LEGEND OF WAKANDA

    The concept of death was different in Wakanda. It was seen as a transcendence in some cases, for if you put your faith in Bast then there was nothing to worry about. It was peaceful. T’Challa knew this, but the grieving in his heart never ceased. He spent nearly the entire duration of that day in the garb of the Black Panther, for he grew tired of the concerned glances that he could feel upon him when he walked about the Palace. The first place he went to was deep in the Wakandan jungle, T’Chaka’s Path. It was a safe way to the Birnin Zana, one of the first national establishments that T’Challa accomplished as King. In fact, it was the safest way to travel from the country’s dense wilderness.   T’Challa assured his people that even though he may have passed on, T’Chaka will remain a tireless supporter of Wakanda. The day he officially opened that Path was fresh in his memory as he stood upon a cliff, overlooking the golden road. T’Challa would come here when he felt the need to talk to his father, for he knew that he was listening. Somehow, he knew. When he closed his eyes, the young King could still see his father’s face. He could still remember how tight the man would embrace him, a might that did not falter with his age. How stoic the man would look, towering over T’Challa as he spoke before all of his people. People, that his father assured, would be T’Challa’s one day.

  It was a beautiful summer day in Wakanda, a day in which young T’Challa would spend exploring usually. However, on this day he got curious. He heard raised voices, curt in their tone, bellowing from deep within the halls of the Palace. His father must have been in a meeting with the Council. Although his stealthy skills were no better than a novice at this point, he attempted to use his training and take a peek on the government of Wakanda. He “quietly” slid open the towering door, looking around the table in which they discussed. Inevitably, he locked eyes with his father. T’Challa quickly shut the door, but knew better than to run. Shortly after, the men and women would file out of the room. T’Chaka was last. “T’Challa, you know better than to peek into my meetings. Remember what I told you about distractions?” He’d discipline, and T’Challa would nod. “Yes, father. I was just curious.” The man would just smile at the boy, and walk with him to the gardens. “Mother says today is Father’s Day. I’m sorry that I could not find you a gift.” T’Challa frowned, sitting beside his father. “T’Challa, there is no need for apologies. My children are truly a gift in itself.” This made T’Challa smile, an approval that meant everything to him. “Father, how do you do it? What does it take to be a father?” Young T’Challa asked, curious. His father relaxed and looked to him. “Well, a father can be many things, T’Challa. Bold, yet caring. Dauntless, yet disciplined.” The man paused. “Here, come with me.” T’Chaka gestured for the boy to follow, walking to the Throne Room. He walked out to the balcony, overlooking Central Wakanda. The city buzzed with car horns and laughter. “What it takes to be a father, dear T’Challa, is also what it takes to be a king. A father of your own nation.”

  As he thought back on that memory, he instinctively fiddled with the King’s Ring on his finger. T’Challa bit his lip, overlooking the Path. He hadn’t noticed, but tears stung at his eyes. “I will be a father of this nation. Guide my path, father, and I will not let you down.”