A real-life story: My Journey of Brand Storytelling

📌Generating Z won’t believe it.

I grew up in the village. Back then, watches and alarms were not easy to come by.
And if you had one, you were a son or daughter of the bourgeoisie – wealthy parents.

So, we relied on roosters to crow at the crack of dawn to help us know when to wake up, prepare, and start our journey to school. The journey was over 3 kilometres, and it would take slightly over an hour to trek. Of course, you don’t expect the sons and daughters of a proletariat to own shoes, so walking barefoot was the norm.

On this particular day, something unusual happened.

My sister and I woke up as usual, prepared something to fill our empty stomachs, and set off for school.
It was all darkness, but the hope of acquiring education was our driving aspiration.

The night was pitch dark and desolate, but thankfully, we could take slow steps thanks to the flickering light of fireflies. Trees stood still along the road, and the grass beneath was covered with dew. Stealthy owls filled the air with their ethereal hoots, bats flew from tree to tree while others hovered overhead, and frogs croaked in the distant river.

Traditionally, a bat sighting is not something taken lightly in the village. It may conjure up thoughts of the presence of a night runner, who can be loosely translated as a village witch possessed by a demonic spirit that compels them to scare and terrorize their neighbors at night.

My grandfather once told me that night runners enjoy it when they instill fear in you. As we approached the river, something odd happened – the frogs were no longer croaking.

Suddenly, a mysterious thing crossed our path. We couldn’t see well since it was dark. But it resembled the image of a person. “Jajuok! (night runner),” my sister screamed. What followed after was a long night of despair and helplessness.

I felt like some cold wind was slapping my face. Abruptly, my hair stood up. My legs started to wobble; strength left me. When I looked at my sister, I could see the terror in her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wanted to scream further but knew she would expose our nervousness.

And that’s what night runners like most—they thrive in fear and helplessness. My sister closed her pale eyes, soaked in tears, sweat pouring all over her body. We said our last prayers and waited for the worst to happen. Luckily, some strength came from nowhere. We ran into the thicket and breathed hard, not turning back to see the witch coming behind us.

We thought we would escape. Alas! The night runner was behind us, in the thicket, and making big strides to catch up. He knew we were terrified and powerless to stop his work.

My sister was only 9, and I was 7. The fear was unexplainable, and my heart literally stopped beating. He laughed several times.

I said my last prayer. It was like we were dreaming. I breathed in and out, desperate for fresh air, but very little was realized.

On the other hand, my sister was sighing and gasping, her heart pounding loudly.
She leaned against a weak, confused, and stranded tree trunk.

Help on the way

Through a miracle, some strange footsteps were approaching our direction. Probably someone was coming to rescue us, but we weren’t sure yet. As the footsteps became louder, the night runner took another direction and fled the scene. Finally, we got a reprieve. We used the moment to replenish our oxygen and fled to school, far from where we were. When we reached school, it was still pitch dark.

Studying under the moonlight was the norm, but that day, luck eluded us as the moon retired early that night. The thought of electricity was a pipe dream. We waited in anticipation, yearning for the dawn to break, our heads heavy with exhaustion as we rested upon our desks. My sister dozed off minutes later, but I stayed awake to keep watch, lest the night runner catch up with us.

Morning arrives

When the first cockcrow finally sounded, we breathed a sigh of relief. A new morning had arrived. My sister was already awake and upbeat, ready to forget the horrible night and usher in a new dawn.

Fast-forward, and this became my infamous story: ‘The Day I Will Never Forget,’ a story that a generation of learners has written. The story I wrote during my final examinations nearly three decades ago earned me an A in composition. As soon as the results were announced, my English teacher was so excited and challenged me to consider pursuing literature or journalism should I make it to the university someday. It’s a challenge I took with open heart.

As fate would have it, after completing high school, I secured a bachelor’s degree slot at the university to study journalism. Today, I tell stories of different brands. Brand storytelling comprises a cohesive narrative that intertwines the facts and emotions your brand elicits. It has transitioned from a mere option to a necessity, essential for maximizing your business’s visibility, profit, and impact.