A Tale of Amara

this story is set in modern day Nigeria.

A TALE OF AMARA

Have you ever witnessed the death of love? Amara had seen it at

least three times. The first time, she was only 13. She was young,

innocent and in the cusp of femininity.

As the last of four kids (younger than her youngest sibling by 5

years), Amara was always considered a baby, many a times they

forgot that she was not too young that she could not read the hidden

meanings of their cryptic sentences, or think hard and long enough on

their senior jokes that she could not figure it out. While her elder

siblings were all in university, her parents drew swords fashioned

with words and they dueled ceaselessly. Things were said to her

hearing, things that should never have been heard, at least not by one

so young. When her parents divorced, she was the least surprised; I

mean, what 13 year old would be surprised when big words like,

“Philanderer” and “Despicable” were tossed around like chocolate on

Valentine’s day. Who would stay surprised when the dueling duo

ended their fights not because they were done with the quarrel but

because the fighters ran out of steam? Well, Amara was not surprised,

if anything, she was happy. No more fighting.

The second time, she was 17. Her boyish hips and budding breasts

grew and filled out. She grew tall and beautiful save for the random

spots of acne, pimples or black heads on her face. While she was

neither the prettiest nor tallest of the three girls in her family, her

sisters resented her for some reason. Try as she might, she could not

place a finger on it. She always assumed it was because she had

chosen to stay and take care of her father when every other sibling

went with their mother.

Yes, for four years she had lived a life of relative luxury, it had been

no bed of roses either. Their father was a strict task master whose

gifts were as legendary as his wrath. Like any other strict Ruler

would, Amara was given a set of rules to follow. Of the many rules

and laws, three stood unshakable:

No staying out after 8:30 pm.

No cigarettes or alcohol till after she was super old like maybe 20.

No lies.

These laws were simple enough to follow, and for the most part, she

did. However when she was 15, she managed to break all three on the

same day.

She went out with her friends and somehow, alcohol and cigarettes

were shared and she’d gotten home late. He tried to be considerate

and didn’t ask why she’d gotten home an hour after her curfew, he

only wanted to know why she stank like a brewery. Her reply was that

someone had poured some drinks on her. He laced her diminutive,

swaying body over his thighs, dragged her shorts and panties down

and shined her derriere but good. Her sit-spots were so bruised she

couldn’t sit properly for most of the weekend.

Even at 17, it wasn’t beyond him to lace him across her thighs and

shine her heart shaped, bubble butt if she steps out of line. Her

sisters knew this, yet they insisted that she was “living the life”.

But I digress...

When she was 17, her brother (the eldest of the four), the one sibling

she was close to, who loved her like the sun and the moon rose on

her face (probably another reason why her sisters resented her), was

engaged to be married.

Kosarachi or Kosi was a straight up pretty lady with a body that

evoked primal passions in men and women. Men wanted to bed her,

and the women who didn’t want to bed her wanted to kill her. And

somehow, this beautiful woman was in love with her brother - Her

handsome brother who she had crushed on for the longest time. It

didn’t matter that she was ten years younger than he was, or that

they were brother and sister. He looked like a model and he was nice

to her and always quick to come to her aid; be it from their father who

had taken to touching her in very sacred places in less than sacred

ways or from her resenting sisters who were always in a hurry to

make her feel worthless. He was always in her corner, a knight of

valour, ready to protect her innocence and his lady, Kosi, was always

there right by his side. In her eyes, no two people were more in love

or suited for each other than Kosi & Kene.

So you can imagine her surprise when two months away from their

wedding, they separated.

“What happened?” she had asked her almost sister-in-law over the

phone.

“Ask your brother!”

“But... you love him”

“Not anymore”, came a cold reply.

Her sisters looked at her like a blood sucking succubus when she’d

asked them for answers. Not that that surprised her anyways. She

sought her answers from the horse’s mouth instead.

He just lay on the couch of his apartment, a half empty bottle of

Johnny Walker’s “Blue Label” was clutched in his hand as tears

streamed down his face. He looked small and defeated and broken

and dejected. Her heart bled for him so she ran to his side and threw

her arms around his torso and held onto him. She had no words to

console him by so she just stayed with him in his moment of need.

He cried some more and poured them both a tot of his Blue Label.

“What happened brother?” she had asked when he looked like he was

well enough to talk again. He only smiled, kissed her on the forehead

and said;

“Some things are best left unsaid”.

So she kept her mouth shut and stayed by his side till he could take

care of himself.

* * *

The next time she witnessed this death of love, it left her near

heartless...

To be continued.