Why the Owl Hoots at Night

Listen carefully, children, to the tale of Kofi the owl, who once sang the most beautiful songs in all the forest, and how his pride cost him the light of day forever.

The Magnificent Singer

Long ago, when the world was young and all animals lived in harmony under the gentle rule of Nyame the Sky God, there lived in the great forest an owl named Kofi who possessed the most beautiful voice that had ever been heard. His songs were so pure and melodious that when he sang, the flowers would turn their faces toward him as if he were the sun itself.

Every morning, as the golden light filtered through the forest canopy, Kofi would perch on the highest branch of the tallest mahogany tree and fill the air with melodies so sweet that even the flowing streams would slow their bubbling to listen. His voice could calm frightened animals, bring peace to quarreling neighbors, and fill the hearts of all who heard him with joy and wonder.

The other birds of the forest would gather below his tree each dawn, listening in respectful silence as Kofi performed his daily concert. Bright-feathered parrots, elegant hornbills, tiny jewel-like sunbirds—all would postpone their own morning activities to hear the owl’s magnificent songs.

“Brother Kofi,” the wise old hornbill would say, “your voice is surely a gift from the gods themselves. It brings beauty to our forest like nothing else can.”

And Kofi, preening his soft brown and white feathers, would accept such praise as his natural due.

The Growing Pride

As seasons passed and Kofi’s reputation spread throughout the forest and beyond, the owl began to believe that his gift made him superior to all other creatures. He started to arrive later and later for his morning concerts, keeping his audience waiting while he carefully groomed every feather to perfection.

“Art cannot be rushed,” he would say when other birds gently inquired about his tardiness. “True beauty requires proper preparation.”

Gradually, Kofi’s behavior toward his fellow birds began to change. Where once he had been friendly and approachable, he became distant and condescending. He would no longer associate with birds he considered beneath his artistic status, and he spoke dismissively of their own modest musical abilities.

“Your simple chirping is adequate for ordinary birds,” he told a group of young finches who had asked for singing lessons. “But true artistry—the kind that I possess—cannot be taught. One is either born with greatness or condemned to mediocrity.”

The other birds began to murmur among themselves about Kofi’s growing arrogance, but they still gathered each morning to hear his beautiful songs, for despite his pride, his voice remained as magnificent as ever.

The Royal Announcement

One day, as the dry season was reaching its peak and the forest shimmered with heat, a magnificent golden eagle arrived in the forest carrying an important message from Nyame’s celestial court.

“Hear this proclamation from the Sky God!” the eagle announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the forest. “Nyame has decided to choose the greatest singer among all birds to serve as the official Voice of Dawn in his heavenly court. This honored bird will sing each morning to help the sun rise and bring light to the world.”

The birds gathered excitedly around the eagle, chattering about this incredible opportunity. To be chosen as the Voice of Dawn would be the highest honor any bird could receive—a position of immense importance and eternal glory.

“The competition will take place in seven days,” the eagle continued. “Every bird who wishes to compete should prepare their finest song. Nyame himself will listen and judge, and his decision will be final.”

As the eagle finished speaking and prepared to depart, he looked directly at Kofi, who had been preening confidently throughout the announcement.

“I have heard of your reputation, owl,” the eagle said. “I look forward to hearing the voice that has brought such fame to this forest.”

The Overconfident Preparation

While every other bird in the forest spent the next week practicing diligently, learning new songs, and perfecting their technique, Kofi barely bothered to prepare at all. He was absolutely certain that victory was already his.

“Why should I waste time practicing?” he told himself as he lounged on his favorite branch, watching other birds rehearse below. “My natural talent is so far superior to theirs that any preparation would be unnecessary.”

Instead of practicing, Kofi spent his time imagining the glory that would soon be his. He pictured himself in Nyame’s golden palace, singing for the gods themselves, admired and praised by all of creation. He dreamed of the power and prestige that would come with his new position.

Meanwhile, all around the forest, other birds worked tirelessly to improve their songs. The nightingale practiced her liquid trills, the lark perfected his soaring melodies, the canary polished her crystalline notes, and even the humble sparrow worked on his simple but heartfelt tunes.

“Look at them,” Kofi said dismissively to his reflection in a still pond. “Desperately trying to achieve what comes naturally to me. How pathetic their efforts seem.”

The Day of Competition

When the appointed day arrived, birds from all corners of the forest and beyond gathered in a great natural amphitheater formed by ancient trees. Nyame himself descended from the heavens in a chariot of clouds, accompanied by a retinue of celestial spirits whose presence made the very air shimmer with divine light.

The Sky God took his place on a throne carved from living wood, his presence both magnificent and intimidating. His eyes held the wisdom of the ages, and when he spoke, his voice carried the authority of thunder and the gentleness of morning rain.

