Oyedike trudged reluctantly past his school, his satchel swinging idly from his shoulder, eyeing the games and distractions that always seemed more appealing than lessons. His parents watched anxiously from their doorway, their faces marked by worry as they saw him wander toward the market once again.

"OH, why is this charcoal so black? Everything in this world is colourful; birds, flowers, houses. But this poor charcoal, why can't it be white? I must help it to become white," Oyedike mused aloud, his voice echoing with childlike wonder.

Villager, a middle-aged man with a lively twinkle in his eye, steps closer, intrigued. "Oyedike, what are you talking to?" "Brother, look at this poor charcoal. It is so black! Can you tell me how I can make it white?" "Certainly you can. It's quite simple. Just wash it with milk and it will become white," the villager replies, barely concealing his laughter.

Oyedike dips the charcoal into the milk, vigorously rubbing it with his hands, hopeful that the darkness will fade. The milkman, a burly figure with a gentle face, watches in stunned silence, his brow furrowing as the milk turns murky and gray.

"Brother, this poor charcoal is so black! Why should it be like this? I want to make it white," Milkman, wiping tears from his eyes, leans in. "This is not the way to wash off its black colour. You must scrub it with soap and water. Only then will its blackness go, and it will be clean,"

Oyedike resolved to return to school, his curiosity now tempered with the humility and humor of his adventure, ready to seek answers in the classroom as well as on the winding roads of his village.