When the Hyena Laughs at the Moon

When the Hyena Laughs at the Moon

By  BaBa Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

They say in the old villages beyond the Baobab trees where the chickens gossip louder than the elders, and the goats know more business than the town chief there lived a hyena named Kuru. Now, Kuru wasn’t just your everyday, bone-cracking, laugh-too-loud kind of hyena. No, this one was clever. Too clever. The type to sell you your own sandals and make you thank him for the discount.

Kuru could lie so smoothly that even the parrots stopped repeating him. He'd sneak into gardens, eat all the yams, and then complain about the quality “These yams were too dry anyway!” he’d say, licking his lips. He knew how to twist truth like wet laundry. And oh, how he laughed mocking, snorting, snickering at the moon, the elders, the ancestors, and even the laws of nature.

And every time he got away with something, Kuru would prance around like he was king of the savanna. "I did it again!" he’d shout, tossing dust in the air like confetti. He thought he was untouchable like the flies wouldn’t dare land on him without booking an appointment.

But listen just because you can do it, and just because you got away with it, doesn’t mean you were supposed to. Getting away with wrong is not a reward it’s a test. A test many of us keep failing while laughing all the way to nowhere.

The Creator’s mercy is not your permission slip to misbehave.

What makes you laugh today may make the heavens frown tomorrow. And believe me, when The Creator frowns, it ain't like your grandma’s “I’m disappointed in you” face it's cosmic. Your blessings start buffering like bad Wi-Fi, and no amount of sage can clear that static.

The elders used to sit by the fire barefoot, bellies full of stew and stories and retell Kuru’s saga. They’d laugh, too, because even foolishness can be funny from a distance. One elder, Baba Tamba, would slap his knee and wheeze, “Ahhh, that Kuru! That hyena had more tricks than a market thief with slippery fingers!”

But as the fire dimmed, and the stars blinked in the silence, Baba Tamba’s face would go still. “Laugh all you want,” he’d say, “but the moon remembers. The wind records. And not even the falling of a leaf escapes the Eye that sees all.”

So the real question is: Why do we act like nobody's watching? Why do we trade eternity for ego, and our connection to The Creator for temporary clout? We shout at our brothers, ghost our sisters, justify shady behavior like it’s an art form, and then get spiritual only when things go wrong like The Creator is a backup generator.

Some of us do wrong and call it “just keeping it real.” But if “real” means reckless, selfish, and mean, maybe it’s time to keep it holy instead.

We feed our frustrations like stray dogs, then act surprised when they bite our peace. We entertain our ignorance like it’s a Netflix show season after season, no growth, just drama. And when conviction comes knocking, we hide behind phrases like, “Well, at least I’m not as bad as so-and-so.” Please. Comparing your mess to someone else’s trash doesn’t make it clean.

Now, the story says that one night, Kuru the Hyena laughed too loud and went too far he stole meat straight from the lion's den, left a note that said, “Thanks for the snack,” and moonwalked out like he owned the jungle. But that night, the moon didn’t smile. The wind didn’t blow. Even the termites stayed quiet.

And when the village woke, Kuru was gone.

Some say he ran.

Some say the ancestors caught him.

Some say he tripped over his own ego and fell into judgment.

Either way, everyone agreed on this:

The moon remembers.

So be mindful, beloved. Don't let your swagger write checks your soul can’t cash. The book of life shall be handed to you one day, and you won’t get to proofread it. No footnotes. No P.S. No “wait, let me explain…” Just you and what you did when you thought no one saw.

Walk with reverence. Speak with mercy. Laugh, yes, but not at the expense of your soul.

Because next time the hyena laughs at the moon, the moon just might laugh back.

And trust me you don’t want to be the punchline.