Take a mystical journey around the world exploring the lives and cultures of women. This is a series of short stories featuring black girls a Princess’s and the Queen’s they become. This is a free manuscript. See a sample below or download all 12 stories.

The Nefertiti Princess Collection

Khadijah

Princess Khadi was a coffee-colored Somali girl who always wore the same thing and did the same thing every day. She got dressed every morning in her black abaya with her matching black hijab. Her maid always made fresh cinnamon rolls with honey-baked pecans, and a pot of espresso for breakfast. She got dressed to go nowhere, only to her back room where she studied mathematics and pursued the arts. The problem for Princess Khadi, is that she was always studying, and always practicing, but with no one to teach and no one to watch.

All Princess Khadi wanted to do was get off the compound. The compound was old, black, and dilapidated. Nothing good ever came from the compound, Princess Khadi thought. No one could tell that a princess lived there, and especially not her father, the King. Princess Khadi had only ventured from the compound three times in her twenty-one years of life. That was every seven-year pilgrimage they took beyond the ocean.

Princess Khadi wanted some variety, but her father always said “no.” Her father was an upright man of high esteem, and pride to match. Her father always said, “leaving the compound was no paradise.” But not to Princess Khadi. Leaving the compound was her everything. Leaving the compound was something good. Leaving the compound was paradise.

One day, out of nowhere, in the corner of her eye, she spotted a young boy who looked to be about her age. Something was different about him. He wore color. He had on blue. He also had on a gold chain with a strange cross-figured jewel hanging from it. This intrigued Princess Khadi. She had to know more about him. However, he was off the compound, which Princess Khadi was forbitten from going. “I’d do anything to get off this old compound,” she whispered aloud. Just as she was speaking, she got a knock on her door. She opened it, and in walked a plump, pale-skinned, middle-aged woman, dressed in red, with eyes like she had never seen before. They were piecing black like they could see right through to the soul. She even had the same gold cross as the boy in blue.

“What are you studying?” the woman asked. “Paradise,” replied Khadijah. “You mean clear, crystal blue waters, graham cracker crust sand dunes, and bright green palm trees lining the sea,” said the woman. “Yes, have you been there?” asked Khadi. “Yes, I was born there,” replied the woman. “Will you take me there?” asked Khadi. “Yes,” the woman replied, “but you have to leave the compound.” This was music to Khadi’s ears, although she had never disobeyed her father’s instructions. “Yes, please take me,” Khadi said. “I will,” said the woman, “but it will cost you. You must vow never to cut your hair, eat any fruit, or make friends with anyone not in their right mind.” These words seemed strange to Khadi, but maybe, she thought, they were normal for paradise. Afterall, Khadi never showed her hair, so why would she need it. She also didn’t like to eat anything sweet, but her maid’s cinnamon rolls, and she didn’t know anyone whom she believed was crazy. So, Khadi agreed….

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