FIND OUT WHAT THEY DO TO TWINS IN THIS KINGDOM
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The Secret of Umuaba
The sun was setting over Umuaba, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. Umuaba was a peaceful village, known for its fertile lands and the tireless work of its people. Yet beneath the warmth and laughter, a shadow lingered—a belief passed down through generations, shaping every heart and home. In Umuaba, twins were considered an abomination. Their birth was thought to bring misfortune, sickness, and even death to the village. Whenever a woman gave birth to twins, the elders would ensure they were taken away, never to be seen again.
Despite this harsh tradition, the people of Umuaba were kind and welcoming. They valued respect, family, and above all, kindness. No one embodied these virtues more than Cheta, the jewel of Umuaba. Cheta was so beautiful that mothers wished for her to marry their sons, but it was her humility and gentle spirit that truly set her apart. She helped those in need, greeted everyone with a warm smile, and was admired by all.
When Cheta finally married, it was no surprise that she chose Chik. Chik was a man of integrity—well-mannered, hardworking, and from a respected family. His father was a legendary hunter, and his mother, Mama Chik, was sought after for her wisdom. Chik grew up with the values of honesty and kindness, never turning his back on anyone, always treating people with respect.
Their wedding was the talk of Umuaba for weeks. The elders blessed their union, the women danced, and the men drank palm wine late into the night. It was a match made in heaven—two good-hearted souls coming together as one. But as months passed, whispers crept through the village. Cheta had not conceived. At first, people brushed it off, but as months turned to years, the whispers grew louder.
“Why has she not taken in?” the women asked at the stream. “Is it possible that she is barren?” some whispered behind her back. Even the elders began to take notice. In Umuaba, a woman’s worth was often measured by her ability to bear children. For a man, having an heir was paramount. Chik never spoke about it, but Cheta saw the worry in his eyes, the way he avoided conversations about children, how he forced a smile whenever someone asked when they would hear a baby’s cry in their home.
Cheta did her best to ignore the whispers, but they followed her everywhere. Some women began to keep their distance, as if barrenness was a curse that could be caught. One day, Mama Chik visited. She sat beside Cheta, her eyes full of concern. “My daughter,” she began gently, taking Cheta’s hands in hers, “it has been three years. Have you and Chik sought help?”
Cheta swallowed hard. She had prayed, fasted, tried every herbal mixture offered to her. But still, no child. “We are still praying, Mama,” she said quietly.
Mama Chik sighed. “Sometimes prayers need a little push. There is a seer in the next village. She has helped many women conceive. Perhaps you should see her.”
Cheta nodded, unsure how she felt. That night, she told Chik about the conversation.
“We don’t need to see anyone,” Chik said firmly. “We will have our child when the time is right.”
“But what if—”
“Cheta, I married you because I love you. A child is a blessing, yes, but it is not the only thing that defines our happiness.”
Tears pricked Cheta’s eyes. Chik’s words comforted her, but she knew the village’s pressure would not stop.
One evening, as Cheta pounded yam outside, a group of women gathered nearby, talking loudly.
“Did you hear what Enkim said?” one asked.
“No, tell us.”
“She said a woman who cannot bear children is like a tree that bears no fruit.”
The women burst into laughter. Cheta gripped the pestle tightly, fighting back tears. That night, she lay in bed, staring at the thatched ceiling. Chik slept beside her, his breathing slow and steady. She wanted to believe love was enough, but in Umuaba, a woman without a child was like a river run dry.
That night, as the moon cast a soft glow over Umuaba, Cheta knelt by her bedside, tears streaming down her face. She had held in her pain for too long, pretending not to hear the whispers, pretending it didn’t hurt when people pitied her. But tonight, she could no longer hold back.
“God, please,” she whispered, her hands trembling, “give me my own child. Even if it is just one, please. I will love and care for the child with all my heart.”
She stayed on her knees for a long time, pouring out her soul until a strange peace settled over her. That night, she lay beside Chik, holding him close, and for the first time in a long while, she felt hope.
Weeks later, Cheta began to feel different—fatigue, nausea, dizziness, and a sudden dislike for foods she once loved. She dismissed it at first, but when Mama Chik visited and saw her looking weak, she placed a hand on Cheta’s forehead and smiled knowingly.
“My daughter, go and check. I have seen this before.”
Cheta hesitated, afraid to hope. But after persuasion, she agreed. That evening, she sat outside their hut, waiting for the midwife’s result, her hands sweaty and heart pounding. Chik sat beside her, rubbing her back, just as anxious.
The midwife walked out, smiling. “Congratulations, my daughter. You are with child.”
