The Rat Who Wanted to Eat the Sky
⸻
In the lowlands of Uvoko, where millet grew tall and fruit trees leaned with sweetness, lived a rat named Diga. He was small, fast, and full of wild ideas.
But of all his dreams, one was the strangest:
He wanted to eat the sky.
“I will nibble the clouds,” he said.
“I will chew the stars like maize.”
“I will swallow the moon and save the sun for dessert.”
The other animals laughed.
“The sky is not food,” said the tortoise.
“You barely reach the mango branch!” cackled the parrot.
“Dream smaller,” sighed his cousin.
But Diga didn’t care. He believed hunger wasn’t just for the stomach—it was for wonder.
So he built.
He gathered bamboo and vines, old calabash shells and woven baskets.
He stacked and tied, climbed and fell, mended and rose.
Soon, a towering pillar spiraled into the clouds, shaking with every breeze.
The animals watched from below, jaws open.
“He’s going to do it,” they whispered.
“He’s going to bite the sky.”
Diga climbed for days.
He passed birds. Surprised bats. Even caught a glimpse of the moon, who blinked nervously.
At last, he reached the top—and opened his mouth.
But as he bit into the sky, something strange happened.
It didn’t taste like anything.
It didn’t break.
It didn’t fear him.
Instead, the sky whispered, “You have come far, but not for food.”
Diga blinked. “Then… why did I come?”
“To remember that some hungers are not for filling—but for feeling,” the sky answered.
And in that moment, Diga understood.
He didn’t want to eat the sky.
He wanted to touch it.
To know it.
To believe he could reach something no one thought he could.
He smiled, turned around, and began his descent.
When he reached the ground, the animals waited.
“Did you eat it?” they asked.
“No,” he said. “I tasted something better.”
“Like what?”
“Like belief.”
From that day on, Diga didn’t climb the sky. He taught others to dream instead.
And whenever a young animal doubted themselves, they were told the tale of the rat who almost swallowed the heavens—but chose wonder instead.
⸻
3 Moral Lessons:
1. Not all dreams are meant to be achieved—some are meant to stretch you.
Diga’s climb wasn’t about conquering, but growing.
2. It’s okay to dream big, even if others laugh.
Diga’s boldness inspired a forest that once mocked him.
3. What you seek may not be the answer—but the journey to it is.
Diga’s hunger led him not to food, but to faith.
⸻
⸻
In the lowlands of Uvoko, where millet grew tall and fruit trees leaned with sweetness, lived a rat named Diga. He was small, fast, and full of wild ideas.
But of all his dreams, one was the strangest:
He wanted to eat the sky.
“I will nibble the clouds,” he said.
“I will chew the stars like maize.”
“I will swallow the moon and save the sun for dessert.”
The other animals laughed.
“The sky is not food,” said the tortoise.
“You barely reach the mango branch!” cackled the parrot.
“Dream smaller,” sighed his cousin.
But Diga didn’t care. He believed hunger wasn’t just for the stomach—it was for wonder.
So he built.
He gathered bamboo and vines, old calabash shells and woven baskets.
He stacked and tied, climbed and fell, mended and rose.
Soon, a towering pillar spiraled into the clouds, shaking with every breeze.
The animals watched from below, jaws open.
“He’s going to do it,” they whispered.
“He’s going to bite the sky.”
Diga climbed for days.
He passed birds. Surprised bats. Even caught a glimpse of the moon, who blinked nervously.
At last, he reached the top—and opened his mouth.
But as he bit into the sky, something strange happened.
It didn’t taste like anything.
It didn’t break.
It didn’t fear him.
Instead, the sky whispered, “You have come far, but not for food.”
Diga blinked. “Then… why did I come?”
“To remember that some hungers are not for filling—but for feeling,” the sky answered.
And in that moment, Diga understood.
He didn’t want to eat the sky.
He wanted to touch it.
To know it.
To believe he could reach something no one thought he could.
He smiled, turned around, and began his descent.
When he reached the ground, the animals waited.
“Did you eat it?” they asked.
“No,” he said. “I tasted something better.”
“Like what?”
“Like belief.”
From that day on, Diga didn’t climb the sky. He taught others to dream instead.
And whenever a young animal doubted themselves, they were told the tale of the rat who almost swallowed the heavens—but chose wonder instead.
⸻
3 Moral Lessons:
1. Not all dreams are meant to be achieved—some are meant to stretch you.
Diga’s climb wasn’t about conquering, but growing.
2. It’s okay to dream big, even if others laugh.
Diga’s boldness inspired a forest that once mocked him.
3. What you seek may not be the answer—but the journey to it is.
Diga’s hunger led him not to food, but to faith.
⸻
The Rat Who Wanted to Eat the Sky
⸻
In the lowlands of Uvoko, where millet grew tall and fruit trees leaned with sweetness, lived a rat named Diga. He was small, fast, and full of wild ideas.
But of all his dreams, one was the strangest:
He wanted to eat the sky.
“I will nibble the clouds,” he said.
“I will chew the stars like maize.”
“I will swallow the moon and save the sun for dessert.”
The other animals laughed.
“The sky is not food,” said the tortoise.
“You barely reach the mango branch!” cackled the parrot.
“Dream smaller,” sighed his cousin.
But Diga didn’t care. He believed hunger wasn’t just for the stomach—it was for wonder.
So he built.
He gathered bamboo and vines, old calabash shells and woven baskets.
He stacked and tied, climbed and fell, mended and rose.
Soon, a towering pillar spiraled into the clouds, shaking with every breeze.
The animals watched from below, jaws open.
“He’s going to do it,” they whispered.
“He’s going to bite the sky.”
Diga climbed for days.
He passed birds. Surprised bats. Even caught a glimpse of the moon, who blinked nervously.
At last, he reached the top—and opened his mouth.
But as he bit into the sky, something strange happened.
It didn’t taste like anything.
It didn’t break.
It didn’t fear him.
Instead, the sky whispered, “You have come far, but not for food.”
Diga blinked. “Then… why did I come?”
“To remember that some hungers are not for filling—but for feeling,” the sky answered.
And in that moment, Diga understood.
He didn’t want to eat the sky.
He wanted to touch it.
To know it.
To believe he could reach something no one thought he could.
He smiled, turned around, and began his descent.
When he reached the ground, the animals waited.
“Did you eat it?” they asked.
“No,” he said. “I tasted something better.”
“Like what?”
“Like belief.”
From that day on, Diga didn’t climb the sky. He taught others to dream instead.
And whenever a young animal doubted themselves, they were told the tale of the rat who almost swallowed the heavens—but chose wonder instead.
⸻
3 Moral Lessons:
1. Not all dreams are meant to be achieved—some are meant to stretch you.
Diga’s climb wasn’t about conquering, but growing.
2. It’s okay to dream big, even if others laugh.
Diga’s boldness inspired a forest that once mocked him.
3. What you seek may not be the answer—but the journey to it is.
Diga’s hunger led him not to food, but to faith.
⸻
