Why the Sun and Moon Are in the Sky

Gather close and listen to the elders’ breath — this is the old tale of how the sun and moon took the high road and left the earth to its shadows. Once, long before the sky learned to keep watch, the sun and moon walked among us like traders on the road.

In that time, people measured days by the falling of palm fronds and nights by the hush of sleeping goats. The sun, a bright woman with hair like woven gold, loved to dance in the fields. The moon, a quiet man with silver threads in his beard, favoured the cool riverbank, where he hummed songs to fish. They would visit the village at will, sharing warmth and cool, and the people would lay out cloth and food in welcome.

There lived a boy named Ebo who loved to watch the sun’s reflection in the river. He asked questions each morning — why the sun slept sometimes and why the moon’s face would turn away. The elders smiled and answered with half-words, for some things listen better when left to the heart.

The sun and moon grew fond of the people, but the world grew crowded. Arguments began like small fires: a man would boast that the sun favoured his fields; a woman would say the moon watched her weave more gently. The sky grew jealous of the way people took what they needed without asking the sky’s counsel. The sun and moon argued among themselves — the sun wanted to keep giving, to walk freely, while the moon feared that constant closeness would dim their light with petty demands.

So the sun hatched a plan. One dawn, while the village still rolled in sleep, the sun and moon called the people to the square. They said, “We will give you warmth and coolness, but we must be above the quarrel. From now on we will live in the high sky, where we may watch without belonging to any one house.” The people cried at first — who would mend the sun’s cloak? Who would water the moon’s bowl? But the elders, with voices like aged drums, told the people to remember gratitude and to keep the rituals.

Ebo, the boy, followd the sun to the ridge and watched the sky take them like two birds rising. The sun painted the earth with gold one last time as she climbed. The moon hung back and looked at the children. “Do not hunt me with your greed,” she whispered. “I am not a thing to be owned. I am a song to be listened to at night.”

Yet even in the sky, the sun and moon could not escape the lessons of the earth. The sun burned too proudly and the moon, though gentle, grew thin when ignored. Their new place above gave them distance and clarity. When storms came, they could not mend the fields themselves; instead, they taught the people to mend their own nets and keep the fire safe.

Over time, people developed rhythms: days to sow and nights to rest. They built drums and ceremonies to honor the sky’s gifts. When a child is born, the elders point to the sun and moon and say, “You are born into their watch.” The sun and moon learned too — they learned to measure their lights with mercy, to be lamps not owners.

So when you feel the sun warm your face, and when you see the moon lean down to bless the river, remember that they chose the high road to keep both distance and care. The elders say, “Wim na ɛkyerɛ kwan — the sky shows the way.” Keep your quarrels small and your gratitude wide, and the sky will lend you both warmth and coolness.

— End —