A tale is told among those of the old days. It is told with such grief that whoever comes upon the words from the lips of the narrator would never be the same.

This is the story of the princess who never was.

Her people called her Swazuri. Her name derived from ‘Swala’ and ‘Zuri’ to mean something good, but her mother intended it to mean something noble. She never lived to see her daughter take her first steps.

Swazuri was born among men.

She was the kind to stare down those whose eyes had seen beyond the lake. This vast body of water on the western side of a country so profound that no one dared ask how it came to be.

It is said that a stranger visited their home on the night she was born. He was from the Coast, his accent impeccable, his manners too polite, but with him came the downpour. It is believed that the people by the lakeside had never seen such heavy downpour.

So, when the stranger asked for the child, they could only hand her over. He looked at the child and just like he came, he disappeared into the night with Swazuri in his arms.

Swazuri was indeed born among men, but what astounds those who lived to tell the tale, is what happened years later, when she returned to her mother’s ancestral home.


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