"Please Kelechi, you must understand that we hardly have any choice in this matter", her parents appealed to her with a tinge of hopelessness. "You know this is tradition, the tradition of our people, and besides you owe your sister, to uphold her honour and her legacy, we can't let it die, just like that."
Kelechi shook her head vigorously, tears welling in her eyes. "Tradition or no tradition, nothing would make me marry my late sister's husband. I won't do it, ever", as she continued sobbing".
For the past few days, this has been the conflict raging inside her. How could she marry the man loved by her sister? What kind of useless tradition won't allow her mourn in peace, the passing of her only beloved sister? Why didn't they care about her own feelings and dreams? How could she just sacrifice all, on the altar of tradition?
She felt trapped and helpless as she buried her face in her hands, weeping.
Custom dictated that a bereaved husband must marry from his late wife's family to ensure her family lineage and to make sure that the children left behind were provided for and well taken care of. There's the feeling that 'blood would always take care of blood'.
Kelechi was yet to recover from the blow her elder sister's death had dealt her, she had died immediately after childbirth, leaving behind the new-born baby and a two-year-old son.
And now this! Tears streamed down her face as she grappled with the weight of tradition's demands.
Story written by me.
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