways no one had anticipated. The water holes dried up one by one, the grass withered to brown stubble, and the herds began their desperate migration to distant lands where rivers still flowed.

The predators, accustomed to hunting in their traditional territories, found themselves struggling to catch prey that was becoming increasingly scarce and skittish. The antelope, zebra, and wildebeest that remained were nervous and alert, ready to flee at the first sign of danger, making successful hunts extremely difficult.

It was during this time that Ɔsebɔ discovered the first practical benefit of his years of training. While other predators could only pursue prey for short distances before tiring, Ɔsebɔ’s conditioning allowed him to maintain pursuit much longer. His endurance, built through countless hours of practice, meant he could chase fleeing animals across greater distances, increasing his chances of a successful hunt.

Moreover, his body had adapted to the constant running in subtle but important ways. His muscles had become more efficient, his lung capacity had increased, and his stride had become more fluid and economical. Though he was still no faster than the other animals in short bursts, he could maintain his pace longer and recover more quickly between efforts.

During the worst weeks of the drought, when other predators were growing thin and weak, Ɔsebɔ was able to provide not only for himself but also for his aging grandmother and even for some of the other animals who had once mocked his dedication.

The Great Race of the Spirits

As the drought deepened and the situation became desperate for all the animals of the region, the spirits decided to intervene. They announced through their messenger, the great hornbill Ɔkofo, that they would hold a contest to determine which animal should receive a special gift to help all creatures survive the harsh conditions.

“The gift of great speed will be granted to one animal,” Ɔkofo proclaimed, his voice carrying across the savanna like thunder, “but this animal must prove worthy through a test that will challenge not only physical ability, but also character, determination, and the willingness to use the gift for the benefit of all creation.”

The test would be a great race, but not an ordinary race. The chosen animals would have to run to the Sacred Mountain, where the spirits dwelt, carrying with them a message of hope for all the creatures of the land. The journey would take them across burning deserts, through thorny scrublands, over rocky hills, and finally up the steep slopes of the mountain itself.

Many animals volunteered for this trial, drawn by the promise of supernatural speed. Temba the buffalo was confident his strength would carry him through. Kesi the lion believed his natural nobility made him the obvious choice. Adanko the hare thought his existing quickness gave him an advantage. Even Gyata the leopard decided to participate, certain that his combination of power and grace would prove superior.

But when the question was asked, “Who among you has prepared for such a challenge?”, all eyes turned to Ɔsebɔ, the animal who had been running every day for years, whose dedication to the art of movement had become legendary even among those who mocked it.

The Trial Begins

At dawn on the day of the great race, seven animals gathered at the starting point: Temba the buffalo, Kesi the lion, Adanko the hare, Gyata the leopard, Jengo the wild dog, Duma the zebra, and Ɔsebɔ. Each carried in their mouth a small scroll containing prayers and hopes from all the animals of their region.

As the signal was given and the race began, the differences in preparation quickly became apparent. The other animals started fast, their natural competitiveness driving them to take early leads. But Ɔsebɔ, who had learned patience along with persistence, began at a steady pace that he knew he could maintain for great distances.

By midday, when the sun was at its fiercest and the desert sand burned beneath their paws, several contestants had already fallen behind. Temba’s great bulk, which served him well in normal conditions, became a liability in the heat. Kesi’s pride would not allow him to pace himself properly, and he exhausted his strength in the early stages.

As the race continued through the afternoon and into the evening, more animals dropped out or fell far behind. Only Gyata and Ɔsebɔ remained close to each other as they entered the final mountain stage of the journey.

The Moment of Truth

As cousin faced cousin on the steep mountain slopes, with the sacred peak still far above them and darkness falling, Gyata finally understood what Ɔsebɔ’s years of training had truly achieved. While Gyata’s muscles screamed with exhaustion and his lungs burned from the effort, Ɔsebɔ moved with the steady rhythm of one whose body had been prepared for exactly this kind of challenge.

“Cousin,” Gyata gasped as they paused at a rocky outcrop, “I see now what I failed to understand before. Your dedication was not foolishness—it was wisdom. You have been preparing for this moment your entire life.”

But what happened next revealed the true character that had earned Ɔsebɔ the right to receive the spirits’ gift. Instead of pressing his advantage and leaving his struggling cousin behind, Ɔsebɔ stopped to help Gyata recover, sharing his water and offering encouragement.

“The goal is not to defeat each other,” Ɔsebɔ said gently, “but to deliver these messages of hope to the spirits. If we work together, we can both complete the mission.”

It was this act of compassion, witnessed by the spirits who had been watching the entire race, that sealed Ɔsebɔ’s destiny. They had been testing not just physical ability, but the character to use great gifts responsibly and with consideration for others.

