Chapter 1

1800, Somewhere in West Africa.

Anxious bare feet thud through the winding paths of trees and shrubs that encompass the village.

The bright moon, the only light that illuminates the thick forest. The jangling of beads, is supposed to be heard from these feet. Deep red henna is supposed to equally adorn these feet, depicting a symbol of royalty and radiance.

But not tonight. Tonight is to find the only one who can give refuge, the only one who can give refuge to a troubled heart.

Queen Ayanti clutches tightly to the tiny bundle in her hands. She has traded in her royal clothes and jewels of gold, coral and ivory, for worn out clothes and a big woven cloth.

Swaying slightly from the ordeal she has endured three days ago, her womanhood still bleeding. Soaking the ragged pieces in her womanhood.

Her chest burns from running. Her heart beats fast from fear of getting caught. The sound of the night envelopes her. The chirping of night insects around her. The figures of the surrounding trees, form foreboding shadows, looming eerily around her.

Yet, the Queen isn’t deterred. She is determined to get as far from the danger that threatens her. A piercing cry breaks through the night within her left arm and Ayanti startles, lowering her eyes to the bundle.

Instantly, she slows, turning to a nearby tree. The darkness, her shelter. As she opens the crying bundle in her left hand, a lurking tear suddenly slips down her eye, falling unto the scrunched up face.

The tiny face of one of her twin baby girls. Actually the only surviving twin. A small smile plays on her lips as she lowers the small piece of wrapper wound around her chest that forms a make shift bustier. Pushing the nipple of one of her breasts into her baby’s mouth.

And the crying stops, the forest returning to its natural calm.

As the sucking sounds tear through the night, Ayanti leans her head against the rough tree bark, allowing the dread of the past few hours’ ebb away. The tears gushing down her eyes. Pain tears through her heart.

Three days ago, Queen Ayanti of Okobong village gave birth to a pair of beautiful twin girls. The entire village in anticipation of the birth immediately her travail was announced.

King Usen, her husband ordered food and expensive raffia wine for everyone.

Good cheer, spread wide for the long awaited heir to the kingdom was to be born. A throne that had been deprived of the cry of a child since the king first married his first wife, Queen Ayanti, 12 years ago.

A marriage once filled with love and loyalty in the first few years of marital bliss.

But such love never lasted for royals in the Okobong village, because the royals had a duty to uphold.

A duty to the throne. To produce an heir. And the moment these duties weren’t fulfilled, the person became a failure.

Sadly, after two years, the marriage lost all its savor because of the Queen’s failure to produce a child.

As a result, the King was pressured by his chiefs to take another wife. An announcement, which he dreadfully made to the Queen.

Pain crushing them both as they accepted the inevitable.

The king regretfully took another wife and bedded her, to fulfil his duties. Forcing his beloved wife, Ayanti to share his heart and his body.

Unfortunately, neither Queen Ayanti, nor the second wife, nor the seven other wives he was made to take, gave him a child.

Rather another ten years passed, before a child came.

A child with Queen Ayanti.

A few hours of rigorous, agonizing labor and Queen Ayanti finally breathed a sigh of relief as the cry of a baby tore through the dimly lit hut.

Exhaustion washing over her. The Head royal midwife smiled in triumph as she cooed the baby, drawing the baby up close to the oil lamp, inspecting the toes and fingers and other body parts.

Once she was satisfied, she carried the baby in her arms and danced out of the hut, making the ukwaa sound of joy, to announce to her King the birth of his baby.

Leaving a rookie midwife to see to the Queen.

Only the king had the authority to have first look of his child, before the mother was given the child.

But as the midwife came into full light outside the hut, the baby in her hand, she slowed her steps, horrified.

The baby’s true form more vivid.

The King rushed towards her, his hands fully stretched to receive the baby. But the ashen face of the midwife worried him and he followed her gaze.

Drawing closer, confusion in his eyes, the king saw for himself.

The naked baby inside her arms was as fair faced as the Europeans from Portugal, trading in his Kingdom. The hair as silky as theirs.

King Usen allowed his eyes travel over the sleeping baby, horror filling his expression.

“What sort of joke is this, midwife?” The King asked in the local dialect.

The midwife shook in fear as she stared vacantly at the king. At that moment, a grave cry was heard from inside the Queen’s hut and the midwife hastily rushed inside the room, handing the baby to her apprentice, while she looked at the Queen.

The King walked inside the hut, still cross, but the midwife respectfully asked him to exit the hut. No man in the Kingdom was ever to see a woman in this manner. A grave taboo in the land. One appeased with human sacrifice to the gods.

Shock gripped the head midwife as she realized the Queen was having another baby was.

The mid wife, astonished at the horror, the taboo about to occur, shook herself out of her thoughts. Shakily assisting the Queen to bring the second baby out.

Soon, the cry of another baby, filled the room, the reality dawning on both the midwives as they stared at the babies in their hands.

The head midwife stared at the scene before her in confusion, uncertainty weighing on her.

“Midwife, what do we do? The King…”

The apprentice cut into the head midwife’s thoughts in their local dialect.