Ashes Of The Same Fire

e surrounded by high whitewashed walls and guarded gates. Inside, the palace-like mansion gleamed with imported Italian marble, gold-plated chandeliers, and an ever-present scen

doubled it in real estate. With sharp political instincts and ancestral wealth, he had risen to become one of the city's most respected men. His wife, a wom

izaram. Two girls born of the same parents, raised under

inning, she was serene. As a baby, she rarely cried, and as a child, she seldom spoke unless prompted. She listened more than she talked, observed more t

were a work of art, perfected through hours of etiquette lessons and quiet correction. She learned to curtsy at the right angle, pour tea without spilling

w perfection. She was, in every sense, a refl

atherings, drawing her close for all to see. "Ada

per to guests, eyes gleaming. "Perhaps a sen

ctations early, absorbed them like perfume into her skin. She learned to read the room, to know when to speak, when to serve, when

there was

ht, as thunder rattled the windows of St. Nicholas Hospital. She entered with fists clen

hing. Why were boys allowed to eat first during family meals? Why did she have to wear dresses

d grass stains from climbing trees, and her knees bore the testimony of too many tumbles. Teachers c

exasperated, after another teacher's complaint or

idn't want to

, Chizaram learned to roar. When a visiting uncle made an off-color joke about women, she told him it wasn't funny. When a prefect tried to humiliate

it beside the men. During family events, Amara sat beside their mother in quiet elegance, w

ke two instruments playing in different keys within the same song. Amara never told Chizaram to change, never corrected her

way their father's voice softened when he spoke to Amara, how their mother's eyes shone when she introduced her eldest to dignitarie

nto her, not with shame,

, standing in the mirror wearing muddy jeans and scraped elb

on first prize. She wrote stories in her journal about girls who saved the world with their words

, in her way, to b

ould say, handing them matching headwraps.

e rift, though she

for attention. Just a soft, muffled sound behind the wall. But by morning, Chizaram

lone in the garden, book open but eyes far away,

f noise and rhythm and relentless change. And within it, the Okonkwo sisters moved thro

was only jus

he fault lines