Oya, Goddess of storms, of tornadoes, of hurricanes, of destruction.  That is the name that everyone chose for me.  I was always a fierce one.  I was always destructive.  This led for me to be one of the most dominating warriors of the Dahomey. 

I didn't want to leave.  But I felt I needed to watch over my sisters.  I did not tell anyone that I was pregnant.  I did not tell anyone that I did not know who the father was.  Even the most fiercest warriors have their moments of weakness sometimes.  Our moments of being outnumbered, or outsmarted.  

I gave birth to her when I was in the Sky Dome.  I named her Ayomide, for giving joy back to me.  She would often take the form of a water buffalo, the sacred animal of the original goddess.  But eventually, she took on the name Egungun, after the goddess of fate.

Once upon a time, the warrior women of the Dahomey, girls would ring their bells as they would walk by, and men would not even look at them.  It was not until they were invaded by the French that these women were taken for granted in such a manner; but even then, these French men had the habit of waking up in their beds with their throats slit open....

I've had my own share of slitting throats.  I was 13 the first time it happened.  It made me the hardened warrior woman I am today.  I think that my daughter is the only one that can see it for the farce it is.  She never says anything, only watches with those wide eyes of hers.  I swear, they see everything.

Today, we had ourselves an interruption.  I typically sleep unless I'm bringing a storm.  Only my daughter can rouse me just to have idle conversation.  Those boys....They play around with their power.  If any of them had ever actually seen me at my true strength....

My sister Ayao had never interfered before.  She knew I would never have killed them.  I found it very curious that she would be so concerned with the affairs of love.  Maybe it's because I have never felt it, or experienced it, that I felt so cold of it. 

But Cordelia?  Hmmm.  I never thought to much of it before, but this one would have suffered in the name of love too.  He was beautiful, as beautiful as a woman, with milk white skin and hair as dark as midnight.  Even if he were to cut it short, or attempt to grow a beard, he would have still appeared to be feminine.  This one never did grow too much facial hair, and he had a liking of keeping it long, covering his body like a mantel.  A comfort thing I suppose, as he did with warm sweaters and soft fleece.  This "Star" child, she is still a brand new soul.  She is too young to remember the teaching that girls were meant to be one way, and men another.  She looked at him, and she simply saw, "Cordelia."  Not what she was taught he should not be.

A good portion of these trans women, of all the people they gathered, they all tended to find comfort in one another.  Some would stick around longer than others, some would linger.  Some would appear more like women, some were content with being more "menly men."  They also had a habit of gathering women that were not content with being women.  I began to wonder of the future of Magec's "sisterhood."  It was already had more variety than the name implied.  I guess I never really thought that a man that appeared like a woman, could still have the longings of a man, and seek company of a woman.  I wondered how many more unions of such that we would get to witness.  Not that it mattered.  We all deserve someone to love.

I began to wonder of myself.  Did I not deserve to be loved too?  Or was I destined to be alone?  Was this life of solitude that of my own choosing?  Or am I chained to circumstances of the past that I could not control?  Am I content with my life, or am I wanting something more?

I look down at the image of my body.  It is not that different than when I was still a human.  A woman's body, but hardened with muscle from physical exercise.  We built our muscles differently than the men did, and still managed to look somewhat feminine, even as we managed to out do some of the men.  The people we came from, the women could choose either way:  the traditional role of a woman, or the more warrior like type of lifestyle.  We did not have any place for men who acted like women.  I never really pondered on it before. 

What would it be like, to be born in a man's body, but have a heart as soft as gold?  Would it be easily crushed and thrown away?  Would there be anyone to recognize it as the treasure it is?  Or would there be people that could never look beyond the vessel that carries it?

Once upon a time, people couldn't even look past the color of your skin.  This practice, thank the heavens, has been done away with for over a millennia now.  It's time we extended this practice, I believe.  I think I will enjoy watching these young ones from afar, and observe what they do.  I am content with my life for now, though I am curious.  I'll be keeping a close eye on this "Cordelia" and young "Star."

"You have been very quiet, mother," said my daughter.

"Yes, I have."

"Would you like to tell me what's on your mind?"

"A little bit of everything and nothing at all."

"You appear to be studying these ones very closely.  Do you believe they will cause harm?"

Engungun-Oya was right in assuming I would think as such.  I typically did not stir unless there was something out of balance.

"No, not this time.  I am merely curious is all."

"I can see their fates."

"All good I hope."

"You do?" She giggled  "You never cared either way before."

"Perhaps it is time I softened up at least a little bit."

"Oh mother, you are smiling.  It suits you."

"Is my daughter truly surprised just to see me smile?  I suppose I have been hard for far too long."

"I'm glad you are trusting to soften up in my company, mother.  Let us watch the show together."