CHAPTER THIRTY - A NEW FRIEND.

The vibrant night carried smoke and dust as children kicked the earth in their exuberant dancing and wrestling. Children chattered to each other, giggling and laughing over new crushes and other children making fools of themselves. The festival of youth was a yearly event that Amara had only attended once. This was her second attendance, but this year she had to bring Oma as well, as if coming here last year with Nkemu was not embarrassing enough. Those two did not know how to act. They showed their class, too eager to join in and play with the children of the undistinguished and common. They could pretend a little, she thought, fiddling with her neck beads, which she had begged mother for. It had cost the family a lot of cowries, but she never asked for anything, so their mother bought her the expensive beads.  

Mother had also bought her this expensive wrapper to go with the beads; father had complained, but mother had insisted that the beads could not be worn with anything else. How she had cared for the wrapper, to the irritation of Oma and Nkemu, who had to wear the everyday-use wrapper and beads. It was not that they were even jealous; they were just irritated that she was doing so much for clothes and jewelry. Those two bush humans were savages who would not know what to do with quality ankle beads if they bit them on their skinny ankles. 

Oma's loud laughter floated towards Amara, who was keeping a tiger-focused attention on her. She had floored another of her many male admirers. The other children were treating her like a well-kept secret they were happy to have discovered. The girls who disliked her had quickly formed a hate gossip group. Amara shook her head. She had come here twice and was inconspicuous and very unknown, but one evening with this crowd of children coming of age, and of age, and Oma was already famous, with her own hate group. Who does that? She shimmered in the darkness, captured by the bonfires roaring around her. She had insisted and fought with her mother over her clothes and had won, because Mama, Father, and Auntie were on her side. This meant that while her mother spent the day styling Amara’s hair and dressing her up, Oma had spent very little time on herself; her wild hair was untamed, and her clothes were something only a boy would wear, and not the type of boy who cared about his looks, a boy like Nkemu, of course. Those two wore matching clothes; thicker than thieves, those two. Nkemu was not with his twin at the moment; he was with his new male gang, enjoying his newfound group. Amara sighed again and rested her head on her folded knees. This was supposed to be fun, but here she was, watching over her siblings to ensure they were being safe. 

Someone walked in front of Amara, covering Amara’s direct view of her siblings. She groaned and lifted her head, prepared to complain, but the complaint died in her throat. In front of her was a muscular boy her age; his charcoal-dark skin was shiny in a healthy way, telling a story of wealth and care. His hair was cropped short, close to his scalp. His clothes were of a material far richer than hers. 

“May I sit with you?” 

He asked in a variation of their language, only available to the educated and upper community and their children. Amara looked around her, as if wondering who this wealthy boy was talking to. He smiled at her and sat beside her, not waiting for her response. 

“You have been watching the girl over there, messing about and throwing herself on the ground.” 

Amara’s ears pricked up, certain that the tone of this rich boy was something that should offend her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She ignored him and returned her attention to her sister, who was laughing and enjoying herself. 

“She is silly, that one. Is she not?” 

Amara’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Who are you calling silly? If you are looking for someone to talk to, go away and find them, and please learn to mind your business.” 

Amara finished, hissing through her teeth. 

“Ha.” 

The boy said and nodded. 

“You are related to the girl.” 

Amara glared at him, her eyes attempting to incinerate him and failing terribly.  

“You look so different from her and behave so differently.” 

Amara irritably wondered who this boy was and why he was still talking to her. She decided that her best course of action would be to look away and hope that he would take the hint and leave her alone. 

“I am sorry, we started on the wrong footing. I watched you watch her, and you seemed so annoyed by her. I had misunderstood. You are probably just a concerned sibling, irritated at her sister. My sister looks at me like that all the time. I should have known better. I beg your forgiveness.” 

“You called my sister silly. She is twice whatever you will ever be and whatever you are. Who do you think you are?” 

“I said, I am sorry.” 

“And I said Go away.” 

Amara shot back at him.  

“Okay, Amara was frowning a different frown, that is not a frown about me or Oma, we would not have complained, but only the two of us are allowed to furrow her forehead like that.” 

Nkemu lowered himself to the ground, sitting on the other side of Amara. Oma eyed the boy, seizing him up, and threw herself on her sister, giggling. 

“You said something that annoyed her; it must be about me or big head Nkemu. She is, unfortunately, the only one she permits to hate us. Even our family suffers her rage when they say something that is remotely offensive about us.” 

“I made a terrible misjudgement; for that, I am sorry.” 

“No, you are not, and I don’t understand why you are still here. This village square is massive. There are bonfires everywhere. Go sit anywhere else.” 

“Amara, be nice. Whatever the rich boy said, he seems sorry about it.” 

Nkemu said, nudging Amara, who rolled her eyes at him, making a shushing sound, and she shoved him away from herself. 

“I am truly sorry. I promise. I am sorry you girl, with boys' clothing.” 

Oma’s eyes widened at what the boy had called her and guffawed. Nkemu joined her, and they both laughed. Oma wiped the tears off her eyes. 

