“Do not be afraid, my child. Death is not the end of love. You are destined for the throne, and I am here to help you achieve it. I want to teach you how to dance.”
Twenty-three-year-old Amarachi was on her way home that hot afternoon, walking along the narrow bush path. A heavy bundle of firewood was balanced carefully on her head.
Just as she approached the edge of the village square, a loud, echoing voice pierced the air. It was the Umuoma town crier. People began to gather at once, rushing out from their huts, market stalls, and compounds. Amarachi stopped too, wanting to hear what message the king had for his people.
“Hear ye! Hear ye!
“By the order of His Royal Majesty, King Ikenna of Umuoma, I announce to you that Prince Odiphor, the only son and heir to the throne of Umuoma, has declared his intention to take a wife. All maidens of marriageable age are to prepare for a grand dance competition. The maiden who emerges victorious shall be crowned queen-in-waiting and become the wife of the prince.”
The entire square exploded with excitement, but Amarachi did not even turn her head. Instead, she adjusted the firewood on her head and continued walking, her steps steady and her face expressionless, because deep down she knew one thing:
That announcement was not meant for someone like her.
She was an orphan who had lost both parents to a strange illness two years earlier. Her father’s wealthy brother, Uncle Amadi, had taken her in. He cared for her well and loved her like his own. But his wife and their only daughter, her cousin Ndidika, did not love her as much. They had turned her into a servant. She did all the housework. They treated her like trash whenever her uncle was away. But the moment he returned, they suddenly became kind again.
Amarachi knew she stood no chance in the competition. Besides, she was not a good dancer like her cousin Ndidika, who was known as the best dancer in all Umuoma land.
So she continued on her way home.
By the time she reached her uncle’s compound, the noise of celebration still echoed faintly behind her. But inside the compound, reality was waiting.
The moment she stepped through the gate, a sharp voice sliced through the air.
“Amarachi! Where have you been since morning?”
Her uncle’s wife stood in the middle of the compound, her eyes burning with irritation. Her name was Madame Efuna. Beside her stood her daughter Ndidika, dressed neatly, her skin glowing with oil, her lips curved in quiet mockery.
Amarachi lowered her gaze at once. “I… I went to fetch firewood, ma.”
Before she could finish, the woman hissed. “And does it take the whole day to bring firewood? Lazy girl!”
Amarachi quickly bent and eased the heavy load from her head onto the ground.
“Don’t just stand there like a statue,” Madame Efuna snapped. “Go and fetch water, then clean the kitchen. After that, pound yam for dinner.”
Amarachi nodded softly. “Yes, ma.”
Ndidika chuckled quietly and folded her arms. She was about the same age as Amarachi, yet she did nothing in the house.
Later that night, after hours of endless chores, Amarachi finally slipped into her room. She lay down gently on her bed. For a long moment, she stared into the darkness.
Then her mind drifted back to a moment she had tried so hard to forget.
One week earlier, she had gone to the stream to fetch water. It was very early in the morning, and people hardly visited the stream at that hour. She bent down, just about to fill her pot, when she heard footsteps behind her.
She turned slowly and saw Prince Odiphor standing tall, flanked by a guard.
She froze instantly, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
Prince Odiphor stared at her for a while, looking surprised. Then he took a step closer, his voice calm yet strangely gentle.
“What is your name?”
Amarachi could not speak. Her throat had gone dry.
“I asked for your name,” he repeated, a small smile forming on his lips.
She swallowed hard. “Amarachi,” she whispered.
The prince nodded slowly, as though tasting the name. “Amarachi,” he repeated softly. “It suits you.”
Then he said something that had stayed with her ever since.
“I like you.”
Amarachi was shocked. She did not even know how to respond. The only thing that came to mind was to run.
Without another word, she quickly bent, filled her pot with water, lifted it onto her head, and ran. She did not look back. She said nothing because she knew that someone like her had no place in the world of princes.
Back in her room, Amarachi turned to her side and pulled her wrapper closer around her body. Deep in her heart, she felt something for the prince too. But she knew she did not stand a chance.
She closed her eyes slowly and let sleep carry her away.
As soon as Amarachi fell asleep, something shifted. It was as though something unseen had gently lifted her out of her body. She found herself walking along a narrow, bushy path. The air felt cool against her skin as she moved.
She could not remember taking the first step or choosing the direction. Yet something pulled her forward.