For a moment, Cheta could not move. The words felt unreal. She turned to Chik, her lips trembling. “I am pregnant.”
Chik laughed loudly, lifted her into his arms, spinning her around. “We are going to have a child!” Tears rolled down Cheta’s cheeks as she clung to him, unable to believe her prayers had been answered.
The news spread quickly across the village. Women who had whispered behind her back now came to congratulate her. The elders sent their blessings, and Mama Chik could not hide her joy.
Months passed smoothly, and Cheta’s pregnancy was everything she had hoped for. The baby inside her grew strong. Every night, she placed a hand on her belly and thanked God, promising to raise her child with love.
But fate had another plan. One night, as the moon rose high, Cheta felt a sharp pain in her stomach. It came suddenly, so strong she gasped and grabbed Chik’s arm.
“Chik, it’s time.”
Chik’s face filled with panic. He ran for his mother and the midwife. As they prepared for the delivery, Cheta lay on a mat, sweat covering her face as she pushed with all her strength. The pain was unbearable, but she held onto hope that soon she would hear her baby’s cry.
A loud, piercing cry filled the room. “It’s a girl!” the midwife announced, holding up the newborn. Cheta let out a breath of relief, tears slipping from her eyes as she reached out to touch her baby.
But before she could fully take in the moment, another wave of pain hit her. The room fell silent. The midwife’s hands froze. She looked at Chik and Mama Chik with wide eyes.
“She’s carrying another baby,” the midwife whispered.
A deep silence filled the room, heavy with fear. Chik stepped back, his breathing unsteady. His mother’s hands shook. Cheta, too exhausted to understand, gripped the midwife’s wrist.
“Please help me deliver my child,” she pleaded.
With one final push, she brought her second child into the world. “It is another baby girl. Identical twins. You can barely tell them apart.” The baby let out a loud cry, her tiny body trembling.
The room was eerily silent except for the soft cries of the newborn twins. Cheta lay exhausted, sweat glistening on her forehead as she cradled the babies in her arms. She looked down at them—two tiny beings, innocent and fragile, unaware of the chaos their birth had caused.
Chik sat on a low stool, staring blankly at the floor. Mama Chik stood at a distance, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face twisted in anger and fear. The midwife paced nervously.
“We cannot keep quiet about this,” the midwife finally spoke, her voice laced with fear. “You know the law of Umuaba. If anyone finds out twins were born in this house, they will come for them and for me.”
Cheta’s grip on her babies tightened. “No one is taking my children,” she said, her voice firm.
Mama Chik scoffed. “These children are not from God. Twins have never been born in our family. Where did they come from? Who is their real father?”
Cheta’s eyes widened. “What are you saying, Mama? You think I would betray my husband?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” Mama Chik shouted. “For years you could not conceive. Then suddenly you bring forth twins. This is not ordinary. These children will bring calamity upon my son.”
Cheta felt anger surge within her. “My children are a blessing, not a curse,” she snapped. “And I did not cheat on my husband.”
Chik, silent until now, raised his hand. “Enough,” he commanded. His deep voice cut through the tension.
“Mama, this is not the time to argue. If the village finds out, they will not just come for the children. They will come for Cheta, too. Any mother who gives birth to twins and refuses to surrender them is seen as a curse herself.”
Mama Chik’s face darkened. She knew her son was right.
“Midwife, please, only announce the birth of one child,” Chik pleaded.
The midwife hesitated. “Chik, this is dangerous. If anyone finds out I hid such a thing, I will not be spared.”
Cheta reached for the woman’s hand, eyes pleading. “Please help us. I carried these children for nine months. I prayed for them. They are my heart, my everything. Don’t let them take my babies away.”
The midwife looked from Cheta to Chik, then to the babies. She let out a long, tired sigh. “I am an old woman. I do not want to die because of this. We will make sure no one finds out,” Chik assured her. “We will protect you.”
After an eternity, the midwife nodded. “Fine, I will announce only one child. But after that, I am washing my hands off this matter.”
Cheta closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The midwife took one last look at the twins, then hurried out into the night, heart pounding in fear.
Only Cheta and Mama Chik remained. The air was thick with tension.
“What do we do now?” Mama Chik asked in a low voice.
Chik looked down at his children—two innocent souls caught in the middle of a cruel tradition. “We will protect them,” he said, unwavering. “No one must ever know there were two.”
But keeping such a secret in Umuaba would not be easy. If the truth ever came out, the consequences would be deadly.
The night was long, and sleep refused to come. Chik sat by the lantern, brows furrowed in thought, searching for a way to keep both daughters safe. Then an idea struck him. It was risky, but the only way.
