When the sun kissed the sky goodnight, the cry of a baby was heard in Nonso's large compound. The trees whispered the good news and the breeze carried it to the corners of the village where the town crier dusted his gong and began his job.

It was a good night to be alive.

Finally, after fifteen years of trying, the village of Umundu would have a Prince.

Under the soft glow of the moon, the maidens assembled and began a choreography– it was an old dance, one created for such an occasion as this and one the teens had only heard about in tales under the moonlight.

The maidens moved their supple bodies to the beat of the ekuke while their fathers watched, pride tinging their smiles.

The boys had been roused from their beds or fetched from the palm wine shops and given the sacred spears and bows. They were in the forest, war cries and grunts the last thing many lowly beasts heard before they joined the heap of fur matted with blood.

The women were bringing out their cauldrons and sending the twiggy tweens to fetch firewood. The would return with the firewood later than they should, hearts and eyes on the dancing maidens. Someday, they would be like them.

The elders held a meeting, deciding the name to give the new Prince, each hoping for a chance to make a mark on posterity.

He would be called Agu, or Eze, or Ikebi.

His name would be as strong as his destiny.

When the sun kissed the sky hello, the people gathered in Nonso's compound bearing gifts and laughter. Isioma looked at her husband for the umpteenth time and back at the sucking babe in her arms. Nonso had said no words since and watched his child.

When the ululation had died down, Nonso held his wife and child in his arms and bellowed, "I present to you, my daughter! Heir to my throne and your future leader."

When the sun kissed the sky goodnight, the trees whispered amongst themselves and wouldn't share it with the wind.