JOURNEY TO WOMANHOOD

Chapter Seven: The First Night Alone

The woodland dimmed as the sun sank below the western hills, creating deep shadows that stretched over the trail. Amara moved slowly, scouring the trees for a spot to relax. The heat of the day had given way to a cold breath of evening air, accompanied by the earthy aroma of damp soil and the delicate sweetness of night-blooming flowers.

Her body hurt from the stress of the wild dog encounter. Every rustle in the bush made her heart race, but she pushed herself to proceed slowly and deliberately. Her mother's admonition rang in her mind: "When night falls, do not wander like a restless spirit." Find your footing. Take it as your own." Finally, she discovered a little clearing shaded by the roots of a gigantic iroko tree. Its broad buttress roots rose like protective walls, leaving a hole just big enough for her to curl inside. The ground was soft with moss, and the branches above her spread wide, protecting her from the open sky. It felt safe enough. Amara knelt, put down her satchel, and untied her gourd. She took a deliberate sip of water, allowing the cold to relieve her parched throat. Then she unfolded the leaf-wrapped package that her mother had slipped inside. Roasted yam, mildly seasoned with palm oil. The portion was little and intended to last, but the sight of it made her chest tight. She remembered how Maara placed it into her hands, her eyes moist but firm, as if to say, "Eat, my child, and carry me with you." She said, "Thank you, Mama," softly, before eating. Each bite seemed like a link connecting her to her home, securing her even as the trees closed in. The darkness increased. The sky above turned indigo, punctuated with the first stars. A chorus of crickets chirped, and an owl hooted in the distance. Amara tightened the tiny towel across her shoulders and lay down against the root. She'd never spent the night alone before. Sleep didn't come easily at first. Her imagination repeated the day's events—the growl, the glowing eyes, and the stone slipping from her grasp. Then new anxieties crept in: what if more wild dogs arrived? What if she didn't wake up in the morning. What if she fails and returns home in shame? Her throat clenched, and tears fell softly down her cheeks. She wished her mother was present to sing the lullaby she always sung on stormy nights. She wished her father was sitting beside her, silent yet steady. But then she remembered what her father, Oba, had taught her: "The road must be walked alone." But you are never alone; we are in your bones. She closed her eyes and repeated those words as a prayer. She eventually fell asleep, feeling heavy and restless. In a dream, Amara saw herself standing on a large plain beneath a sky of swirling gold, violet, and deep green. The ground beneath her feet shimmered, like if composed of crushed stars. A soft wind stroked against her skin, bringing murmurs she didn't identify yet understood. She noticed a figure ahead of her. A tall woman dressed in flowing fabric, her hair ornamented with cowrie shells that glistened like small moons. The woman's face seemed weird and familiar, as if it belonged to all women: mothers, daughters, and ancestors. "Amara," the woman said, her voice deep and resonant, resonating over centuries. "The route isn't just in the trees. It is inside you. What you fear will be before you, but what you have within will guide you through." Amara shivered and tried to inquire who she was, but her lips could not form the words. The woman took a step closer and placed her palm on Amara's chest, just above her heart. "Here's your strength. Trust it." The vision faded from swirling colors to black.

Amara awoke with the sound of chirping. Pale light seeped through the branches, painting the clearing silver and green. Her body was stiff, her hair damp from dew, but she was alive. She sat up slowly, clutching her satchel tightly. The dream adhered to her like mist. She could still feel the woman's palm resting on her chest. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, her ancestors, or the spirit of the forest speaking, but it gave her confidence. As she began her voyage, Amara said, "I will trust my heart." With that, she stepped back into the winding road, knowing the challenges had just begun.