“Let the competition begin,” Nyame announced. “Each bird shall sing, and I will choose the one whose voice best serves the sacred duty of calling forth the dawn.”

One by one, the birds came forward to perform. Each gave their absolute best, pouring their hearts and souls into their songs. The nightingale’s performance was liquid beauty, the lark’s song soared like pure joy, the canary’s voice sparkled like captured starlight.

Kofi watched with growing impatience as bird after bird took their turn. Their performances were adequate, he thought, but nothing compared to what he would soon demonstrate.

The Fatal Performance

Finally, Kofi’s turn arrived. He approached the performance area with supreme confidence, his head held high and his feathers perfectly arranged. The other birds watched in anticipation, many still remembering the beauty of his morning concerts despite their irritation with his recent behavior.

“Honored Nyame,” Kofi said with a elaborate bow, “prepare yourself to hear the most beautiful voice in all creation.”

But when Kofi opened his beak to sing, something terrible happened. Instead of the pure, melodious tones that had once enchanted the entire forest, only a harsh, grating sound emerged—a sound like “HOO-HOO-HOO” that was more like a cry of mourning than a song.

Kofi stopped in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. He tried again, putting all his concentration into producing his usual beautiful melodies. But again, only that same harsh, mournful hooting came out.

Panic seized the owl as he realized that his precious gift was gone. He tried once more, straining with every fiber of his being to reclaim his lost voice, but the result was the same—only that hollow, haunting hoot that seemed to echo with sadness and regret.

The Divine Judgment

The assembled birds watched in stunned silence as their once-proud companion struggled desperately to produce even a single note of his former beauty. Some felt pity, others felt that justice was being served, but all understood that they were witnessing something profound and terrible.

Nyame rose from his throne, his expression both stern and sorrowful. When he spoke, his words carried the weight of absolute authority:

“Kofi the owl, your voice was indeed a gift from the divine realm, but you allowed pride to poison that gift until it became worthless. You looked down upon your fellow creatures, treating them with contempt and believing yourself superior to all others.”

The Sky God’s eyes seemed to look straight through to Kofi’s soul. “A true artist uses their gifts to bring joy and unity to others, not to elevate themselves above their community. Your beautiful voice was meant to be a blessing for all creation, not a source of personal vanity.”

Kofi tried to speak, to apologize, to beg for another chance, but only that harsh hooting emerged from his throat.

“Your punishment is this,” Nyame continued. “From this day forward, you shall sing only in the darkness of night, when your mournful voice cannot disrupt the joyful songs of day. Your hooting will serve as a reminder to all who hear it that pride comes before a fall, and that true beauty comes from humility, not arrogance.”

The Eternal Consequence

As Nyame’s words took effect, Kofi felt a strange transformation beginning within him. His eyes, once comfortable in bright daylight, became sensitive to the sun’s rays. His feathers, once perfectly suited for daytime display, became adapted for silent flight through darkness.

Most significantly, he felt an overwhelming compulsion to hide during the day and emerge only when night fell across the forest. The bright, joyful hours when other birds sang and played became times of shame and hiding for the once-proud owl.

That first night, as darkness settled over the forest and the other birds nestled peacefully in their roosts, Kofi found himself perched alone on a branch, unable to remain silent. The mournful hooting that was now his only voice echoed through the darkness—a sound that spoke of loss, regret, and the bitter consequences of pride.

The Lasting Lesson

From that night forward, Kofi and all his descendants were doomed to live in the shadows, emerging only when darkness fell to fill the night air with their haunting calls. The beautiful morning concerts that had once been the highlight of each day became a memory, replaced by the lonely vigil of the night watch.

The other birds, who had won their freedom to sing in the glorious light of day, never forgot the lesson of Kofi’s fall. They remembered that their own voices, however humble, were gifts to be used with gratitude and humility rather than sources of pride and superiority.

The lark was chosen as the new Voice of Dawn, and every morning his joyful song helped call the sun into the sky. But even as he performed this sacred duty, he remained kind and encouraging to all the other birds, never allowing success to corrupt his gentle heart.

The Night Vigil

Today, when you hear an owl hooting in the darkness, the elders say you are hearing the echo of that ancient punishment. Each owl carries within its voice the memory of Kofi’s lost beauty, and their nighttime calls serve as a warning that pride can transform even the greatest gifts into sources of sorrow.

But the owls have also found a purpose in their exile from the day. They have become the guardians of the night, watching over the forest while other creatures sleep, their large eyes seeing through darkness, their silent flight protecting the vulnerable from night prowlers.

In this way, even punishment can be transformed into service, and even the consequence of pride can become a form of wisdom.

So remember, children: no matter how talented we may be, our gifts are meant to bring joy to others, not to make us feel superior. True artists use their abilities to lift up their communities, and the most beautiful voices are those that sing with humility and love.