I’ve always been fascinated by mirrors.
Call me vain, but there’s something about my reflection that keeps me transfixed. The way the glass captures my every movement, the silent acknowledgment of my existence, it feels almost magical.
Raising my hand, I gently touch my cheek, smiling at the girl staring back at me. She smiles too, mirroring my every move.
“Ozioma!”
My mother’s sharp voice jolts me from my thoughts.
“Ma!” I respond, still gazing at my reflection.
“Come downstairs this minute!”
I grumble under my breath, casting one last lingering look at my reflection before dragging myself down to the kitchen.
“Mum, you called?” I ask, leaning lazily against the counter.
“Yen yen yen,” she mimics me, rolling her eyes. “Gịnị ka ị na-eme?” (What are you doing?)
“Nothing, Mom.”
“Ozioma, hapụ mirror aka!” (Leave that mirror alone!) she scolds, shaking her head. “You spend all day staring at your reflection instead of helping with chores.”
“But Mummy,” I start to protest.
“But gịnị?” she interrupts. “The time you spend staring at God knows what could be used for something more meaningful.”
She hands me a mortar and pestle.
“Pound that crayfish while I tell you a story, about a girl named Olaedo. She was just like you…”
I sigh but take the pestle, knowing better than to argue.
My mother settles into a chair, her voice lowering into that storytelling tone she always used when something important needed to be learned.
“Olaedo was the fairest and most beautiful girl in the village,” she begins. “People often said the gods themselves had carved her from the finest ebony. Her skin was rich and dark, gleaming like polished onyx under the sun. Her eyes, were deep, mysterious, like twin pools that could pull you in and drown you in their depths.”
I pause my pounding, listening.
“Her father was a wealthy hunter,” my mother continues. “A man of great skill and even greater fortune. Each time he returned from a hunt, he brought gifts: bushmeat, fruits, beads, roasted corn, and groundnuts for his family. But one day… he brought something different. Something rare. A mirror.”
I frown slightly, curiosity piqued.
“It was love at first sight for Olaedo,” my mother says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “She had never seen anything like it before. The smooth glass reflected her image so perfectly, so clearly, that she couldn’t look away. She knew she was beautiful, everyone told her so, but she had never truly seen it for herself. Not like this. The mirror didn’t just reflect her face. It revealed her power.”
A chill runs down my spine.
I grip the pestle tighter.
“What happened to her?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
My mother smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Ah, Ozioma,” she murmurs. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”