After a few more steps, the path opened into a small clearing. At the center stood a hut—simple and lonely, yet strangely beautiful.
Amarachi looked around slowly, confusion written all over her face. She took a cautious step closer.
Then she heard her name.
“Amarachi.”
She froze at once. The voice sounded familiar.
She turned and looked around, but saw no one.
She took another step.
Then she heard her name again.
This time the voice was clearer.
Her eyes widened, because now there was no doubt. She knew that voice.
Slowly, she turned toward the hut again, and that was when she saw movement from behind it.
Someone stepped out.
Amarachi stood rooted to the spot, her mouth falling open in shock.
Standing a few steps away, smiling, dressed in white that seemed to glow beneath a light with no visible source, was her late mother.
Amarachi staggered back, her eyes wide with terror.
“Mama…”
Her voice shook violently.
“But you’re dead.”
She wanted to run, but her legs refused to move.
The woman smiled gently.
“Do not be afraid, my child,” she said softly. “Death is not the end of love. I have come to help you.”
Amarachi’s lips trembled.
But her mother continued.
“A chick that will grow into a rooster does not crow from within the egg,” she said. “The child destined for a crown may sleep on the floor today, but the sky does not forget its star.”
Stepping even closer, she added, “When the drumbeat of destiny begins, even the lame will find their feet. You are destined for the throne, and I am here to help you achieve that.”
Amarachi let out a faint, disbelieving laugh. “I am not meant for any throne,” she whispered. “I am a servant in my uncle’s house. I have no place among royalty.”
Her mother smiled again.
“You see chains,” she said gently, “but I see a crown.”
She stretched out her hand.
“I have come to teach you how to dance so you can take your rightful place in the palace.”
Amarachi gave a small, unbelieving laugh. “Dance? Mama, of all people, you know that I do not know how to dance. Dancing has never been my gift. My cousin Ndidika dances better than I do—better than anyone else in this kingdom. I know she will win, and I wish her the best.
“Apart from her, there are many other good dancers in the kingdom. I cannot compete with them.”
Her mother’s eyes glowed softly.
“Come,” she said. “Follow me.”
Amarachi obeyed.
Without another word, her mother began to take graceful dance steps. She started teaching Amarachi how to dance.
Amarachi’s first attempts were clumsy and unbalanced, but slowly, after several tries, she began to get the steps right. Her mother taught her patiently for a while, swaying in a way that made Amarachi marvel.
When she finally stopped, Amarachi stood there breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling.
Her mother smiled proudly.
“Listen carefully, Amarachi. Make sure you rehearse these dance steps in your room when you retire for the night after the day’s work. We will meet here every day until the day of the competition arrives.”
After she finished speaking, she turned and walked back toward the hut. As she moved, she slowly faded away, the glow around her growing dimmer.
In her room, Amarachi woke with a sharp gasp.
Her heart pounded wildly. Her body was drenched in sweat.
She looked around the room.
“It… it was a dream. But why did it feel so real?” she whispered.
Slowly, she stood up. Without thinking, she took one step, then another. She began to dance effortlessly, exactly as she had in the dream.
She smiled in excitement as she continued dancing—something she had never been able to do before.
Morning came quickly, and reality returned.
“Amarachi! Wake up!”
Her name was shouted, and she rushed out to begin her chores immediately. It was always like that whenever her uncle was away. But whenever he was around, his wife and daughter treated her kindly.
As she went about her chores that day, she smiled to herself.
At one corner of the compound, Ndidika stood proudly dancing, her body swaying with confidence. She spun, stamped, and turned with practiced ease.
“There is no dancer like me in this kingdom,” she boasted.
Her mother clapped excitedly. “My daughter—the future queen!”
Ndidika laughed proudly. “That crown already belongs to me.”
Across the kingdom, the same scene repeated itself. In one compound, young maidens danced in groups, laughing and correcting one another. In another, a wealthy chief had hired a professional dancer from a neighboring kingdom to train his daughter day and night. Drums echoed from every direction. Excitement filled the air.
Everywhere, maidens were preparing.
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While nearly all the maidens in the kingdom rehearsed dance steps during the day, Amarachi moved silently around the compound carrying water pots, cleaning, and cooking.
Then at night, while they all slept, her late mother taught her how to dance.
In the spirit realm, it became a ritual.