By dawn, Chik called his mother and Cheta into the room where the twins lay peacefully, unaware of the storm surrounding their birth.
“I have made a decision,” Chik said. “We will keep both children, but no one must ever know there are two.”
Cheta’s eyes widened. “How?”
“We will build a hidden cave at the far end of the compound, soundproof it, and make it comfortable. Only one child in the main house at a time; after a week, they’ll switch places.”
Cheta gasped. “You want our child to live in hiding?”
“Our children,” Chik corrected gently. “I know it’s not fair, but would you rather they be taken away?”
Cheta lowered her gaze, holding back tears. She knew he was right.
Mama Chik folded her arms, shaking her head. “This is madness. You are playing with fire. If the gods want these children gone and you try to outsmart them, the entire village will suffer.”
“Enough, Mama,” Chik snapped. “Have the gods struck us dead yet? These children are innocent and I will protect them.”
Cheta wiped her tears and nodded. “I will do whatever it takes.”
“Good. From now on, both girls will have the same name—Ada Ori. We’ll mark their wrists differently to tell them apart.”
Cheta traced her fingers over their tiny hands, heart aching. “This is not the life I wanted for them.”
“But it is the only life they have,” Chik replied.
That morning, the news of Ada Ori’s birth spread across Umuaba. The villagers rejoiced, bringing gifts and blessings, dancing and chanting the newborn’s name. No one suspected a thing. Only Cheta and Mama Chik knew the truth.
The next months were difficult. Chik built a secret chamber—a cavelike space behind the main house, soundproofed with thick clay walls. Inside, a sleeping mat, toys, and enough space for a child to move. The rules were set: one child in the house at a time. Every week, they switched places. The villagers adored Ada Ori, unaware they praised two different children.
The years passed. The twins followed the routine without question, too young to understand. To everyone in Umuaba, there was only one Ada Ori. But Mama Chik still lived in fear, waiting for calamity. Yet nothing happened. The children grew, the village thrived, and the secret remained safe—at least for now.
On their 18th birthday, the twins sat side by side under the mango tree, their expressions serious.
“Papa, Mama, we need to talk,” Ada Ori A began.
Cheta and Chik exchanged nervous glances. They had always known this day would come.
“We want to know the truth,” Ada Ori B said. “Why has one of us always been kept a secret? Why must we take turns to live a normal life?”
Chik sighed deeply. Mama Chik spoke, “My children, you ask dangerous questions.”
“Then tell us why,” Ada Ori pressed.
So they told them everything—the village’s ancient belief, the elders, the plan to keep them safe. The twins sat in stunned silence.
“All our lives, we have been living a lie,” Ada Ori B whispered.
Cheta reached for her daughters’ hands. “It was the only way to protect you.”
“But why does such a tradition exist?” Ada Ori A asked.
Chik shook his head. “It is what has been passed down, but we did not believe it. That is why we fought to keep you.”
The girls exchanged glances, the weight of truth pressing on their hearts. Mama Chik warned, “You must never tell anyone. If the elders find out, there will be great danger.” The twins nodded, but inside, they felt trapped by the secret.
From that day, they were more careful. They followed the routine, never revealing their identities. Even their best friend, Ifunanya, had no idea she was friends with two people.
Everything changed one afternoon at the stream. Ada Ori B encountered Prince Obina, the heir to Umuaba’s throne. He confessed his feelings, and Ada Ori B, though afraid, agreed to meet him again. Their friendship blossomed over secret meetings by the stream.
But then, the weekly switch came. Ada Ori A took her sister’s place, unaware of the prince’s feelings. When Obina saw her in the market, he was confused—she didn’t recognize him. Hurt and bewildered, Obina knew something was wrong.
Ada Ori B, realizing the risk, hurried home and confessed to her sister. The family was shaken, but the secret remained safe—for now.
But Prince Obina was determined to uncover the truth. As the sun set over Umuaba, the secret of the twins hung in the balance, and the fate of Cheta’s family rested on the choices they would make.
End of Part One.
The Secret of Umuaba – Part Two
The days after the marketplace incident were tense for Cheta’s family. Ada Ori B, restless and anxious, kept replaying her encounter with Prince Obina. She worried not only about her own heart, but about the safety of her sister and their secret. Chik, Cheta, and Mama Chik were unsettled, sensing the winds of change blowing through Umuaba.
