CHAPTER 1
The orange-yellow sun rises over Wakanda and casts a light so bright that Okoye’s eyes instantly open. She sits up on her bed eager to sprint through sun rays, morning dew, and tall grass to get to the Upanga Training Facility. But her mandatory morning routine forces her to slow down for quiet reflection, and for gratitude to the ancestors that she is now part of a respected group of some of the bravest women in the world: the Dora Milaje.
Just a few years ago, Okoye was a village girl who would race other children through the bushes, over the hills, and down to the market, where the aunties would sell their harvest and trinkets beneath thatched-roof stalls. From time to time, King T’Chaka would bless the villagers and market people with his presence. The Dora Milaje would walk by his side as they looked sternly out into the distance, where the green mountain ranges touched the long stretch of ocean-blue sky. They would secretly wink or smile at a girl who might soon join their ranks.
This was how it started for Okoye. The day her youthful, impressionable eyes met one of those beautiful, strong, and powerful women, she knew this would be her life. Months of training during which she was broken down to only a relic of her girlish self and built back up to a mighty, wise, and loyal woman, warrior, and protector of Wakanda and its throne have led to this moment when she proudly slips into her Dora Milaje uniform.
Her red tunic and fitted pants are made from a material so tough and light that they feel like a second skin. So she wears the duties of the Dora Milaje on her body and carries them in her heart. The matching armband and boots are an added touch that make her feel that much more powerful. Her spear is not just a weapon—it’s become part of her body, like another limb. It folds into the sleeve of her tunic, hidden from plain sight. Okoye slicks some oil over her bald scalp, where the new tattoo has marked her for life, and perhaps, the afterlife.
Ayo is waiting outside her compound, just as eager as Okoye is, even if she isn’t smiling. Her clean-shaven head glistens in the morning sunlight and her deep brown skin seems to be covered in starlight. Okoye knows that Ayo is her reflection in every way. She is proud to be a warrior woman alongside her best friend.
There are several compounds at the edge of the forest
where the Dora Milaje have made their homes. Each compound is a rounded-edged square structure with white stucco walls, red steel doors, and one-way reflective windows. Hausa symbols are painted around the edges of the doors—secret affirmations each Dora Milaje has to memorize. Many of the Dora have already left their compounds while another group rests after having completed their nightly shifts in the palace. Okoye and Ayo are summoned to the Upanga Training Facility for today, away from their usual duties of guarding the Wakandan throne.
Ayo stops just as the dirt road leading out of the forest opens up to a paved footpath. She holds her spear as a deceptive smile spreads across her face. “How about a little morning exercise before we walk to Upanga?” she asks.
“Shouldn’t we wait to see what the captain has in store for us?” asks Okoye.
“A little friendly combat will not hurt,” Ayo says, pounding her spear on the ground. “Besides, we will be that much more prepared. It’ll be a warm-up. I promise.”
Okoye has already unfolded her spear from out of her tunic’s sleeve and is in her combat position—her knees bent with one leg forward and one leg back, her right arm extended over her head, ready to knock Ayo’s spear out of her hand. Within seconds, the warrior women are dodging each other’s weapons as they spin on their heels, kick, swing, and leap. Okoye’s movements are swift and fiery while Ayo is steady and patient before she attacks. Okoye quickly twists to deliver a strong jab, but Ayo aims for her legs, and in an instant, Okoye is on the ground, on her back, defeated. But it’s only a few seconds before she swings her arm around Ayo’s arm at the elbow, weakening her grip on the spear. With all the strength she can muster, Okoye pushes herself up with her legs, taking Ayo’s whole body with her. Ayo leaps out of Okoye’s grip, and the two women are a few feet away from each other once again, in their combat positions.
A small crowd of children has gathered around them, cheering for their favorite. Half of them are singing Okoye’s name, while the others root for Ayo.
Okoye is the first to smile. Ayo relaxes her body. The children applaud, and most of them return to their chores or long walks to school. About five girls stay back, looking up at Okoye and Ayo in awe.
“When we are older, we want to be just like you!” a girl says.
Another girl motions with her arm as if to release a folded spear. She swings her imaginary weapon at the other girl, and they are in battle while speaking an unintelligible gibberish that is supposed to be Hausa.
Okoye and Ayo laugh. “Soon, my young sisters,” Okoye says. “Soon.”
“Make sure Mistress Zola takes notice of you when you demonstrate your skills,” Ayo adds.
The girls disperse, running, laughing, and swapping
dreams of how they will one day protect Wakanda as Okoye and Ayo head to the Upanga Training Facility. Ayo is moving slower than before.
“What is the matter?” Okoye asks. “Are you hurt?”
“Hurt? Me? Never,” Ayo says. “You, on the other hand, must be tired. You were breathing hard, my sister.”
“Tired? Me? Never,” Okoye says, standing straight and folding her spear back into her sleeve. “We can fight all day, if you want. But Captain Aneka would reprimand us for practicing when we have more important matters to tend to.”
“You are correct. After all, you need your rest.”
“And you need to tend to your sore muscles.”
This small moment of joy and playfulness between the two warrior women slowly wears off as the morning sun inches toward the middle of the sky.
“You know,” Okoye says, “we mustn’t be so careless around the villagers. They must see us as noble and disciplined at all times.”
“I disagree. They must see us as humans and not as warrior robots created in one of Wakanda’s many technological labs.”
“You are correct,” Okoye concedes. “After all, those village girls were looking up to us. I suppose they want to see the possibility of what they can achieve in Wakanda. They can be artisans if they want. They can be healers or have their own businesses.”
“They can be poets or spies; seamstresses or carpenters,” says Ayo.
“Physicists or singers; botanists or chemists,” Okoye adds. “Don’t you see how prodigious little Shuri has become? The princess is sure to create an entirely new universe in that play lab of hers.”
“Yes, that one is just a ball of raw talent and potential. And of course, any girl in Wakanda can become a Dora Milaje.”
“If they succeed at passing all the trials. Don’t you think Captain Aneka will become much stricter as time goes on?” Okoye asks.
“Wakanda may change during our time as Dora Milaje,” Ayo says. “I’ve been out there in the world and I’ve seen how nations have fallen and risen. We may need to shift our skills as times change.”
“Do you think this is what the meeting with Captain Aneka is all about?”
“I do not know. But in any case, we have both gotten a little workout from our battle this morning. I am ready for whatever assignment will come our way.”
“I am not sure, Ayo,” Okoye says, lowering her voice. “I am just getting used to guarding the king and getting to know the royal family. I don’t think I want to be sent off to a new assignment just like you were a couple of months ago.”
“I understand, my sister. I, too, was barely a new Dora Milaje when I accompanied Captain Aneka on my first trip
outside Wakanda. But being whisked away to new adventures at a moment’s notice is all part of our calling. Accept it with grace, Okoye. Village girls are looking up to you. You are a role model now.”
“A role model? Me? A whole me?” Okoye jokes with a smile.
“Yes, my sister. A whole you. Okoye of Wakanda and the mighty and brave Dora Milaje,” Ayo says.
The two women laugh as they make their way to the Upanga Training Facility. But as soon as passersby come close, they shift into their serious Dora Milaje stances—face forward, shoulders back, alert, tall, and regal.
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