The Mysterious Baobab Grove

The Forgotten Journal

Diogo Matias sat hunched over his desk in Luanda, surrounded by stacks of old books and faded maps. The scent of aged paper filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee gone cold. His fingers trembled as they turned the delicate pages of a leather-bound journal, its edges worn by time.

The journal belonged to Gaspar Mendes, a Portuguese explorer who had vanished somewhere in southern Angola in the early 19th century. His final entries spoke of something extraordinary—a grove of ancient baobab trees unlike any in the world.

*"The trees are not merely trees. They are the gatekeepers of something far older than man. In their bark, the past is written. In their roots, the future waits. I have seen what lies beyond the threshold, and I now understand… Time is not what we believe it to be."*

Diogo felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He had heard legends of the grove before, but nothing like this. Mendes’ descriptions were eerily similar to the trees near Calueque, a remote village near the Kunene River. Could it be the same place?

He leaned back in his chair, staring at a faded sketch of the grove. He knew what he had to do.

The Road to Calueque

The journey to Calueque was not an easy one. The roads were rough, winding through the dry, rugged landscape of southern Angola. The sun burned high in the sky, and the dust kicked up by their truck clung to everything.

Diogo had enlisted the help of two trusted companions—Marta Nzinga, a historian specializing in ancient African cultures, and Rui Kalunga, a skilled tracker who knew the wilderness better than anyone.

As they drove deeper into the countryside, Marta turned to Diogo, her sharp eyes scanning the journal. "You really believe this Mendes guy? That there’s something out there beyond just some old trees?"

Diogo nodded. "There has to be. The way he describes the grove… It doesn’t sound like any ordinary forest."

Rui, who had been silent for most of the ride, finally spoke. "I’ve heard stories about that place. The locals say the trees can speak. That they hold memories of the past." He glanced at Diogo. "You really think we should be messing with something like that?"

Diogo met his gaze. "I don’t think we have a choice. If what Mendes wrote is true, this could be one of the greatest discoveries in history."

The truck rumbled to a stop as they reached Calueque. The villagers watched them with wary eyes. When Diogo asked about the grove, many turned away in silence.

An elderly woman, her face etched with the lines of time, finally spoke. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. *"The grove does not like outsiders. Be careful, or it may not let you leave."*

Diogo swallowed hard.

They had come too far to turn back now.

Into the Grove

The moment they stepped into the grove, the air changed.

The oppressive heat of the sun vanished, replaced by an eerie coolness. A thick silence hung in the air—no rustling leaves, no chirping birds, nothing but their own cautious footsteps.

The baobabs were unlike anything they had ever seen. Their trunks were massive, their gnarled roots twisting and curling into the earth like ancient fingers. Strange markings covered the bark, symbols that Marta immediately began sketching.

"This… this isn’t any known language," she murmured. "It’s older than anything I’ve studied."

Rui’s hand drifted to the machete at his belt. "I don’t like this. Feels like we’re being watched."

Then, the wind shifted.

A deep, low whisper seemed to rise from the trees themselves.

Diogo took a step forward, heart pounding. That was when he saw it—a split in one of the baobabs, forming a narrow passageway leading into darkness.

As if it had been waiting for them.

Through the Portal

Diogo’s breath caught in his throat. He turned to Marta and Rui. "This is it."

Rui shook his head. "This is madness."

Diogo ignored him. He reached out and touched the inside of the tree.

The moment his fingers met the bark, the world exploded with light.

The grove disappeared.

They were somewhere else.

The air smelled different, rich with the scent of earth and fire. The sky had a golden hue, unlike anything they had ever seen. In the distance, a village of round huts stood, people moving about in traditional garments.

"This isn’t possible," Marta whispered. "This is... the past."

A voice behind them made them freeze.

"You have entered the realm of the Ancestors."

They turned.

A man stood before them, his eyes glowing like molten gold. He wore a robe woven with symbols identical to those on the trees. His presence was overwhelming, as if he belonged to the very fabric of time itself.

"You seek knowledge," he said. "But knowledge has a price."

Diogo stepped forward. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "I am the Keeper of the Baobabs. And you have much to learn."

The Choice

For hours—or was it days?—the Keeper showed them a time long forgotten. A civilization that had mastered time itself, using the baobabs as conduits to store history, to teach, to warn.

But power breeds greed. Their knowledge was misused, wars were waged, and the trees sealed themselves away, guarding the wisdom of the past from those who would corrupt it.

"You now carry the truth," the Keeper said. "What will you do with it?"

Diogo hesitated. If the world knew what they had discovered, everything would change.

Marta placed a hand on his shoulder. "We must preserve it, but not exploit it."

Diogo exhaled. "We will protect the secret, but we will not let history forget."

The Keeper nodded. "Then the Ancestors are at peace."

A burst of light engulfed them.

When they opened their eyes, they were back in the grove. The passage in the tree had vanished.

No one would ever believe them.

But they knew the truth.

And that was enough.

The End.