Prince Obina was not a man to let mysteries go unsolved. His heart was troubled—he knew what he’d seen at the stream, the connection he felt, the laughter they shared. But the girl he met in the market, with the same face and voice, had looked at him as if he were a stranger. Each night, he paced his chambers, thinking back to every detail. He needed answers, but he needed to be careful. If he approached Ada Ori or her family directly, he risked alerting them. Instead, he decided to seek wisdom from an unlikely source: the palace seer.
The palace seer was an old woman, blind in one eye but sharp in mind. Obina explained his confusion, careful not to reveal too much. The seer listened, nodding slowly.
“There are secrets in Umuaba that run deeper than the river,” she said. “Sometimes, what you see is not all there is. If you wish to know the truth, you must look beyond the surface. Watch for patterns, listen for stories, and trust your heart.”
Obina left the seer with more questions than answers, but her words planted a seed. He began to watch Ada Ori more closely, noticing small differences—how she sometimes hesitated before answering, how her laughter changed, how she seemed to know things one day and forget them the next. The prince’s suspicions grew, and he resolved to find out more.
Meanwhile, Ada Ori A and B struggled with their own feelings. Ada Ori B missed her meetings with Obina, but understood the danger. Ada Ori A, though sympathetic, insisted they keep to the routine. If anyone in the village found out, it would mean disaster.
But the prince was persistent. One evening, he returned to the stream, hoping to see Ada Ori B. When she arrived, she was nervous but determined to act naturally.
“Why did you avoid me in the market?” Obina asked gently.
Ada Ori B’s heart raced. She tried to deflect, but Obina’s gaze was unwavering.
“Sometimes I feel you are two people,” he said quietly. “One who knows me, one who does not.”
Ada Ori B froze. The secret teetered on the edge of revelation.
“I am just myself,” she managed to say, but her voice betrayed her fear.
Obina studied her, then sighed. “If there is something you’re hiding, I hope you know you can trust me.”
Ada Ori B wanted to tell him everything, but the memory of her parents’ warnings held her back. She left the stream in tears, torn between love and loyalty.
Back at home, Cheta and Chik saw the toll the secret was taking on their daughters. They gathered the twins and Mama Chik for a family meeting.
“We cannot keep living in fear,” Chik said. “Our daughters deserve a life without hiding.”
“But what can we do?” Cheta whispered. “The village would never accept them.”
Mama Chik, who had once feared the curse, now saw her granddaughters’ pain. “Perhaps it is time for change,” she said softly. “Perhaps it is time to challenge the old ways.”
The family decided to take a risk. They would reveal the truth to one person—Ifunanya, the twins’ best friend. Ifunanya had always sensed something different about Ada Ori, and her loyalty was unwavering.
The twins invited Ifunanya to their home, and in the safety of the secret room, they told her everything. Ifunanya was shocked, but quickly embraced both sisters, promising to keep their secret. Her support bolstered their courage.
Prince Obina, meanwhile, continued his investigation. He spoke with villagers, asked about Ada Ori’s childhood, and slowly pieced together the puzzle. The stories didn’t add up—sometimes Ada Ori was seen in two places at once, sometimes she seemed to know things she shouldn’t. The prince realized the truth: there were two Ada Oris.
Determined to confront the family, Obina visited their home one afternoon. Chik greeted him with respect, but tension filled the air. Obina asked to speak with Ada Ori privately. In the secret room, he found both twins waiting.
“I know your secret,” Obina said gently. “I know there are two of you.”
Ada Ori A and B exchanged terrified glances, but Obina continued. “I do not care about the old traditions. You are both precious. If the village cannot see that, then perhaps it is time for a new tradition.”
Cheta and Chik joined the conversation, and together, they decided to trust Obina. The prince promised to protect the twins and help change the village’s beliefs.
Obina called a village meeting. He stood before the elders and the people, with Cheta, Chik, the twins, and Ifunanya at his side.
“Umuaba has lived in fear for too long,” Obina declared. “We have allowed superstition to rob us of love and family. Today, I ask you to see the truth: twins are not a curse. They are a blessing.”
The elders murmured in shock. Some were angry, others afraid. But Obina spoke with conviction, sharing the twins’ story and the pain they had endured. He called on the villagers to embrace change, to value every child.
Cheta and Chik spoke of their love for their daughters, of the sacrifices they had made. Ifunanya shared her friendship, and Mama Chik, once a believer in the curse, stood up and declared, “I was wrong. My granddaughters have brought nothing but joy. It is time to end this tradition.”
Slowly, the villagers’ hearts softened. Mothers remembered their own children, fathers saw the courage in Chik’s eyes, and elders saw the wisdom in Cheta’s words. The old belief began to crumble.
