The Magic Mirror

There was once a mirror, old as a story told by a grandmother, which did not simply show how one looked but how one lived. It hung in a trader’s stall and waited for the curious. People came to see themselves and left with questions.

Kwaku, a youth with bright shoes and quick jokes, loved the mirror for how it made him look the part of a man grown. He would preen and make faces, expecting praise. But the mirror gave him another view: of him sitting alone by a full basket yet never sharing, of his laughter that cut others and left them thin.

Kwaku frowned. He wanted instead to see a hero. He tried to bribe the trader, he tried to make promises, but the mirror kept its truth. For those who looked with proud eyes, it showed the cracks in their manners; for those who looked with soft hearts, it showed the small goodness they had tended.

Word of the mirror spread, and soon the chief declared that each village should bring the mirror to the annual festival for all to see. The mirror revealed more than vanity — it revealed neglect, love, and the places where a heart needed tending. An old woman who had hidden kindness all her life saw a field of flowers where her hands had planted seeds. A man who had hidden his fists saw a child he had frightened.

Kwaku, when he saw his reflection one last time, understood that it was easier to change the face than the heart, but harder to keep the change. He began small — he mended a torn mat, he shared his tobacco with a neighbour, and when he next looked in the mirror, he saw a softer man. The mirror had not changed him; he had.

This is a story elders tell when a youth thinks only of outward shine. The mirror’s lesson is the same as the drum’s: show what you are, and the world will echo you back.

— End —