Swapped at Birth: The Oba’s Cursed Princess / Chapter 1: Royal Birth, Palace Tears
Swapped at Birth: The Oba’s Cursed Princess

Swapped at Birth: The Oba’s Cursed Princess

Author: Tammy Pennington


Chapter 1: Royal Birth, Palace Tears

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As my mind return, everywhere dey hot like when NEPA bring light after three days and everybody for compound dey rush boil water. The heat dey roast my small body, like say I dey inside mama belle with extra pepper.

Wetin dey happen? Why I dey feel like person soak me for hot water?

"Your Majesty, abeg hold on! Small time remain, the little madam go soon land!"

"Madam Ifeoma, hold on for Us. If you fit born this pikin, We go forgive all Ifeoma family wahala."

"Even… even if na stillbirth, at least make We see the pikin…"

Voices dey jam for my ear, the air heavy like harmattan wey refuse to go, sweat dey mix with powder and sharp smell of hot herbs. Mama dey cry like market woman wey dem thief her last change.

I try open eye, but e be like say something dey press my head, woman voice dey groan for pain.

Somebody hold my leg. My breath dey tight, like say I wan suffocate. As I dey struggle, I push down with all my small strength.

Everywhere just flash bright—light shine for my eye like torchlight for blackout. My spirit land with force, enter this world.

"Na little princess!" The midwife voice first happy, then e change to fear. "She no dey breathe!"

Everybody kneel, fear grip dem, nobody fit look the man wey stand for corner, black agbada with python embroidery like those old Oyo chiefs for festival.

Even the big drummers for compound pause, cold silence drop for palace. People dey bite finger, some dey whisper Hail Mary under breath.

I too weak, no fit open my eyes, just notice as person carry me up.

Sandalwood scent full everywhere. I hold my weak breath as the person, hands shaking, voice full of pain, say: "Bury Our royal child… make dem give am honour for the royal tomb…"

That 'Our' thunder for the room—like Oba voice fit break ground. Sandalwood and tears, the perfume of palace mourning.

The fine woman for bed, her face wey already pale come lose all colour, only sorrow remain. Her lips dey shake, but no sound come out. She just dey look, spirit don nearly carry her go.

Queen Mother rush enter, roll eye, collapse, dey beat her chest: "My precious granddaughter, ah God… why you wan do Adeyemi family like this!"

Her wrapper scatter, coral bead drop for ground. Her wailing loud like those old women for burial ground.

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