The Divine Transformation

When Ɔsebɔ and Gyata finally reached the summit of the Sacred Mountain together, supporting each other in the final steep ascent, they found themselves in a grove of ancient trees where the air shimmered with spiritual presence. Nyame himself appeared to them, his form shifting like heat waves, his voice like the sound of wind through leaves.

“Young Ɔsebɔ,” the Sky God said, “you have shown that true speed comes not from natural talent alone, but from dedication, preparation, and the wisdom to use one’s abilities in service of others. You have earned the right to become the fastest creature on earth.”

As Nyame spoke, Ɔsebɔ felt a transformation beginning in his body. His muscles became even more perfectly designed for running, his bones lighter yet stronger, his heart more efficient. Most remarkably, his plain yellow coat developed the distinctive black spots that would mark his kind forever—each spot representing a day of training, a moment of perseverance, a choice to continue despite discouragement.

But the greatest change was in his speed itself. Where before he had been limited to the pace that all animals shared, now he could run faster than the wind, faster than anything on earth. His stride became a flowing blur of motion, and he could accelerate from rest to his top speed in mere heartbeats.

“This gift,” Nyame continued, “comes with a responsibility. You will use your speed not just for hunting, but to carry messages between distant animal communities, to rescue those in danger, and to maintain the balance of the natural world. Your speed is not yours alone—it belongs to all creation.”

The Return to the Community

When Ɔsebɔ returned to his community, transformed and bearing the successful completion of the spiritual quest, the other animals could hardly believe their eyes. Here was the animal they had mocked, now marked with the distinctive spots of divine favor and possessed of speed beyond imagination.

But instead of using his new abilities to seek revenge or prove his superiority, Ɔsebɔ immediately put his gift to work for the benefit of all. During the remaining weeks of the drought, he used his speed to scout for remaining water sources, to carry news between separated herds, and to guide animals to places where food and water could still be found.

His hunting success, dramatically improved by his new speed, meant he could provide food for the elderly, the weak, and the young who were struggling to survive the harsh conditions. He became not a selfish user of his gift, but a servant of his community, just as Nyame had intended.

The animals who had once mocked him came to understand that they had witnessed something profound—not just the development of a physical ability, but the cultivation of character that made one worthy of divine blessing. Ɔsebɔ’s transformation became a teaching story that parents would tell their young: that dedication, perseverance, and humility could lead to extraordinary achievements.

The Legacy of Speed

From that day forward, all cheetahs bore the distinctive spots that marked their ancestor’s dedication and carried within them the gift of supernatural speed. But they also inherited the responsibility that came with that gift—to use their abilities not for selfish purposes, but in service of the greater balance of the natural world.

This is why, even today, the cheetah hunts with efficiency rather than excess, taking only what is needed and never killing for sport or glory. It is why cheetahs are solitary rather than pack hunters, understanding that their great gift must be used with restraint and wisdom rather than overwhelming force.

The spots on every cheetah’s coat continue to remind us that extraordinary abilities are earned through ordinary dedication, that gifts from the divine come to those who prepare themselves through consistent effort, and that true greatness lies not in what we can achieve for ourselves, but in how we use our talents to serve others.

The Teaching for Today

And so it is, my children, that when you see the cheetah running across the grasslands like a golden streak of lightning, you witness not just the fastest animal on earth, but a living reminder of what becomes possible when we combine dreams with dedication, vision with hard work, and ability with responsibility.

Ɔsebɔ teaches us that no dream is too ambitious if we are willing to work for it consistently, day after day, season after season, year after year. He shows us that the mockery of others cannot stop us if our determination is strong and our purpose is pure.

Most importantly, he reminds us that great gifts—whether speed, intelligence, artistic ability, or any other talent—are not given for our glory alone, but to be used in service of our communities and for the betterment of all life.

Ɔyɛ adwuma na ɔnya akatua - He who works receives reward.

So when you face your own dreams that others say are impossible, remember Ɔsebɔ running alone across the savanna, preparing for a destiny that only he could see. When others doubt your vision, remember that the spirits watch those who persevere with patience and dedication. And when you achieve your goals, remember that true greatness lies not in surpassing others, but in using your gifts to lift others up.

The fire burns bright tonight, my children, but tomorrow will bring its own challenges and opportunities. May you run toward your dreams with the dedication of the cheetah, and may you use whatever gifts you develop with the wisdom and humility that made Ɔsebɔ worthy of divine blessing.

Ɔsebɔ mmirika yɛ sɛ anyinam - The cheetah’s running is like lightning.