I Will Not Be Forgotten

I Will Not Be Forgotten In this short story, the female protagonist fights against the patriarchy and lives up to her name, meaning “I will not be forgotten.” BY SILJA MITANGE

y name is Afamefuna. I do not yet understand why my parents gave me such a masculine name, but the elders of the village say that it is because they were expecting a boy. Afamefuna means, I will not be forgotten. Perhaps it is because I will be part of the last generation of my peoples, I do not know. What I do know is that day and night, my playmates tease me for it, saying, “certainly your name will not be forgotten, because you will go down in history as the first woman with a male name.” My mother, the queen of our peoples, says that as a princess I have the right to rebuke them, but I do not think that is a wise thing to do if my goal is to become friends with them. My mother says this is a foolish decision that I have made, because I must crave respect over friendship. But my father calls me wise, because I have chosen to become friends with my enemies. It is the royal way. I adore my father. Yes, I am a princess. Princess Afamefuna of the Igbo tribe, because I am a woman and my parents’ only child. This means I am sometimes treated like a fragile vase, even though I do not wish it. So, I have made the decision to become the fiercest, most courageous women the people of Igbo have ever come across. I have asked my father for his help in becoming a fighter, but he said females must not be intrigued in such masculine matters, that we are too weak for war. It broke my heart. I will prove him wrong.

One night, when my peoples are leaving to fight the village down from us, to punish them for the constant stealing of our goods, I secretly go with them. I trail behind the men in the darkness, hiding behind trees and swiftly disappearing each time a warrior turns to look back like he has heard me. Each man carries a sword and a torch, or a knife strapped around their waist. I hold my spear, a beautiful one stolen from my father’s storage, tightly in my fist. Quick, we arrive in the border of the neighboring village, and I climb to the top of a tree to M

hide, planning to watch the fight before joining. Suddenly, I hear a scream coming from one of our men. “We have been ambushed! Spread out!!”

I see little flashes as the light from the torches reflects off the surfaces of blades. Each warrior is engaged in a fight for their lives, our enemies jumping around them like demons in the night, stabbing and piercing flesh. We were losing, but I can’t move for fear.

I spot my father, locked in a fierce battle with the enemy. He looks as though he is losing. I can’t bear to lose him. Desperate, I throw my spear from the top of the tree, and it quickly extinguishes his opponent. He turns around wildly, looking for the source of the spear.

As the fight dies down and the defeated village retreats back to their homes, our warriors gather around the bottom of my tree. My father looks up in apprehension, breathing hard.

I refuse to be caught looking so vulnerable, so I jump down to make myself present with the other warriors. As soon as the fighters see me, they bow in surprised respect. Still, my father looks furious.

“Afamefuna, what disgrace have you brought upon your peoples? How will anyone respect us if we force our women to fight for us?”

As my father spoke, he didn’t notice a lone villager creeping behind him with the spear I had thrown earlier. He came out of nowhere, and I was too slow to notice.

“Papa, watch out!”

But I am too late. My spear had killed my father. I stare in horror and grief as he falls to the ground with the spear stuck deep inside his chest, his hand stretched towards to me. As the warriors chased the king-slayer in fury, my father said with his last breath, “Afamefuna, surely you will not be forgotten now, for you will go down in history as the princess who killed her king.” MM