Friendship (3)

****

It was several days after her conversation with Aslan that Emeravwe came across the small Omote again.

She and the Maidens she worked with that day finished their assignment and were returning to the Bureau of Halls and Chambers. It was then that they encountered another group in the wide cobbled passageway between the Compound of the Ministry of Rites and that of the Royal Pharmacy.

The Omote were gathered in a cluster, jeering and snickering.

Wondering what the matter was, Emeravwe peered through the group to get a better look. There, in the middle of the circle of girls, was the small Omote. She sat on the ground as though she had been shoved there, and Omote Oluchi and Ngozi stood over her, hurling words.

"You do not belong here!" Omote Ngozi hurled.

"I cannot stand to see you prancing about as though you are one of us!" Omote Oluchi flung. "Only girls from noble families are supposed to be Maidens! How dare someone with tainted blood enter the palace!"

Seeing the looks of disgust with which the girls eyed the small Omote, Emeravwe asked one nearby, "What is the matter?"

The Omote was too fixated on the three girls in the center to turn to her. But she answered, pointing her chin at the small Omote, "We knew she was the daughter of a mistress. But Omote Oluchi says she heard the Aye talking this morning, and they said she is an Orhorho*—her mother is a Wuhwuh!"

"What is a Wuhwuh?" Emeravwe asked.

"Cultureless people who do not belong to any of Xxene's Four Tribes. They are ungodly, and walk around with bare foreheads like the Yaroy!"

"But at least the Yaroy are part of the Four Tribes!" another Omote bit. "These people are worse than the Yaroy! They are disgusting!"

Emeravwe knew about the Yaroy. According to the Maidens, they were beggars who wandered the alleyways and marketplaces of Xxene. Most of them had bare foreheads, like palace Maidens and Eunuchs. Only theirs was due to poverty, not prohibition.

Like the Yaroy, a bare forehead was a shameful symbol of failure and lack of class and place.

This was why it was so disgraceful for palace Maidens and Eunuchs to be sent home from the palace (their bare foreheads would reveal their failure). And also why those in the palace always covered their foreheads with their headscarves.

"The position of a palace Maiden is supposed to be one of honor!" an older Omote shouted. "What will people say when they find out we have a Wuhwuh among us?"

More Omote joined in, shouting and jeering. They picked up loose pebbles and flung them at the small Omote.

"You have hidden the truth very well until now," Omote Oluchi said. She grabbed the small Omote's green headscarf. "But now everyone knows you do not deserve to wear this!"

She tore off the Omote's headscarf and flung it to the ground, accusing, "Your father may be of the Imodu Tribe, but you cannot hide your filthy Wuhwuh blood!"

Emeravwe stood horrified as the Omote's shouts and stone throws intensified.

She searched frantically up and down the passage for any palace guards, but there were none in sight.

She looked back to the center of the girls, where the small Omote lied in a fetal position. Her arms covered her head as the Omote assailed her.

I should… I should help her. Emeravwe felt she should. But the sight of the angry girls frightened her, and she thought she could not possibly face them all.

Her legs began backing away of their own accord. She closed her eyes against the prickle of tears. For once, the Omote's angry glares were not trained on her. They were not attacking her for reasons she did not understand and things she could not help.

But now someone else was the victim. Yet, how could she possibly go against all the Omote? She could not!

'You have suffered much because of the Omote's harassments, have you not? I am sure this Omote is also suffering.'

Aslan's words rang in Emeravwe's ears, and with them came a flood of sadness.

She knew better than anyone how it felt to be the Omote's victim. And until she met Aslan, no one ever came to her rescue, no matter how much she cried. She looked again to the small Omote. She did not cry out, but silently bore the assaults.

As Emeravwe watched her, compassion and anger swelled within her.

She swallowed her tears, then marched forward.

"That is enough!" she burst, pushing past the Omote.

She ordered Omote Oluchi and Ngozi, who had two thick chunks of the small Omote's hair in their hands, "Let her go right now!"

The surrounding Omote grew silent, but Omote Oluchi sneered, "And if I do not?" She pulled the small Omote's hair. She yanked so forcefully that the girl finally cried out.

Emeravwe glared hate at Omote Oluchi and Ngozi. She yelled in one breath, "I will report you to the Bureau of Corrections and tell them all the wicked things you have done so they will beat you till your bones are broken!"

At the mention of the Bureau of Corrections, the Omote quickly scattered. Each going nervously on their way.

Omote Oluchi and Ngozi shoved the girl's head before releasing her. Then threw icy glares over their shoulders as they stalked away.

Emeravwe turned to the small Omote, who remained painfully on the cobbled ground. She retrieved the Omote's transparent green headscarf and presented it to her.

The girl began to reach for it but stopped, tears finally pooling in her eyes.

Emeravwe understood. She did not want it.

The light green headscarf that all palace Omote wore. The scarf that accompanied the matching garments, which revealed her as a palace Maiden.

She wanted none of it.

Emeravwe knelt before the Omote, holding the headscarf out to her. As she took the scarf, the Omote looked up through her tears.

She had large, dark brown eyes and deep olive skin that was a shade darker than Emeravwe's. Emeravwe thought her rather pretty and smiled.

"My name is Emeravwe. What is yours?"

The Omote remained silent a moment. Then wiped her tears and answered, "I am Akpokene Imodu Ofasa."

Emeravwe stood, offering her hand to the Omote. "Shall we go, Omote Akpokene?"

Omote Akpokene stared so long at the offered hand that Emeravwe feared she would reject it. But, finally, she bashfully took Emeravwe's hand.

"Thank you," she smiled as they walked down the cobbled passageway.

"You are welcome," Emeravwe smiled back.