My name is Amira Badila.
I am a Badilitess from the North African branch of the family—one that has only recently begun receiving recognition from the ruling Badilite branches.
Before this, we were seen as illegitimate Badilites. And I will tell you why.
It begins with my forefather, Mukendi Badila. He was the younger brother of Beleshayi, the ancestor of Benesha, and Akela, their older sister.
Mukendi once traveled to Casablanca, Morocco, for a holiday. That trip changed everything.
There, he met Fatima, a Berber woman, and fell in love at first sight. She loved him, too. They married—against the wishes of the Badila family.
"Badilites should only marry Badilites."
That was the unwritten rule. Mukendi broke it. And for that, he and his descendants were cast aside, deemed illegitimate members of the family.
But Fatima refused to be discouraged. She was respectful and kind to the Badilites, and she bore Mukendi seven sons and three daughters. Each of those sons had children of their own, expanding the Badilite presence in Morocco. My father, Malik, descends from Mukendi's eldest son.
Some of Mukendi's other sons ventured into neighboring countries—Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt—spreading the Badilite name across North Africa.
King Benda, the father of Mukendi and Beleshayi, was deeply impressed by what Mukendi had accomplished. But he passed away before he could formally legitimize the North African Badilites.
And so, even now, our legitimacy remains in question.
Yet, I, Amira, am still a Badilite Princess. My father, Malik, is the de facto Patriarch of the North African Badilites. I am known for my beauty and my status. And because of that, every eligible North African Badilite man wishes to marry me.
But I want none of them.
Which, of course, upsets my parents greatly.
"Amira!" my father bellowed one day. "Why do you keep rejecting every marriage proposal?! These men come from excellent households—the ruling branches of the Tunisian, Libyan, Algerian, and Egyptian offshoot families! Do you want to marry a peasant?!"
"And if I do?"
"You can't!"
"Nothing in our religion forbids it. There is no law that says I must marry a man of wealth or status."
"So you truly want to marry a peasant?!"
"I want to marry someone I choose. Not someone you choose."
"Unbelievable..."
My mother merely sighed. "She's still young. She'll come to her senses in time."
But they don't understand. These men want me for my status, not for me.
My father only has daughters—two younger than me. By tradition, his successor should have been his younger brother, his nephew, or even a paternal uncle.
Instead, he decided that his successor would be my future husband—and the sons I bear him.
And that is why, for my father, my marriage is not just about me. It is about the legacy of the North African Badilites.
But I refuse to let my life be dictated by a centuries-old tradition.
I will choose my own path.
Even if it means defying my family's expectations.