The Crooked Mirror Beneath the Baobab

The Crooked Mirror Beneath the Baobab

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

There is a Yoruba proverb that says, “He who throws mud loses ground.” It reminds us that in the act of soiling others, we ourselves sink. Yet we live in a world where judgment has become second nature where many speak not from the light of understanding but from the shadows of their wounds. And the most tragic part is that most don’t even know they’re doing it.

In the heart of a sacred village nestled beneath the gaze of ancestral mountains, there lived an elder known as Baba Obasi. He was a man of few words and deep sight, a keeper of ancient wisdom and a servant of Orí the divine inner head, the soul’s compass. Outside his hut, beneath a towering baobab tree the Tree of Life Baba Obasi placed a mirror. But this was no ordinary mirror. Its frame was carved with cowrie shells, beaten brass, and wood darkened by time. The mirror itself was warped, curving like a snake in motion, and anyone who looked into it saw a twisted reflection misshaped, uneven, confusing.

The villagers would stop, stare, frown, then laugh or complain. “This mirror lies!” some said. Others whispered, “Is this how the spirits see me?” But Baba Obasi would only smile, eyes like slow-burning fire, and reply, “The mirror only shows what is already inside.”

One day, a young man named Duma, known for his sharp tongue and quick scorn, marched up to the mirror and laughed. “Look at these fools, believing in a bent piece of glass.” He turned to Obasi and said, “That mirror is cursed. It makes everyone look foolish.”

Baba Obasi motioned for him to sit on the carved stool beside the tree. “Duma,” he said, “you see foolishness because you expect it. You speak of ugliness because you feel it in yourself. This mirror is sacred it reflects not the body, but the spirit’s posture.”

You see, the real lesson was not about glass and reflection, but about vision and projection. Just like Duma, many of us judge others not because they are wrong but because we are unresolved. We become critics out of our own unmet hunger, our silent shame, our inherited pain. We don’t realize that every harsh word, every rolled eye, every whispered insult is not just an attack on another, but a flare from our own unhealed soul.

We judge out of frustration when life doesn’t move how we wish.

We judge out of anger when we’ve been betrayed and never truly grieved.

We judge out of ignorance when we’ve never walked in another’s sandals.

We judge out of arrogance when we think we are above the very people we were sent to love.

And most dangerously we judge out of the ache of not loving ourselves.

The Orí, our divine self, sees clearly. But the ego? It distorts. It blames. It projects. The ancestors teach that to know yourself is to humble yourself. That before you call someone broken, ask: “Am I whole?” Before you call someone lost, ask: “Have I truly found my path?” The truth is, when we dislike others, it's often because they mirror parts of us we have yet to bless or forgive.

That woman we call “too loud”? Maybe she carries the voice we were never allowed to use.

That man we call “too arrogant”? Perhaps he walks in a confidence we were told to shrink.

That person we label “unworthy”? Could it be that we still doubt our own worth?

There is no spiritual power in judgment it is a poverty of the soul. And when we judge others, we cancel our own prayers, because judgment is a wall that blocks divine flow. Asé, the sacred life force, cannot move freely through a heart clogged with disdain.

And often, our judgments don’t just hurt the one we’re judging they ripple outward. Homes break. Children carry burdens they don’t understand. Communities fracture. That’s why the elders also say, “When elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.” When the mighty rage in pride and pain, it is the tender and innocent who are trampled. And many of us are still that grass suffering from battles we didn’t start, from words thrown in rooms we weren’t even in. And unknowingly, we become elephants ourselves judging, reacting, and trampling others with our wounded feet.

Baba Obasi often said, “To judge a tree by the bend of its trunk is to forget how the wind once blew.” Everyone is shaped by winds we cannot see traumas, betrayals, abandonments, secret battles. Only the Supreme Source, sees the full path. So why do we act like gods when we have not even mastered our own breath?

If we are to live rightly in alignment with spirit, ancestors, and self we must clean the mirrors within us. We must learn to pause before we speak, breathe before we blame, and ask before we assume. The real spiritual work is not in correcting others it’s in correcting our vision.

When we allow the Holy One to heal our inner wounds, our sight changes. We no longer see threats we see stories. We no longer see enemies we see extensions of our own journey. We become patient where we used to be petty. We become kind where we used to be cruel. And most of all, we become free.

One by one, the villagers began to understand. They no longer laughed at the mirror. They began to sit with it. Mothers brought their children. Warriors sat quietly. Daughters came with tears. And Baba Obasi never stopped watching, never stopped offering water from his calabash for the healing of the people.

So next time judgment rises like smoke in your chest, remember:

“He who throws mud loses ground.”

“When elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.”

Let your soul become a mirror straightened by grace, polished by humility, and framed in love. Then and only then will you see others not as twisted reflections but as sacred beings, walking home just like you.