Editor’s Note: This piece contains some adult content and may not be suitable for younger readers.
Womanhood
By Grace Davis
The sun was rising on the vast plains of the Nigerian desert, where underneath the golden sun-lit sky, people of the near-by Kilboko village were fully awake, already taking advantage of the day’s new light. Two huts down from the sacred place of worship, a middle-aged African woman labored diligently outside her small home. She was quick to tend to the goats and even more quick to fetch the water from the nearby river in preparation for the morning’s daja (breakfast). Normally, this wasn’t her job, however, on such an occasion as this she was in good spirits and didn’t seem to mind doing the favor. She then brought the water inside to Enu for her to finish the task of starting breakfast as she had many other chores to attend to.
Enu was the older of her two daughters, soon to enter her early teens, who had velvet-like milk chocolate skin with visibly no imperfections. A beauty she was from the outside, although her radiant and seemingly confident exterior did not match what lay beneath. Enu had a kind heart; however, the sparkle in her eye that once existed when she was a child was no longer present. “Thank you, Aka,” Enu spoke quietly as she took the pail of water from her mother’s hands and gingerly leaned over to place the metal pitcher on the fire. Aka did not stay and linger and was immediately out the door again moving along quickly to her next chore.
Nikah, Enu’s grand-mother, who lived with the family, sat next to her grand-daughter in the crowded clay hut humming an old African tune while sharpening the stone Pappa had found the day before. She was in a state of deep concentration and was meticulous in her work, as she often was.
Enu’s eyes wandered across to the corner of the hut where she painfully watched a tiny girl curled up peacefully on the cot. The girl’s name was Amara. She was Enu’s sister and was, at age seven, the youngest of the family. Being Amara’s special day, she was allowed to sleep a tad later than usual.
Within moments, the rhythmic beat of tribal drums could be heard outside in the village. It started as a faint rumble, but grew increasingly louder as it progressed. They were being played by the other extended family members of Amara, to spread the word to the village. This particular beat was a sound recognizable to anyone living in the village. It was an anthem belonging to the event that was to occur that day.
Back inside the hut, Amara’s brown eye lashes fluttered open as she was awakened by the murmured beat of the drums. With a burst of energy, Amara let loose the biggest smile with the joy of another day. Lifting her small head, she noticed her sister and her Nikah immediately. She hoped off her cot, skipped over to greet them, and planted a kiss on each of their foreheads.
“Ge bocho!” (“good morning!”) she said.
Dancing out of the house with her bare feet on the dirt floor she twirled right into her brother.
“Dayo!” she squealed, and jumped right into his outstretched arms. Dayo was much older than both Amara and Enu. Living now a few huts down, he was over merely for the occasion.
“Little Amara,” he said, swinging her around. “How big you get each day!” “Pretty soon,” he said, “you can beat up on me!”
“That doesn’t say a lot,” said a voice coming up from behind them. Then turned around to see their father.
“Hey!” shouted Dayo, and the three of them laughed. Amara slid down from Dayo’s arms.
“Good morning, Pappa,” said Amara cheerfully. After exchanging hugs, Pappa patted the small of her back.
“Alright now,” he said, “be a good girl and go get those eggs for breakfast,”
Amara scampered off through the village laughing as she went.
When she returned she ran in the hut to find everyone standing there waiting for her.
“Today,” said Aka, “you will no longer be a girl. Today you become a woman.”
Amara could see her sister Enu in the corner of her eye. Amara saw she was crying but she didn’t know why. Within moments, Amara felt the hands of her family members on her. They were gripping tightly; bringing her down to the dirt floor. Her legs were unwillingly spread apart and she saw her grandmother holding the stone she had been sharpening earlier. Amara, terrified and confused, looked over again to see Enu who mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” to her sister.
Soon Amara felt tears running down her eyes, too. A yelp escaped her lips and pierced the air. Her sister watched; there was nothing either of them could do. She cried knowing they were leaving her sister bereft of the joys of womanhood she knew neither of them would experience, ever.
The views and opinions in the Enterprise blogs are those of the author and are not neccessarily shared by Falmouth Publishing.
