Chapter 2: Amara the Trickster

When the beautiful stranger stepped into Obodo Ime, time stopped. Even the wind forgot to blow.

She was tall, glowing and dressed in a wrapper that looked richer than the chief’s wife’s Sunday lace.

“Na wah o,” whispered Mama Nneka, adjusting her head tie. “Okon no lie small this time. The girl fine pass common sense!”

Okon stood there, mouth wide open like a fisherman’s basket.

He had never seen her before, yet she was calling him “my husband-to-be.”

The crowd began to murmur.

“So it’s true?”

“Ah, Okon really knows rich people!”

“Hmm, this boy is a miracle!”

Okon, trying to regain control of his face and dignity, quickly smiled.

“Ah, my dear... long time no see!”

The woman smiled slyly.

“So you recognize me?”

Okon blinked rapidly. “Ah, how can I forget you? My... my sweetheart.”

The woman laughed, the kind of laugh that could make even thunder shy.

“Well, since everyone is watching, I might as well introduce myself. I am Amara — the one you promised to marry.”

The entire market screamed, “Ehn?!”

And just like that, Okon’s biggest lie became the village’s hottest truth.

As the villagers escorted them through the market, Amara waved gracefully like a visiting queen.

She whispered to Okon,

“Don’t worry, my dear. I heard about your stories. Let’s make them come true.”

Okon blinked. “Ehn?”

She winked. “You said I’m Chief Nwokorie’s daughter, right? Then let’s make Chief Nwokorie real.”

Before Okon could ask what she meant, Amara turned to the crowd and shouted:

“My father, Chief Nwokorie, sends his greetings! He said Okon will soon inherit his cocoa plantation in the city!”

The market exploded in applause.

Mama Eno even started singing:

“Okon don marry! Okon don hammer!”

Okon smiled nervously, whispering,

“Ah! This girl is dangerous o. She’s lying better than me!"

That evening, Amara announced she would cook a grand feast to celebrate her arrival.

Everyone came — drummers, dancers, and even the village head.

But there was one small problem: there was no food.

Okon only had one yam, half a bottle of palm oil, and salt that had seen better days.

Amara just smiled and said,

“Don’t worry, I will handle it.”

She walked into the compound, borrowed pots from neighbors, and started commanding everyone.

“You! Bring me firewood.”

“You! Fetch water from the stream.”

“You, yes you — go to Mama Eno’s stall and tell her Okon said she owes him two tubers of yam!”

Within an hour, Amara had gathered enough ingredients for a royal feast — all by using Okon’s own methods: sweet talk and sharp confidence.

When the food was ready, people ate till their belts cried for mercy.

“Okon,” the village head said, licking his fingers, “you are truly blessed. This wife of yours cooks like heaven!”

Okon chuckled proudly, whispering to Amara,

“You’ve learned my trade well. You even lie with boldness.”

She smiled and replied softly,

“Ah, my dear Okon, you have no idea. I’ve been a professional long before I met you.”

After everyone left, Okon finally asked,

“So, my beautiful Amara, who are you really?”

She laughed, sitting cross-legged by the fire.

“I’m just a traveler who loves a good story. I heard about the great Okon the Liar — so I came to see if you could fool me too.”

Okon scratched his head. “And I’ve been the one fooled?”

Amara grinned.

“Let’s call it... partnership. From now on, we lie together. One lie for the village, one for us.”

Okon stared at her, half in admiration, half in fear.

He whispered, “Ah, I think I’ve met my match.”

Amara laughed again, a laugh so bold that even the moon leaned closer to listen.