JOURNEY TO WOMANHOOD

Chapter Three: The Night of Preparation

The sun rose the next morning, casting a delicate gold glow across Nkaru's rooftops. Sounds of preparation emerged from all throughout the village: pestles thudding against mortars, women's voices weaving tunes, and the rhythmic beat of drums echoing softly through the woods. This was the day of instruction, when all of the chosen girls gathered in the elders' hut for direction before embarking on the journey.Amara awoke early, her tummy tight with knots. Maara assisted her in bathing at the water gourd, cleaning her skin with fragrant leaves until she smelt of crushed lemongrass and river clay. Her mother oiled her hair and plaited it neatly into rows before wrapping her in a new indigo wrapper decorated with white cowries. "You must be seen as someone preparing for greatness," Maara remarked firmly, tying the knot around Amara's shoulder. By mid-morning, the square was alive with activity. The other girls her age arrived one by one, dressed in their nicest clothes and with their hair adorned with beads. Their moms and aunts trailed behind, carrying baskets of offerings such as roasted yam, palm oil, smoked fish, and woven mats.The elders waited inside the Ozioma Hut, the village's hallowed meeting house. Its roof was low and wide, and its clay walls were adorned with painted spirals and animal figures. Only those chosen for the journey and their mentors were permitted to participate. The inside air smelt of earth, smoke, and herbs. At the far end, Elder Kofi sat cross-legged on a carved seat, his gray beard lying on his chest and his staff leaning against the wall. Two other elders stood by him: Elder Ngozi, a lady with sharp eyes like eagle talons, and Elder Obianuju, whose voice was kind yet commanding. The females knelt on mats, and the room was quiet save for the sound of burning wood. Elder Kofi cleared his throat."You are here," he began, "because the village has noticed your progress and readiness. But preparation is not synonymous with strength. Today, you will learn what it means to travel the path. He hit the ground lightly with his stick. "Listen well." Elder Ngozi stood up, her wrapping tightly knotted around her chest. She circled the girls slowly. "The route is not a straight road. It bends and deceives. It depicts a woman's existence, full of both sorrow and beauty. You may feel hungry. You may experience fear. However, remember that womanhood is not easy. "It's endurance." Her words were harsh, striking into Amara's chest.Then Elder Obianuju spoke, her voice quieter than the rustle of palm fronds. "Yet, female is also creation. You are vessels of life, carriers of wisdom, and keepers of the peace. Look for elements of beauty when walking, especially in challenging situations. A bird's song, a sunrise, the way water bends around a stone—these will remind you of the pleasure that makes the fight worthwhile." The girls listened quietly, digesting every word. The elders then performed the ceremony of blessing. Each girl's forehead was imprinted with a white clay streak, symbolizing her heart's purity. A tiny calabash of herb-infused water was passed around; each girl dipped her fingers in and sprinkled drops on her chest to invoke protection.Finally, they were each handed a token for their adventure. Some received a little charm, while others got a carved piece of wood or a shell. Elder Ngozi approached Amara and placed a smooth river stone in her palm. "This stone," Ngozi observed, "is firm and unyielding. Let it serve as a reminder that the water may rage, but the stone survives. Amara curled her fingers around it, feeling the coolness against her skin.

Following the teachings that evening, the town held a musical celebration. Drums hammered, flutes sang, and the women danced in circles, their laughter echoing throughout the night. It was both a farewell and a prayer, for nobody knew how the voyage would affect their girls. However, when the fires died down and the square cleared, Amara came home to find her family waiting. The courtyard shone with lamplight. Her father had butchered a little goat in her honor, and the rich aroma of spiced stew filled the air. They ate quietly together, enjoying each piece as if it was their final shared meal. Her family eventually left, leaving only her parents and grandma. Ebele leaned forward, grasping Amara's hand. "When you embark upon that path tomorrow, realize that you are not walking alone. The spirits of our forefathers accompany you. Your mother's strength, your father's compassion, and my wisdom all live in your blood." Her father, Oba, stood up and crossed to the hut's corner. He took a necklace out of a little wooden box: a single bone pendant strung on a dyed leather cord. He put it lightly around her neck. "This was mine when I walked the men's path," he explained quietly. "It directed me back. It is now yours. Wear it and remember that courage is the will to persevere, not the absence of fear." Amara felt tears well up in her eyes. She stroked the pendant and felt its weight press on her chest. Maara arrived last, standing erect with a steady look. She cupped Amara's face with both hands. "Tomorrow, you will dress as a girl." When you return, you'll be a lady. Whatever route you take, remember who you are and the home that awaits you." Her mother kissed her forehead. That night, Amara laid on her mat, unable to fall asleep. She peered at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, the necklace cool against her skin, the stone tightly clasped in her fingers. The route loomed ahead—unknown, terrifying, and unavoidable. And as the moon rose, she whispered to herself, "I will not fail."