Òyì nke e mepụtara

The elders of the Kalahari say that before a stone becomes precious, it must first endure the weight of the earth. Deep in the red soil of Africa, beneath an ancient baobab tree whose roots stretched like the arms of an old grandmother, there lived a small, rough stone named Amara. Amara was nothing to look at. Dull. Grey. Jagged at the edges. Every morning, the river beside her would laugh as it rushed past, saying, "Look at you, sitting still while I travel the whole world." Every afternoon, t