“You are wearing wrappers our mothers would only wear once or twice in their lifetime, so that they can pass them on to us in perfect condition, to a youth festival with sweaty, smelly teenagers kicking up dust and stuffing their faces with the platter over there. I have eaten so much meat from the platter, and without an adult here to tell me to wash my hands, I haven’t. But you judge Oma for her choice of clothes? You are a silly boy.” 

The boy looked as if he were considering this and chuckled; he had a deep, throaty chuckle. His eyes gleamed as he laughed at himself, Amara noted. 

“You are right.” 

He said at last, Nkemu playfully punched him, the boy reacted as if he had a trained reflex, moving away from Nkemu’s reach seconds before Nkemu made contact. The boy did not even seem to have noticed what he had done. 

“Whoa.” 

Nkemu exclaimed. 

“That was amazing. I have been trying to train my reflexes, but only Oma has gotten the hang of them. We are trying to join the royal junior warriors, Oma and I.” 

“Oh, nice. Is that what you have brought with you to show next week at the contest?” 

The charcoal dark boy asked, and Nkemu nodded. 

“But truthfully, I wanted to wait one more year, but bossy lady here...” 

He said Bossy lady gesturing to Amara, and Amara narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Said I could not come here the second time in a row with nothing to share.” 

He continued returning Amara’s glare. 

“You did not break a sweat. I watched you throw boy after boy to the ground. The warriors would be pleased to have you. I am not sure that they let girls join, though.” 

Oma sighed exaggeratedly at the boy’s observation. 

“I told you he had no idea how to mind his business.” 

Amara said under her breath to Oma. 

“I see what you mean.” 

She replied under her breath. 

“Ignore them, they can be very testy, and they are always ganging up against me; it is nice when I am not the enemy for a change.” 

“She is very pretty, I guess I don’t mind that she is angry at me because of it.” 

The boy said and winked at Amara. 

“Yuck.” 

All three of them said in unison, laughing at the boy, and the boy laughed as well. Amara thought that he had no trouble laughing at himself, for someone who was evidently from an important family. 

“So, what are you showing at the contest?” 

The boy asked Amara. Amara did not like the way his eyes stayed on her, even when he was not speaking to her, or the way his perfectly manicured hand moved as he spoke. What she hated the most was how she kept looking at them. He had a scar running through his right palm. She wondered how he had gotten the scar, and she hated that she was curious about it. 

“You answer first.” 

She told him. He shrugged. 

“Fine.” 

He said, his eyes staying on her. 

“I don’t know what I am showing at the contest.” 

“Of course you don’t. Your servants must have done all the work for you.” 

The boy raised his eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes and looked away. 

“Be nice, Amara. How many wealthy friends do we have? Actually, how many friends do we have come to think of it? It’s always just the three of us.” 

Nkemu nodded at the boy apologetically. 

“Sorry about my sister. I am Nkemu, the meanie is Amara, and the wild one is Oma.” 

Nkemu pointed to his cousins as he introduced them by name. Oma and Amara gave him a withering stare that he ignored and continued talking to the boy. 

“What is your name?” 

He asked the boy. 

“Ike.” 

The boy answered. 

“I already knew Oma’s name; everyone does. Look at how many people are staring at us. I am certain it is solely because of her. She is something of a celebrity, and it is only the first night of the festival.” 

“Fine, you can join our group, you did not have to speak so sweetly about me.” 

Oma laughed, acknowledging her newfound fame. She looked over at a boy staring adoringly at her and smiled at him. He immediately fell to the ground in a mock swoon, holding his hand to his heart. Oma giggled at him. 

“Her head is already big; she does not need you to make it any bigger. Look at her huge hair. She is showing her archery skills for the festival and would be even more famous for it.” 

Nkemu said. 

“Ahh, you are? Any good at archery?” 

“Why would you ask her that? Of course she is. The only person in our age group that can best her is Prince Ezebuike.” 

Amara told him. He raised his hand in surrender, pursing his lips. 

“You do not only floor boys, but you are going head-to-head with the prince. Have you ever met him?” 

“No.” 

Oma answered, frowning. 

“Where do you live? Of course, no one has seen him. He should have come out last year, because that was when he came of age, but he is the palace’s best-kept secret.” 

Nkemu looked wistful as he spoke, as if he would have loved to meet the prince. Amara had the same look on her face. 

“I heard he is very handsome. He must be shy. I wish he would come out, though.” 

Amara said in a dreamy voice only a teenage girl could use. 

“Why? So he would take one look at you across the bonfire and fall in love, because you fill him with a deep desire to get close to you?” 

Oma asked her sister. Amara slapped her huge hair and mouthed, "Mind your business." 

“You don’t know, maybe he already has.” 

Ike told them, and they all three looked at him and laughed. 

“You never know, right?” 

Nkemu managed to say between laughter. He shoved Amara, who pushed him back. 

“Imagine the chances of that actually happening.” 

She hollered. Oma chuckled, watching Ike. He stared back, his gaze full of curiosity.