In time, the twins were accepted as themselves—Ada Ori A and Ada Ori B. The village celebrated their bravery, and the curse of twins was broken. Prince Obina and Ada Ori B’s friendship blossomed into love, and the family found peace at last.
Umuaba changed forever, learning that love and courage could overcome even the oldest fears. Cheta, Chik, and their daughters walked through the village with heads held high, greeted not by whispers, but by songs of joy.
And so, the secret of Umuaba became its greatest blessing—a story passed down for generations, reminding all that true family is built not on fear, but on love.
End of Part Two.
The Secret of Umuaba – Part Three
The winds of change swept through Umuaba after Prince Obina’s bold declaration. The elders had not given their blessing easily; some held tightly to the old beliefs, their faces stern and their words sharp. But the sight of the twins—standing side by side, unafraid—planted seeds of doubt in even the most rigid hearts.
For Ada Ori A and B, life was both exhilarating and daunting. For the first time, they could walk together in public, their laughter echoing down the village paths. Ifunanya remained by their side, fiercely loyal, and the twins found themselves surrounded by children curious about their story. Some days, they answered questions with patience; other days, they retreated to the quiet of their secret room, uncertain of their place in a world still learning to accept them.
Prince Obina visited often, bringing gifts and stories from his travels. His friendship with Ada Ori B blossomed, their bond growing deeper as the village slowly warmed to the idea of twins. Obina’s support was crucial—his status as heir to the throne gave weight to every word he spoke in defense of the girls.
But not everyone was ready to let go of the past.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, a group of elders gathered in the square. Chief Eze, the oldest and most respected, spoke quietly with his peers.
“These children are innocent,” he admitted, “but our traditions have kept us safe for generations. If we abandon them, what else will change?”
Another elder, Mama Ngozi, shook her head. “Change is not always a curse, Eze. The world beyond Umuaba does not fear twins. Perhaps it is time we learn from them.”
The debate continued into the night, but the seeds of acceptance had already begun to grow.
Meanwhile, in Cheta’s home, the family adjusted to their new reality. Ada Ori A and B no longer switched places each week. Instead, they attended village events together, their identical faces a living testament to the power of love over fear. Mama Chik, once terrified of the curse, now delighted in telling stories to both granddaughters, her laughter ringing out louder than ever.
But the journey was not without obstacles. Some villagers still whispered behind closed doors, and a few avoided the twins entirely. Ada Ori A struggled with anxiety, sometimes wishing she could return to the safety of anonymity. Ada Ori B, braver and more outspoken, encouraged her sister to hold her head high.
One afternoon, the twins sat beneath the mango tree, talking quietly.
“Do you think things will ever be normal?” Ada Ori A asked, her voice soft.
Ada Ori B smiled, reaching for her sister’s hand. “Normal is what we make it. We are together now, and that is enough.”
Their bond was unbreakable, forged in secrecy and strengthened by truth.
As the weeks passed, the village changed in small but meaningful ways. Mothers stopped hiding their twins, and a few families who had sent children away in the past came forward, sharing stories of grief and regret. Cheta and Chik became counselors for those struggling to accept the new reality, offering comfort and wisdom.
One day, the twins were invited to speak at the village festival. Standing before the crowd, Ada Ori A’s voice trembled, but Ada Ori B steadied her.
“We are Ada Ori,” she began. “For years, we lived in fear. But we have learned that love is stronger than superstition. We hope our story will help others find courage.”
The villagers listened, some with tears in their eyes. Prince Obina stood beside them, his presence a promise that change would continue.
After the festival, Chief Eze approached the family.
“You have shown great bravery,” he said. “I was wrong to fear you. Umuaba is stronger for having you.”
With those words, the last barrier fell. The twins were finally accepted, not just tolerated, but celebrated. Their story became legend, told around fires and in classrooms, a reminder that courage and love could reshape even the oldest traditions.
Years passed. Ada Ori A became a healer, using her gentle touch to comfort the sick. Ada Ori B married Prince Obina, their union a symbol of hope for the entire region. Ifunanya traveled, sharing their story in other villages, helping families embrace their own twins.
Cheta and Chik grew old, their faces lined with joy and sorrow, but their hearts full. Mama Chik lived to see her granddaughters flourish, her fears replaced by pride.
Umuaba thrived, its fields more fertile than ever, its people united by the lesson learned from two brave girls and their loving family.
And so, the curse of twins faded into memory, replaced by a new tradition: every year, on the twins’ birthday, the village gathered to celebrate all children, singing songs of joy and hope. Ada Ori A and B led the festivities, their laughter ringing out as a promise to future generations.
In the end, the secret that once threatened to destroy a family became the light that saved a village.
End of Part Three.
