this story is set in modern day Nigeria.

A TALE OF AMARA
Have you ever witnessed the death of love? Amara had seen it at
least three times. The first time, she was only 13. She was young,
innocent and in the cusp of femininity.
As the last of four kids (younger than her youngest sibling by 5
years), Amara was always considered a baby, many a times they
forgot that she was not too young that she could not read the hidden
meanings of their cryptic sentences, or think hard and long enough on
their senior jokes that she could not figure it out. While her elder
siblings were all in university, her parents drew swords fashioned
with words and they dueled ceaselessly. Things were said to her
hearing, things that should never have been heard, at least not by one
so young. When her parents divorced, she was the least surprised; I
mean, what 13 year old would be surprised when big words like,
“Philanderer” and “Despicable” were tossed around like chocolate on
Valentine’s day. Who would stay surprised when the dueling duo
ended their fights not because they were done with the quarrel but
because the fighters ran out of steam? Well, Amara was not surprised,
if anything, she was happy. No more fighting.
The second time, she was 17. Her boyish hips and budding breasts
grew and filled out. She grew tall and beautiful save for the random
spots of acne, pimples or black heads on her face.