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.