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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Romance/Love · #2206992
A story of a girl who had to fight through life to get love
In an untamed recess of the African continent was a vast rainforest vegetation known as Omuokohia. As this particular Saturday evening in October was approaching the time of twilight, the mellowed sunset still blazed the scenery, which wore the appearance of an instalment of night which had not taken up its place before its astronomical hour was come. Sunset combined with the blue sky and whitish clouds in harmonious fraternization.
Were an onlooker to lift and sweep her eyes to the distant horizon, she would perceive that just as the sky was exhaling night, the earth was precipitating
it. Darkness had to a great extent arrived here, while daylight stood distinct in the sky.
Omuokohia was a spot which brought upon the memories of those who loved it with a sort of tender and peculiar feeling. A baby’s smile, a sight of an
ewe-lamb hardly do this, for they are beautiful only with an existence of better reputation as to its issues, but Omuokohia appealed to a subtler and scarcer
learnt emotion which was grand in its simplicity.
Indeed, it is a question if this orthodox beauty is not approaching its last quarters. Is the time not near, or has it not actually come when spots like the Obudu or the Kruger will be all of nature in the mind of mankind? The quaint thing that Omuokohia was, it always had been. Since the beginning of vegetation its soil had worn that same black dress. Though, this was quite different at its south western border, which ends at a river, and which many believe to be the New Calabar river; one of the numerous deltas of the Niger River.
Across this river, and in the early hours of the morning, a tourist is sure to be in touch with an exotic wildlife, which would create wonder if found elsewhere. Here, in front of her would be seen wild monkeys and baboons, gliding from ebony trees to raffia palms, feathered species such as wild parrots and yellow coloured goldfinches converging their keen round eyes on her.
To recline on an ngada – a sort of wooden armchair, in the central village of Mgbuokani, between the evening and night as now, where the eyes could reach nothing of the outside world, save billows of smokes towering up from mud kitchens and families returning from their farm, and to know that everything had been from centuries as old as Nok, would awe the mind learned in African history.
The great inviolate place had an ancient permanence which no civilization can claim. Who can say of any particular civilization that it is old? Influenced by
neighbouring civilizations through trade; forced down by internal wars, like the Benin and Songhai empires. They had all sank and disappeared, but Omuokohia
had remained. Her defences were firm; she had been shielded from unnecessary wars and their likes. Her water courses and swamps which dotted her outskirts
had made it difficult for any siege or defeat. Though these have shut her away from communicating with the outside world; it had helped her to develop at her
own pace.
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