Once upon a time, in a lively village where mornings smelled of roasted corn and laughter echoed between mud houses, there lived a child named Kito. Kito was known for two things: his quick feet and his quicker smile. Whenever Market Day arrived, Kito was the first child awake and the last to leave the square.
Market Day was not just a day—it was an event.
Drums beat from dawn. Women spread bright cloths on wooden tables. Men shouted prices with playful pride. Goats bleated, chickens flapped, and children ran between stalls like excited birds.
This particular Market Day felt special.
Kito’s mother handed him a small woven basket filled with groundnut cakes and said, “Kito, today you will help me sell. Remember, each cake is two cowrie shells. Not one more, not one less.”
Kito nodded eagerly. He liked responsibility. It made him feel grown.
“And Kito,” his mother added, kneeling to his height, “promise me you will be honest. Even when no one is watching.”
“I promise,” Kito said proudly.
His mother smiled and returned to arranging cloth at her stall.
At first, everything went well.
Kito greeted customers cheerfully.
“Good morning!”
“Two cowries, please!”
“Thank you!”
His basket slowly grew lighter, while the small pouch at his waist grew heavier with cowrie shells. Kito felt important. People trusted him.
Then something happened.
A wealthy-looking trader from another village stopped at Kito’s basket. His robe was fine, his sandals clean, and his fingers heavy with rings.
“How much?” the man asked, barely looking.
“Two cowrie shells,” Kito replied.
The man dropped three cowries into Kito’s hand and turned away.
Kito froze.
Three cowries.
His heart beat faster.
The man had already moved on. No one noticed. The market was loud. The drums were beating. The chance sat warm in Kito’s palm.
“It’s just one extra,” Kito thought.
“He won’t miss it.”
“I didn’t even ask for it.”
Kito hesitated… then slipped the extra cowrie into his pouch.
Nothing happened.
No thunder.
No shouting.
No one pointed.
Kito felt a strange mix of excitement and unease.
As the sun climbed higher, more customers came. Some were in a hurry. Some were distracted. Once, a woman gave him four cowries instead of two.
Again, Kito paused.
Again, he kept the extra.
Soon, Kito realized something dangerous.
Cheating was easy.
By midday, his pouch felt heavier than it should. He counted quickly and smiled.
“I’m good at this,” he told himself. “Very good.”
Then came Ayo.
Ayo was Kito’s friend—quiet, observant, and thoughtful. He stopped by the basket and watched Kito sell for a while.
“You’re doing well,” Ayo said.
Kito grinned. “I know.”
Ayo tilted his head. “Your pouch looks very full.”
Kito laughed nervously. “Market Day luck.”
Ayo looked at him closely but said nothing.
Later that afternoon, trouble arrived wearing a calm face.
An elderly woman approached slowly, leaning on a stick. Her hands shook as she counted cowrie shells.
“One… two…” She frowned. “Ah.”
She looked up at Kito. “Child, I think I gave you too many.”
Kito’s heart thumped.
She had given him three cowries.
This time, she was watching.
The market suddenly felt very quiet to Kito, even though it wasn’t. His promise echoed in his ears.
Be honest. Even when no one is watching.
But someone was watching now.
Kito swallowed.
He thought of his heavy pouch.
He thought of how proud he felt.
He thought of how easy it would be to say nothing.
The old woman waited.
Kito opened his hand and slowly returned one cowrie.
“You gave me too much,” he said softly.
Her face lit up like morning sun.
“Thank you, child,” she said. “Honesty is rarer than gold.”
As she walked away, something unexpected happened.
People noticed.
The woman spoke to the next customer.
That customer spoke to another.
Whispers moved faster than Kito’s feet ever could.
“That child is honest.”
“He returned extra money.”
“You can trust him.”
Soon, more customers came—not fewer.
By sunset, Kito’s basket was empty.
His pouch was full—but this time, it felt different.
As the market closed, Kito’s mother returned.
“Well done,” she said. “Let’s count.”
They counted together.
The number was correct.
Exactly correct.
Kito felt his face burn.
He could have had more.
But as he looked around, he saw something else.
People waved at him.
The elderly woman smiled from afar.
Ayo nodded at him with quiet approval.
That night, Kito lay awake.
The extra cowries he had kept earlier felt heavy in his thoughts.
The next morning, Kito made a decision.
He went to his mother.
“Mama,” he said, “I have something to tell you.”
He opened his pouch and placed the extra cowries in her hand.
“I didn’t keep my promise all day,” he admitted.
His mother looked at him for a long moment. Then she closed his fingers around the cowries.
“You did something harder,” she said. “You chose to tell the truth.”
That week, when Market Day returned, something surprising happened.
Kito was asked to help more.
Soon, people trusted him with cloth, grain, and even change. Years later, when Kito grew older, he became known as the most trusted trader in the village.
And it all started with one choice.
Lesson Learned
Integrity means doing the right thing even when you could get away with doing the wrong thing. Money gained dishonestly brings worry, but honesty builds trust, respect, and lasting success.
Question for Children:
What would you have done if no one was watching?
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